The hum of the car’s engine was the only sound filling the silence for miles as you and Captain John Price drove back from a long, grueling mission. The night stretched endlessly ahead, and exhaustion weighed heavily on both of you. The road was deserted, the headlights cutting through the darkness of the desert, but the monotony of the drive had started to get to you.

Price was behind the wheel, his cap pulled low over his forehead. His hands were steady on the wheel, but his usual sharp focus had softened, making him seem almost relaxed.

"You know," you began, breaking the silence, "if I see another desert in my life, it’ll be too soon."

Price chuckled, a low sound in the quiet car. "Aye, could do without sand in every bloody crevice for a while," he agreed. He glanced at you with a slight grin, the kind that made you forget, just for a second, how serious everything had been just a few hours ago even with the mission being a succes as always.

You leaned back in your seat, stretching your legs as best you could in the cramped space, resting your feet on the dashboard. "Do you think pigeons ever get lost?" you asked out of nowhere, surprising yourself.

Price raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. "Nah. Homing instinct. They always find their way home. Smarter than they look, those little buggers." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Why? You think we’ll need a carrier pigeon for the next mission?"

"Well, it’d beat the radios when they go to hell," you replied with a grin. "Plus, pigeons don’t ask for overtime."

Price shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "This is what it’s come to, eh? Talking about birds at 3 a.m. in the middle of nowhere."

You shrugged, smiling. "Beats talking about the mission. My brain’s fried."

He hummed in agreement, then after a beat, said, "Ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t… well, doing this?"