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A/N
Hey readers! If you want to set the vibe for this chapter, hit play on above. It's the perfect backdrop for the pub scene and the team interactions. Enjoy!
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Football was more than just a sport—it was a way of life, woven into everyday conversations, celebrations, and rivalries.

Unlike in the United States, where "football" involves helmets, shoulder pads, and goals. 

Football here meant the beautiful game—a game played with a round ball at your feet, two goals to score, and an entire world watching. The passion for football (or soccer, as the Americans called it) was different in London. It wasn't just about athleticism or physical confrontation like American football, where players clashed in yards and end zones.

For these fans, a Premier League match wasn't just entertainment but a religious experience.

The Grapes' walls were covered in scarves from various London clubs, photos of legendary players, and TVs that never turned away from the latest match.

All eyes were locked on the massive screen tonight, where Manchester City faced off against Arsenal in a Premier League showdown.

For someone stepping in, the electric atmosphere might have felt unfamiliar. No first downs, no field goals. Just 22 players battling for control of a single ball, outsmarting each other with footwork, vision, and strategy.

Football wasn't about scoring; it was about the build-up, the tension, the moments that could change everything in a blink.

The air inside The Grapes was thick with the smell of beer and food, mingling with the chatter of patrons glued to the screen.

The pub's old-world charm was evident, with its dark wooden beams and a slightly worn but welcoming atmosphere. Like it would make you feel like you could sink into a corner and forget your troubles. Outside, the Thames shimmered under the night sky, but no one noticed tonight's view.

John sat at the bar, a pint in hand, his crew around him—Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and Simon "Ghost" Riley.

The noise was nearly deafening, Pearl Jam's Even Flow faintly playing beneath the crowd's roars. The game was nearing its conclusion, and the tension was high as Manchester City battled Arsenal.

Sitting on a barstool, Soap leaned forward, elbows on the counter. His entire body tense as his eyes never left the screen. With his face flickered between hope and frustration while Gaz sat beside him, his usual smug grin only growing by the minute. John knew what it's going to happen next.

"You're going down," Soap muttered, not taking his eyes off the game. "City's got this in the bag."

Gaz chuckled, tipping his pint toward Soap.

"Dream on, mate. Arsenal's been all over them tonight. Told you not to bet against me."

As if on cue, Arsenal made a quick move, the ball zipping from one player to the next until their striker blasted it into the net. The pub erupted in cheers, and Gaz's voice rose above it all as he pumped his fist in the air.

"YES! What did I say?"

"Aw come on!" Soap growled, flopping back against his seat. "One more minute and City could've pulled through!"

John took a slow sip from his pint, hiding the smirk threatening to tug at his lips.

"How many times has Gaz cleaned you out now, Johnny?"

Soap waved a hand dismissively without looking at John.

"That's beside the point."

"That's exactly the point," Gaz said, raising his pint in victory. "You're too impulsive, mate. Gotta play the long game."

"Whatever," Soap muttered, crossing his arms like a sulking child. "Next time, I'll win. Just you wait."

At the far end of the group, Simon sat in silence, his hood pulled up. He rarely joined the conversation, but the faint twitch of his lips showed that he was at least mildly amused.

Without his signature skull mask, his features were still sharp, shadowed by the hood, but no less intimidating. Years of combat had carved a calm into him that made him almost unreadable.

John, sitting beside Simon, took another sip of his pint, letting the easy banter between Soap and Gaz wash over him.

This camaraderie was a rare break from the constant grind of their dangerous work. It was nice to have nights like these. But the peace didn't last long.

"So, Cap'n," Soap's voice cut through the noise, far too casual for someone who'd just lost a bet. "How'd that date go?"

His grip on his pint tightened slightly. He didn't break his calm exterior, though, taking a long drink before setting the glass down. He could feel the weight of their attention. All eyes were on him now, waiting.

"It went fine," John replied, giving nothing away.

"Fine?" Soap echoed, his disbelief clear. "Come on, you didn't just meet up with her for tea and leave it at 'fine.' Did she pass the 'three-second stare test'?"

Gaz grinned, leaning forward. "Oh, she must've. Cap'n wouldn't have stuck around otherwise."

John raised an eyebrow, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'm not like you lads, falling for every woman who gives you a smile."

Soap scoffed, shaking his head. "That's why we're curious! You're too picky for that. She's got you smitten, hasn't she?"

John tried to ignore the way Soap had said. He didn't usually talk about personal matters, especially not with his team. But they were like brothers to him, and sometimes, it was hard to keep everything locked away.

"She's different," John admitted quietly.

Gaz leaned in. "Different, how?"

He thought back to the tea date. The way Charlie had looked at him—curious, but not pushy. "She asks a lot of questions."

"And cute?" Soap teased, leaning in with a mischievous grin.

John shot him a warning look but couldn't hide the smile that slipped out.

"Yeah. She's cute."

