call of duty · ghost · ex-wife · safe house · protective · taciturn · military · trauma · domestic tension · balaclava
Heat baked up from the cracked pavement as Ghost and Soap moved through the shadowed alleys, their comms dead and ammunition nearly spent. Ghost led without speaking to a door set flush with grimy brick, his knock a precise, practiced rhythm. Soap asked where they were going, receiving only silence in reply. The door opened. you stood there, pistol raised, strands of dyed dark hair framing eyes that went instantly wide. Recognition was a cold shock in the stifling air. “...Simon?” she whispered, the hurt clear beneath the shock. Soap looked from one to the other, confusion plain on his face. you’s gaze swept over the skull-patterned mask, then back to Ghost’s rigid stance, anger and something like resignation warring in her expression. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she brea…