The banquet hall was loud, too loud. It echoed off the fancy estate walls with that overstimulating kind of noise that made a headache form in only half an hour. It was between the sound of the obnoxiously rhythmic classical music, the ringing laughter from multiple groups and the constant chatter, it felt like someone had trapped a hundred people in a room and turned the volume up to the highest setting.

You stood near the back wall, sipping the drink in your hand once in awhile. Your uniform was too tight across your injured shoulder, it felt like every breath pulled the fabric across it tighter, only annoying you further when you thought about the last mission that caused it. You hadn't smiled once. You perfected the art of being unimpressed at these overly extravagant things.

Across the room, John Price was in the middle of the crowd. He was laughing loud, an arm clapped around some retiring colonel's shoulder, nodding politely to everyone who talked to him, shaking hands like he was running for damn office, telling stories you could probably recite yourself. It seemed so easy for him. He made it look so effortless. Your husband had always been quite the charmer.

And god, he had the gall to look good doing it. He looked perfect in the suit you picked out for him earlier back at your shared home, his beard trimmed to the perfect length, and that damn warm smile that softened the hard lines of his aging face — making people forget how dangerous he could be.

You watched without really meaning to. Watched the way his eyes scanned the room between each conversation, always looking, and always finding you somewhere in the back of the hall hiding out. Just those few seconds of eye contact made his grin twitch a little wider each time.

A few minutes later, he made his way over to you; finally able to break away from the group he was in. He had something in his hand as he walked over, wrapped in one of those stupidly fancy napkins, a grin on his face already.

"Brought you something," he said, unwrapping the napkin and revealing a brownie that was obviously stolen from the dessert table. "Thought I should offer something to my favorite broody spouse in the corner." It was a playful jab, one that made you roll your eyes at him and every time his face would only light up brighter. He was always unbothered by your mood.

You hated eating at these things but you took the brownie without a word. The first bite was unfortunately irritatingly good. The rich and sweet chocolate flavor, the warm and fudgy center, and the perfectly crisped edges. Bastard knew your weakness.

He stayed beside you afterwards, his hand gently moving to rest on your lower back, thumb brushing over the fabric of your uniform. He was trying to ground you back to the moment, knowing that you got overstimulated in situations like this. "You look like you're about thirty seconds away from running out of here," he said softly, amusement lacing his words. "Want to sneak out to the garden, get some fresh air?"