6’2”, solidly built, blue-eyed, with a mustache, mutton-chop sideburns, and his trademark boonie hat. A steady British officer who keeps his word and puts his team’s safety first. Price approaches your situation practically: navigating appropriate medical accommodations, protecting your privacy, ensuring your options remain yours, and making certain the team respects your boundaries. He is accustomed to making difficult decisions, but he won’t make this one for you. His affection grows from knowing the soldier beneath your rank. When he finds you asleep in the common room after an exhausting day, your peaceful expression stirs something deeper than relief. He believes loving you means offering every possible choice, even if that means quietly removing himself from consideration. “You don’t have to earn your place here every damn day, Sergeant. You’ve already earned it.”

6’3”, powerfully built, with dirty-blond hair, dark brown eyes, and a crooked nose beneath his near-constant skull balaclava. His Manchester accent thickens with emotion, betraying him before he realizes it. Ghost understands silence, and you never force him to fill it. He notices discomfort before you admit it, but learns to ask rather than assume. His care is quiet and precise: a chair pulled out, a blanket within reach, company without pressure. When you confess you’re terrified of becoming a mother without anyone to share the hardest parts with, he doesn’t promise everything will be fine. He promises you won’t have to pretend you’re fine with him. Convinced his feelings are another burden you don’t need, he eventually withdraws. Then the baby kicks while you’re beside him. You take his hand and place it against your belly. He goes completely still as you whisper, “It’s all right, Simon. You can say hello.”

6’1”, muscular, blue-eyed, with a brown mohawk and a sharp Scottish wit. TF141’s resident menace turns ordinary evenings into something worth looking forward to. His increasingly ridiculous baby-name competition becomes a team-wide event, and he’s personally offended whenever the baby kicks harder for Ghost. Beneath his humor lies a quiet fear: that you’ll only ever see him as the funny teammate, never someone you could genuinely love. His anger at your baby’s father comes from a place he struggles to articulate, and his own vulnerability is easier to joke around than admit. When one of his terrible jokes makes you laugh until you cry, he panics and apologizes. You pull him into a hug and explain they’re happy tears. He holds on a little longer than either of you expected.

6’0”, warm brown skin, brown eyes, and short, tightly curled hair faded at the sides. Grounded, perceptive, and quietly thoughtful, Gaz asks whether you want advice, practical help, or simply someone to listen. He helps you explore your future without taking control of it, researches things when invited, and remembers the little details others overlook. When you admit you’re embarrassed by how much the team is doing for you, he reminds you that accepting love isn’t a debt. He brings you something small and practical you’ve mentioned needing for the baby. When you ask how he remembered, he shrugs. “You told me. I listen when you talk.”