Captain John Price x Reader

Four

Price was a stable drinker.

It took about five more rounds to get him to loosen up and talk more freely. And even after those rounds he still managed to have a clear mind and keep up with your nagging comments and questionable remarks.

But he did start to smile about one or another comment.
With a pint in his hand and an amused look in his eyes he listened as you gave him one more reason as to why the choice of people around wasn't a good one quality wise.

"They aren't made for this.", you said, already a bit tipsy but not drunk yet.

You could feel how your head was starting to get lighter and the world brighter. You had to chuckle more often, especially when he gifted you one of his looks, one eyebrow raised with a cocky smirk and an unimpressed expression on his face.

"Who would you pick?", he asked and threw a glance over his shoulder.

It was a surprise that nobody had noticed him staring yet. He was one of the largest guys in the room and his broad shoulders made it hard to see past him. It was impassible to just ignore him, because even when he sat in the corner of your eyes, you still were drawn towards the large shadow he threw across the floor.

Others surely must have noticed him too but were intimidated. After all, he did look like he could split a man in half with his bare hands.

That was another thing you had noticed about him.

Price had huge hands, almost like the paws of a grizzly.

The short sleeves of his shirt allowed you to have a good look at his biceps and arms, where thick veins ran across pale skin. They shimmered blue, indicating that he was keeping himself hydrated well on a regular basis.

So he wasn't just trained, he was also responsible.

Pleased, you smirked and hummed to yourself.

That man got better by the minute.

"You listening?", he asked.

You snapped out of your thoughts.

"I'm not.", you replied with an apologetic smirk. "What did I miss?"

With a huff, he shook his head.

"You said that there's nobody good around.", he locked eyes with you. "Tell me what your standards are."

A cold shiver crawled down your spine.

Those eyes were so hard yet so full of curiosity.

He was challenging you. It was obvious to tell that he didn't share your opinion about the people in this room and he had already made his picks.

Now he wanted to hear your opinion before he could categorise you as an ignorant dick or reasonable professional.

For a moment you let your eyes wander through the room, from one man to another and to a woman.

"That one.", you gestured with your chin towards a man standing at the bar.

He was covered in tattoos, both arms inked so strongly that not a single patch of skin was to be seen. He had a beard and short, brown hair that he had styled upwards.

Price's eyebrow rose and a satisfied sound escaped him.

"Why?", he asked you, not giving away that he was satisfied by your pick.

Your eyes narrowed. For a moment you watched the guy to take in his body language.

"He's American.", you said with your arms crossed. "Hardly a fan of em' but it's always good to have at least one on the team."

"Tell me more."

"They have guns. And special toys. Anything a soldier in need could want. So, one American on the team can't hurt."

"Why him?"

"He's proud, but not vain. The way he carries himself tells me he does his job without bragging about it. He's a solider, but also a man. Most people forget that they are more than their jobs. He didn't. He would do a good job following orders, but will make his own decision when he needs to."

"His name's Alex. Good man."

"You worked with him?"

"I did. Can't complain."

In a teasing manner you squeezed one eye shut and grinned.

"Can't say that about myself, pretty Price. Complaining is my middle name."

Rolling his eyes, Price hummed in a way to tell you he got the hint, took a sip from his pint and did a gesture.

"Go on.", he said and gifted you his polite, British smile without lips. "Three more places on the team."

You hummed and looked around again.

"That guy too.", you pointed at a black man with a hard expression and determination burning inside his dark eyes. "A bit young, to be fair. He's not long in this field, special forces I mean."

He took a quick glance.

"They call him Gaz."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Gaz?"

"Garrick. Sergeant Garrick."

You hummed. Again, you took a moment to eye him properly.

"He's still fresh.", you noted. "Curse and blessing."

"Tell me about it."

"He still has this fire in him. I suppose we all had it at some point. It will fade over time, but until he's burned out he will be the spirit of the team, always trying to do the right thing and ready to make his sacrifices."

Again, Price couldn't disagree.

"You have a good eye for people.", he leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "He knows things a cruel. But he didn't experience it yet. Not enough."

A slim smile appeared on your lips. You met his eyes again.

"That makes a good team.", you said and emptied your pint.

"Two are missing.", he said.

"They're not."

One of his eyebrows rose.

"Did I miss someone?"

You shrugged and got up. One of your hands was still on the table to leave a bill, large enough to pay for everything and leave a tip.

"You seem to know your way around those guys. I appreciate a man with connections.", you purred and winked at him. "You'd be on my team too, if I could decide. And I'd make the last member. Seems like a good combination, no? You talk, I'll act. But I guess we will never know. Good night, pretty Price. It was a pleasure to drink with you."