Captain John Price had always thought of himself as a man of grit. He had patience, discipline, and enough charm to get along with just about anyone. That was how he saw himself. Others might disagree. Ghost often muttered about his "gruff old-man attitude," and Soap—well, Soap could never resist calling him a "stubborn bastard." But Price knew his strengths, and he wore them well.
What he didn't wear well, however, was this.
Standing in the middle of his quarters, watching as the blonde-haired, green-eyed woman meticulously folded his shirts, Price felt a level of discomfort that no battlefield could replicate. She was too perfect—painfully perfect. A long skirt brushed the tops of her neatly polished shoes, and her blouse was crisp and white, complete with a little bow at the collar. If her immaculate uniform weren't enough, there were her glasses: oversized, oval lenses perched on her nose, which she adjusted every so often with an absentminded tap.
Ade, they'd called her. One of the Nikkes. Her skills? Domestic perfection, apparently.
Price cleared his throat. "You don't have to do that, y'know. I can fold my own bloody shirts."
Ade looked up, blinking behind her glasses with a calm, professional smile. "It's no trouble at all, Captain. I'm here to make your life easier."
Easier. Right.
Price scratched his beard, unsure how to respond. He was a soldier, not some rich lord in need of pampering. He didn't know how to deal with this... situation. Meals delivered to his desk. Laundry folded before he even realized it was dirty. Hell, she even polished his boots without asking.
But what truly unsettled him wasn't her efficiency. No, it was the nagging suspicion that someone, somewhere, had done their homework. Because Ade? She was straight out of his teenage bloody fantasies.
"Long skirts," Price muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Why's it always the skirts…"
"Did you say something, Captain?" Ade asked, her voice soft but impossibly crisp, like a schoolteacher catching a student doodling in class.
"Uh, no," Price said quickly, straightening his posture. "Just, uh, thinkin' out loud."
She nodded, satisfied, and returned to folding his shirts with the kind of precision that would make military quartermasters weep with envy. Price, meanwhile, tried to focus on anything other than the utterly maddening way her blouse fit just a little too snugly across her chest.
This was torture. Absolute bloody torture.
Price wandered to the window, looking out over the base. He needed a distraction, something to get his mind off the absurdity of having a maid assigned to him. Not just a maid—a Nikke maid. The Government's idea, apparently. Some nonsense about improving "morale" and "efficiency" among the task force. Price had initially dismissed it as bureaucratic fluff.
Until Ade had shown up at his door with a polite knock and an armful of cleaning supplies.
"Captain Price?" she'd said in that perfect, calm tone of hers. "I'll be assisting you from now on."
At first, he'd assumed it was some kind of joke. Soap or Gaz must've put her up to it, right? But no, it was official. Orders straight from the top. And now here he was, stuck with a blonde bombshell in a maid's uniform, trying not to lose his bloody mind.
He could still hear his mother's voice in his head, yelling at him when she'd found that magazine under his mattress all those years ago. "John! What on Earth is this filth?!"
Price smirked faintly at the memory. His father had taken the magazine, promising to "deal with it." Price had later discovered it hidden under the old man's toolbox in the shed. That clever bastard.
The smirk vanished as Ade walked up beside him, holding out a cup of tea. "I thought you might like this," she said, her voice breaking into his thoughts.
Price took the cup, muttering a quiet "thanks." He sipped the tea, which was, of course, brewed to perfection. "Y'know," he said after a moment, "you don't have to go all out like this. I'm not some posh git who needs his boots polished and his tea made."
Ade tilted her head, regarding him with an expression that was both kind and vaguely amused. "It's not about what you need, Captain. It's about what you deserve."
That stopped him in his tracks. He stared at her, unsure how to respond. Ade, unfazed, returned to tidying up his already-spotless quarters.
Price set the tea down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, uh, Ade," he began, searching for the right words. "You don't have to treat me like some… royal, alright? I'm just a soldier."
Ade paused, turning to face him. Her green eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked almost… concerned. "You're more than just a soldier, Captain. You lead. You protect. You've dedicated your life to others. If anyone deserves a little kindness, it's you."
Price blinked, caught completely off guard. He wasn't used to this kind of talk. Praise, sure. Respect, of course. But kindness? That was a whole different ballgame.
Before he could respond, Ade adjusted her glasses and smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check on the stew I've been preparing. Dinner will be ready in an hour."
And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving Price standing there like an idiot.
An hour later, Price found himself seated at a small table, staring at a bowl of stew that smelled so good it could've come from a five-star restaurant. Ade hovered nearby, watching him expectantly.
"Well?" she prompted. "Aren't you going to try it?"
Price picked up his spoon, feeling oddly self-conscious under her gaze. He took a bite—and immediately hated how good it was. Rich, flavorful, perfectly seasoned. Damn her.
"It's… good," he admitted reluctantly.
Ade's smile brightened, and Price found himself looking away, suddenly very interested in the wall.
As he ate, he couldn't help but notice how quiet the room felt. Peaceful, even. It was strange. Normally, his quarters were filled with the sound of radios or the chatter of his team. But now, with Ade bustling about and the faint aroma of stew lingering in the air, it almost felt… domestic.
Price frowned. That was a dangerous thought.
When he finished eating, Ade whisked the bowl away before he could even think to protest. "I'll take care of the dishes," she said. "You just relax."
Relax. Right.
Price leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigar as he watched her work. Despite himself, he found his mind wandering. Who had assigned her to him? And why? It couldn't be coincidence. Someone must've known about his… preferences.
Not that he still had those preferences, of course. He was older now. Wiser. More disciplined. He didn't let himself get distracted by such thoughts!
Ade turned slightly, the light catching her glasses as she adjusted them. Price's brain short-circuited for a moment, and he quickly looked away, focusing on the cigar in his hand.
He was doomed.
The door creaked open, and Soap poked his head in. "Oi, Captain. Just checkin'—oh!" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting between Price and Ade. A slow grin spread across his face. "Am I interruptin'?"
Price glared at him. "What do you want, Soap?"
"Nothing, nothing," Soap said, stepping inside. "Just thought I'd see how you're enjoyin' your new… arrangement."
Ade, ever polite, turned to Soap with a warm smile. "Good evening, Mr. MacTavish. Can I get you anything? Tea? Stew?"
Soap held up his hands, laughing. "Nah, I'm good, lass. But thanks."
Ade nodded, though her smile suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "Of course, Captain."
Soap snickered but retreated, leaving the door slightly ajar as he called over his shoulder, "Enjoy yourself, Captain!"
Price groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna kill that man."
Ade tilted her head, her glasses slipping just slightly down her nose. "Something wrong, Captain?"
Price sighed. "It's nothin'. Just… don't listen to Soap, alright? He's a bloody menace."
Ade nodded, though her smile suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "Of course, Captain."
Next Episode- "Casino Espionage"
Nikkes infiltrate an infamous casino in Mexico. Apprently the Cartel love this place, and they arent talking about their business and revenue this time around. A conspiracy turns and turns!
More fan service featuring your favoite Nikkes (at least some of them, I'm just one writer!)
But will things go according to plan?
Find out on Monday!
~Peacefull times!~
AN: Special Thanks to Spartan-140, this is for you buddy!