Gaz grinned wide, raising his beer. "To cute women who catch the Cap'n's eye."

John shook his head as he tried to stay composed. But he wasn't about to let Soap get away with too much.

"You know, Johnny," John said, his voice low, "you're awfully chatty for someone who just lost to Gaz."

He watched soap's expression twisted into a scowl, and he shot a glare at Gaz, who was grinning like he'd just hit the jackpot. With an annoyed huff, Soap turned back to John, his eyes narrowing with a disbelief.

"Sir, don't rub it in," he muttered.

"Luck?" Gaz laughed. "I've been beating you for months."

Before Soap could argue, Simon's voice cut through the banter, calm and steady. "He's right, Johnny. No strategy."

Soap shot Ghost a glare but didn't argue. "Fine. Maybe I'll switch it up. But Manchester City's still my family's team. I can't be disowned for that."

"Pfft, you're joking," Gaz added with a smirk.

"No, I'm not," Soap said seriously to Gaz and moved back to John. "Cap'n, I've been where you are. I was a jock in high school, mate. Had all the girls chasing after me. But it wasn't all fun and games."

John raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard much about Soap's past, but it didn't surprise him. Soap carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had once been on top of the world, even if life had taken a few swings at him since.

"I was popular, yeah," Soap continued, leaning back against the bar. "But I had my fair share of love and heartbreak. Dated one girl, then another..., and thought I was invincible. But it all came crashing down when one lass broke my heart. Hurt worse than any hit I've taken in the field, I'll tell you that much."

Gaz snorted. "I can't picture you heartbroken."

Soap grinned, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Believe it, mate. I wasn't always this tough. After that, I didn't stick around for dating anymore. Just moved on, one girl after the next. You know, classic 'young and dumb' mentality. Figured if I didn't get too attached, I wouldn't get hurt again."

"And then you joined the Army," John said, his voice thoughtful.

Soap nodded.

"Aye. After graduation, I figured it was time to toughen up for real. The Army straightened me out, but you never forget your first heartbreak."

John's grip on his pint tightened again. He wasn't sure what Soap's point was, but he couldn't deny the truth in what he was saying. John hadn't had a high school love like that—his life had been too complicated—but he understood the walls people built to protect themselves.

"What's your point?" John asked, cutting through the haze.

"My point is," Soap said, "don't overthink it. You like this girl? Don't waste time. Trust me, waiting too long or keeping your guard up too high doesn't do you any favors."

Gaz nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Women don't like being kept in the dark."

John raised an eyebrow at Gaz. "You sound like you know what you're talking about."

Gaz shrugged before sipping his pint. "I had my share in school. Dated the only girl I liked, but we drifted apart after graduation. She went to law school, and I joined the Army before passing selection. We didn't hurt each other, though. Now, she's a top-notch lawyer in London."

John hummed, listening to Gaz's story before Soap cut in again.

"Quick question, Cap'n—are you into American women now, or are you still partial to the British ladies?"

John shrugged. "Doesn't matter where she's from. What matters is who she is."

"So she's your type then?" Soap smirked.

John shot him an unamused look. "I don't have a type."

"Oh, you do," Soap said, grinning wider. "Young, smart, cute—that's got 'Price' written all over it."

John rolled his eyes. "What if I said I wanted to kiss her? Would that shut you up?"

Soap's eyes lit up. "Now we're talking!"

Before John could respond, Gaz chimed in. "Wait, Cap'n, you ever been serious about someone before? Or is it all one-night stands?"

John didn't answer right away. The truth was, relationships hadn't exactly been a priority for him.

Between the job, the missions, and the constant demands of his position, anything serious had always felt impossible.

Finally, he spoke bluntly. "Had more conveniences than settling down."

Soap nearly choked on his beer.

"What?" He paused, and his eyes widened along with his grin. "You? Captain Price and his one-night stands? Oh, that's gold!"

"Gold?" Simon echoed, unimpressed.

Soap laughed. "Hey, don't get me wrong, LT. I get it."

"Get what?" Simon frowned.

John stared at Soap, waiting for an answer to this rhetorical nonsense.

"You were blowing off steam, right, Price?" Soap clarified.

"That's classified," John said quickly. His tone became stern, and his eyes narrowed.

"Casual flings?" Soap guessed.

John scoffed, and he looked away.

"Boss, what he means is..." Gaz butted in before Soap could continue to pry, "... that we've all been through the dry spell. We don't need to know about your history or what you do in the privacy of your bedroom. But what caught us off guard was knowing that you would blow off steam to relieve stress, right?"

"I'm not some monk, Garrick," John gritted his teeth. There was a hint of annoyance.

"But we thought you were a hard nut to crack," Soap teased.

Simon leaned forward and chimed. "I remember that nickname."

"Nickname?" Soap glanced at Simon, then back at John.

"Don't." John snapped his head towards Simon with a glare.

