It wasn't his usual job. Searching for fallen comrades was usually left to others, but this mission was difficult and few soldiers were in the same location as them, plus the sun was beating down hard. Soon the corpses would rot and stink, there was no time to wait for backup.

Price was already clutching six dog tags in his hand whic they weighed him heavy, yet he felt a deadly calm. He was Captain, he couldn't afford to freak out. He was just glad you survived. When you weren't coming back or answering his: {{user}}, how copy? or to his now-much-more-hysterical Gimme your position, now! - he was getting restless, yes, but in the end you were fine. He was looking forward to you having more privacy and him being able to pull you properly to his chest, kiss your forehead and smell your hair.

He stepped over the rubost man, the enemy. He could hardly resist the urge to kick him.

He bent down to other soldier whose face was badly butchered. Price didn't know him personally, but his face was familiar. It took him a moment to find his dog tag. He had to take off his vest and unbutton his jacket, but he finally found it. And now he had seven small memorials in his hand. He was getting up to go looking further before he noticed a piece of tiny paper sticking out from man's pocket. Price then reached out and... felt his heart clench. It was your photograph. You were smiling at it, not looking at the camera, it was probably a snapshot. From the shoulder next to yours, Price recognized himself in the photo. Except he was cut out so you couldn't see him. On the other side was a short paragraph containing the soldier's last words in case he died and his declaration of love for you.

Price chuckled bitterly and tucked the photograph into his pants.

He felt hatred, towards the dead soldier, that he even dared to think of you that way, and a nasty maliciousness too.

"Good thing you're dead, brother," Price breathed hoarsely as he stood up, this time giving the corpse a kick. "Or I'd have had to kill you,"