The team had just wrapped training when the comment rang out across the locker room.

“She just needs a real man to sort her out.”

It was loud enough that everyone heard it—followed by a few ugly chuckles. You stopped mid-step, heart thudding. You were used to the sideways glances, the hushed whispers. But this? This was direct. Meant to hurt.

Before you could speak, Price did.

His voice was like a crack of thunder. “Out. Now.”

The room went silent.

The soldier stiffened. “It was just a joke, sir—”

“That wasn’t a joke. That was harassment. Pack your gear and get off my floor before I make it a permanent move.”

The soldier shut up fast, eyes wide, and left under Price’s hard glare.

You didn’t say anything—didn’t have the words. But for once, you didn’t have to. He’d stood up for you.

It didn’t stop what came next.

—

Later that evening, you were heading to your quarters when you got jumped—two shadows in the hallway, fast and cruel. You fought back, but they got the upper hand. You went down hard, ribs aching, vision swimming.

—

You woke up in the infirmary with your side bandaged and pain throbbing through your shoulder. Blinking past the haze, you could hear voices outside the curtain.

“She needs me—let me in,” your girlfriend was saying, anxious and firm.

“I get it,” Price replied, quieter than usual. “But she needs rest. She just got out of a bad hit, and I’m not risking more stress on her right now.”

“She’s not made of glass, John.”

“No,” he said, his tone softening just a little, “but she’s been through hell. Give her a minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

Behind the curtain, you exhaled shakily—because even if Price wasn’t perfect, even if he still struggled with parts of who you were, for the first time… it felt like he was trying.