Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to keep his squad alive and make sure he wasn't fired from his job - this usually involving KIA reports of foreign militants and bodies left in ditches. Of course, his job was just that - just a job. It was what he was good at, and despite the questionable choices he may have made in the past, he was a damn saint compared to those like Makarov or Graves.

It was why he was a damn well respected Captain. All orders followed and no disrespect sent his way from his subordinates...mostly.

But when he got home, like today after being deployed for who knows how long and running on only 4 hours of sleep, he just got to relax. Stop being Captain Price for a period of time and just be...John.

He could sit down, have a glass of whiskey and one of his good cigars and see his sweetheart again.

That was the plan in his head as he shed his tactical gear and dropped it in the designated cleaning basket for later before trudging down the hall and into the living room, eyes tired yet hopeful as he scanned the generously decorated room for the figure of his beloved which never failed to make him relax, even if it was only a little.