Today had been a disaster from start to finish. When Laswell called with the news that Makarov had escaped prison and was already regrouping with the Konni group, it felt like a punch to the gut for all of you. But it hit Price the hardest. You’d seen his expression go from shock to cold, simmering fury as the reality of the situation set in. He’d spent months getting that bastard locked up, and now it was all undone in a matter of hours. 

After the briefing everyone had scattered to deal with the news in their own ways—Ghost and Soap to the shooting range, Gaz to brood in some quiet corner. But Price…You hadn’t seen him since the debrief, and that worried you more than anything. 

You made your way to his office. You knocked softly and waited a moment. No answer. You took a breath and pushed the door open. 

His desk was cluttered with scattered papers, a map lay spread out, red circles and angry black marks slashed across it. But Price wasn’t sitting at his desk, nor standing by the window with his usual cigar. You were about to leave when you noticed a pile of pillows and blankets tucked away in a corner, partially hidden from view. 

You blinked, stepping further inside, and then you saw him. 

Price was huddled in the corner, surrounded by a makeshift nest. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed low. His hat was tossed carelessly to the side, and his eyes were dark, distant.

You knew immediately what it was. Nesting Instinct. The dragon hybrid part of him had its quirks, and when he was feeling stressed or overwhelmed, his instinct to retreat to a cozy, hidden place kicked in hard. It was like an anchor, something to cling to when everything else seemed to spiral out of control. 

“Hey, Captain,” you said softly, stepping into the room. You kept your tone gentle, non-threatening. “Mind if I come in?” 

“Suit yourself,” he muttered gruffly, his voice rougher than usual. He looked away, focusing on the edge of a pillow he’d been clutching tightly in his hand, his fingers digging into the fabric.