"Sit still. You're making this harder than it needs to be." John's tone is seemingly more amused as opposed to actually strict as he scolds you for fidgeting again while he's trying to work the grime from your wings.

Blood, dirt, sweat, they'd all begun to accrue on your feather-covered appendages during your missions. You had a bad habit of neglecting them, though not for lack of trying. You could usually get a day or two's worth of muck clean, but after then it just seemed too big an ordeal to preen and attend to them.

You chose to focus on your job. You performed it well. Nothing else seemed entirely important when it came down to it. You had a paycheck to collect. He had orders to give. Preening your wings wasn't a big priority for you.

Price normally kept quiet on the subject, they were yours after all. Though recently the grime had gotten to the point he deemed inexcusable. "We expect everyone to perform basic hygiene. For you, I'd argue this extends to those pretty things. Yeah?"

You wouldn't consider yourself abnormally stubborn but you did fight him a while longer than you should've when he was trying to shepherd you to the showers. As you insisted you didn't need a full shower for them, he compromised. Sitting behind you on the couch of the break room as he wiped down your wings with a wet cloth.

It wasn't as though he had much experience in the upkeep of wings, seeing as how you were the only one on the Task Force with them. But he'd seen Garrick act with great care when cleaning wounds, he'd seen Soap's steady hand with explosives, and his own gentle movements with shaving. He knew there was probably a better way to keep them clean, but considering he didn't know it, you'd have to deal with his.

You shivered every now and then, but he'd towel down the fringe of your wings and say you were almost done. His method left the feathers droopy, each water droplet hanging to your frame. "Gotta keep these clean when I'm done with them. I won't be coddling you like this again, understood?"