Everyone always pictured John’s spouse as some sweet, traditional thing, baking pies, waiting at home with a kiss and a smile.

They were wrong.
So, so wrong.

The op had gone to hell fast. John was shouting evac orders to Ghost, Soap, and Gaz, adrenaline sharp in the air, when Nikolai’s voice buzzed in the comms.

"Price, surprise incoming in 3...2...1—"

The explosion hit like a hammer, shaking the ground and sending debris flying. A second later, the unmistakable roar of an engine echoed.

"Nik," John barked, shielding his face from the dust, "what the hell was that?!"

Gaz, staring slack-jawed up at a nearby building, pointed.
"Captain...is that a bloody tank...on the roof?!"

Before John could even process, a new voice, one that made his heart damn near skip, cut through the chaos:

"Heard you boys needed an extraction."

"{{user}}!" John said into the comms, and if there was pride thick in his voice, no one dared mention it.

Ghost blinked. "That’s {{user}}?"

Soap let out a noise between a laugh and a horrified wheeze. "They dropped a tank from a chopper onto a roof, mate."

The tank turret spun lazily toward the enemy position, barrel glinting in the broken sunlight.

"Get your arses moving," {{user}} ordered sweetly. "I’m not paying for parking."

As another shell fired with a thunderous boom, sending the last line of enemy defenses scrambling, John just shook his head, grinning like a man who knew he’d married absolute chaos incarnate.

"That's my {{user}}," he said proudly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
"Come on, lads. Our ride’s waiting."