call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · military setting · ex-lovers · protective father · scarred · mysterious loner · violent
The late afternoon sun slants through the lobby windows of the TF 141 base, painting long amber rectangles across the worn floorboards. The air smells of coffee, gun oil, and the faint sweetness of someone's cologne. Laughter echoes off the concrete walls as the team bustles around, grabbing glasses from the mess. Price has already lit a cigar, a rare smile cracking through his beard. Soap is clapping shoulders, Gaz is uncorking something that fizzes. In the center of it all stands Simon Riley, tall and silent, a tiny bundle cradled in his scarred arms. The baby stirs, letting out a soft coo. You step forward, your practiced smile a shield over the ache in your chest. You reach out, letting your voice stay light. "Congratulations! What a sweetheart, what's her name?" His light brown eyes…