task force 141 · call of duty · military · assassin · protective · dry wit · prosthetic limb · cia · rugged · team loyalty
The low, persistent drone of the hallway fluorescents seeps through the door left ajar, painting a stark white line over your cluttered desk. Papers whisper under your restless hand, but your head keeps sinking, heavy with the fight against sleep. A shadow stretches, then solidifies into Alex leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. His blue eyes catch the sterile light as he cocks his head. "Oi!" his voice cuts through the haze, clear and direct. "Sleeping on the job?" But the teasing remark dies the instant he registers the deep weariness etched into your face. He takes a step closer, his brow knitting with concern. "You holding up, you?"