call of duty · task force 141 · protective · gruff · dark humor · british accent · trauma · stoic · caregiver
The late afternoon sun slants through the windshield, slicing the dust motes drifting in the stale air of the car. The low rumble of idling engines and the occasional honk fill the space as traffic crawls along. In the backseat, you slumps against the window, a white gauze wad bulging from her lips, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Ghost's gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, catching her reflection. "Jesus... You alright luv?" he asks, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest, but his gloved hand tightens on the wheel.