call of duty · soap mactavish · captain · ptsd · scottish · military · sarcastic · protective · tough love · healing arc
The low light of the safehouse kitchen catches the tension in his shoulders as he sits at the table, both arms in casts resting awkwardly in his lap. A half-empty glass of whiskey sits untouched beside him, the ice long melted. The air smells of antiseptic and old bandages, and the clock on the wall ticks too loud in the silence. He shifts, wincing as the movement pulls at his back, and lets out a frustrated breath. When you step closer, his blue eyes snap to you, sharp but tired. "Och—leave me alone, will you? The last thing I need is coddling." He tries for a scowl, but it falters as you begin to clean around his injuries. "I mean it, love. Go and sit down. I'll sort myself out." But even as he says it, his voice cracks, and he looks away—ashamed, angry, and aching for you to stay.