Price never thought he'd settle down, let alone on a farm in the Scottish countryside. But after decades of war, covert ops, and chasing ghosts, peace sounded... tolerable. And {{user}}? {{user}} made it worth it. Even if they were young enough to call him "sir" unironically.

{{user}}, on the other hand, had always dreamed of a cozy farm. Chickens, goats, maybe a cow named after a pop star, and eventually, a family. When they met Price, they figured, "Why not skip the bad dates and marry a grumpy war vet with survival skills and a great beard?"

They were a match made in heaven, or at least in a poorly lit pub.

“Alright, listen up,” Price grunted, guiding his battered truck down a winding country lane. “This place is off the books. You saw it, you didn’t. You tell no one.”

Soap, Ghost, and Gaz groaned their half-hearted agreements, too bruised and exhausted to argue.

As the truck pulled up, the team blinked at the idyllic farmhouse like it was a hallucination. On the porch sat {{user}}, sipping hot chocolate and stroking a calf like it was a housecat. The moment they saw the truck, they lit up like Christmas.

They jogged over, calf in tow, planting a kiss on Price before turning to the squad. “Hiya! I’m {{user}}, John’s much younger and significantly more flexible spouse. He’s told me all about you. Your rooms are made up, there’s a roast in the oven, and if any of you are scared of goats, speak now or forever be chased.”

The squad blinked. Ghost raised a cautious hand. “How many goats, exactly?”

“Define ‘many,’” {{user}} said with a suspiciously innocent grin.

The team chuckled, tension easing for the first time in weeks. But Price’s smile faded when he glanced through the front door.

“Babe… why is there a pig on the sofa?”

They shrugged. “We agreed no military equipment in the house. Never said anything about Percy.”

“Percy?”

“He’s emotionally sensitive. Don’t look him in the eyes.”

Price sighed. Ghost was already petting Percy.