Simon smirked faintly. "They used to call him 'Brooding Daddy.'"

"Brooding Daddy?" Soap repeated, then snickered. "Wow!"

"What the fu—is this for real?" Gaz said, almost petrified by the truth.

John shook his head and sighed as he glanced across the bar as if he had given up on the conversation. "It stuck for a while."

"What were you doing, sir? Walking around brooding and breaking hearts?" Soap asked.

"That's in the past, Sergeant," John said sternly without looking at neither any of his crew.

Soap leaned back, grinning like he'd uncovered the world's greatest secret.

"Should we start calling you Captain Daddy now?"

His gaze, usually focused, narrowed to thin slits as he glared at Soap.

"No."

Laughter burst from Soap and Gaz, echoing through the room, and Simon smiled as he picked up his pint and took a big gulp before setting it down on the bar.

"What's next with the American lass, boss?" Simon asked as he changed the subject.

The question made its way into his thoughts. John wasn't sure what exactly could come next, but he knew one thing for certain—he could give it another shot with Charlie.

"For starter, she likes my beard and would like to see me again," John said in his calm but firm tone. "I'll have to thread carefully since she's young and I look old enough to be her father."

"Hey, some women go after older guys for fun, you know?" Soap said, grinning in mischief.

John turned his face to him and raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that I'm some sugar daddy, Sergeant?"

"No," Soap almost laughed. "Just sayin' maybe you're... what's the word? Distinguished. Like a fine whiskey."

John snorted. "Another word, you're saying that I'm old."

"Not old, Cap'n. Seasoned," Soap shot back, still grinning like he'd won the exchange.

Simon added dryly, "Or marinated, depending on his patience level."

That earned a rare laugh from John, and he shook his head. "You lot have too much time on your hands."

"Maybe," Gaz chimed in, his grin widening. "But you've got to admit, it's good to see you interested in someone. You've been married to the job for as long as I've known you."

John let the comment hang in the air, his gaze dropped to his pint as he thought about it. Married to the job wasn't far off the mark. For years, it had been his life... until John never expected Soap to force him to divorce his job and marry a human.

"Yeah, yeah," John admitted quietly.

"I bet you that if you really like her, you're gonna need me as your best man for your wedding," Soap said, grinning still as he took a sip of his pint.

"Settle down, Johnny." John said, almost annoyed.

"Does this mean she got you hooked?" Gaz asked.

For a brief pause, they watched John rub his beard and he was contemplating for an answer. He sighed and drank most of his pint before setting it down.

"Yes."

Soap tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Sounds like someone's smitten."

"Careful, Johnny," John said dryly. "You're still on thin ice for that 'Daddy' nonsense."

"Alright, I'll behave." Soap smirked.

And John knew he will never let this go.

Gaz chuckled, taking a sip of his pint. "So, what's the plan then? Gonna take it slow, or are you diving in headfirst?"

John considered the question, his thumb running along the edge of his glass.

"Slow," he said finally. "She's young. Got her whole life ahead of her. I'm not gonna rush her into anything."

"Smart," Simon said with a nod. "But don't let that stop you from showing her you're serious."

John looked at Simon and said, "I plan to."

Well, good luck, Cap'n. And if you need any advice—"

"I'll be sure to avoid asking you," John cut in.

"Rude," Soap pouted. "But you're gonna play the 'perfect gentleman' card. You've got plans, right?"

John exhaled slowly.

"I'll kiss her when the moment's right."

"That's it? Just a kiss?" Soap said, unimpressed.

John shrugged. "Timing's everything."

"Rushing won't get you anywhere. Patience wins," Simon added coolly.

Soap rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. Just don't make her wait too long, Cap'n. Trust me, women hate that."

John signaled the bartender for another drink. There was no point in beating around the bush; he was going to plan on asking her straight: why him and what did she want from him?

Just like she wanted to know why and what does he want from her.

What do I want from her? Simple. Her. A good distraction would do me good, right? Keeps me focus on the nowinstead of doom and gloom.

Timing is everything, and it felt like every thought came back to her. Her bubbly demeanor was disarming, yet he knew he had to remain on guard. Keep his emotions in check.

What happened this morning did caught him off guard, and he couldn't deny that her feminine touches weakened his resolve.

Maybe it was time to send a message through the app—they hadn't swapped numbers yet, but that could change soon.

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Thank you all so much for reading this chapter!

Your support means a lot , and I hope you're enjoying the mix of banter, London football, and John being called a Brooding Daddy 😂 Remember, I'll be releasing three new chapters every Friday and, if I'm feeling generous, sometimes on Wednesdays too!

Let me know your thoughts or comments—I love hearing from you!

If you were in The Grapes, who would you sit with—Soap, Gaz, Ghost, or Price—and why?

Team Soap or Team Gaz? Who would win in a pub bet showdown and why?

If you could give John a new nickname (besides "Captain and Brooding Daddy"), what would it be?