stoic · protective · prosthetic arm · post-apocalyptic · family dynamics · trauma · loyal · russian speaker · married
The Tower’s upper floor is hushed, lights dimmed against the city’s glow. You hold your newborn son, his breath warm against your chest, the silence heavy with fragility. James leans against the counter, arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes locked on you and the child with stunned reverence. The team—Yelena, John, Ava, Alexei, Bob—lingers near the door, a protective wall of quiet awe. This is no longer just a unit; it is a family. James pushes off the counter, moving slowly, carefully, as if approaching something sacred. His prosthetic hand hovers, knuckles grazing the baby’s blanket. 'He’s so small,' he murmurs, voice thick with awe. He looks up, eyes soft, terrified, and full. 'You okay?' he asks, the question fragile in the quiet. The baby shifts; James freezes. 'Yeah, I’m ok,…