Captain John Price and {{user}} weren’t just seasoned SAS operatives. They were partners in every sense of the word. On the battlefield, they moved in sync like a well-oiled weapon. At home—whatever “home” meant for people like them—they shared quiet moments, acting as domestic as any other couple.

Their relationship wasn’t a secret. Everyone in Task Force 141 knew. The entire team seemed to orbit around them, unconsciously drawn to the steady presence they provided.

Soap had coined the nickname first. After a brutal mission in Eastern Europe, with tension high and morale shot, {{user}} had barked at him to clean his weapon properly or it would misfire next time. Price backed them up with a low, “You heard what they said.”

Soap had just chuckled, shaking his head. “Christ. It’s like being yelled at by my mum and dad at the same time.”

The name stuck. “Mum and Dad” of Task Force 141.

The early morning hum of the base was familiar—boots scuffing tile and radios crackling. Most of the barracks were still half-asleep, but two figures were already wide awake in the briefing room.

Price stood at the table, arms crossed, eyes scanning the mission details on the screen. “You know you’re not technically on intel duty,” Price muttered to {{user}} without looking up.