call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · sas soldier · fiercely loyal · playful · tactical genius · baby au · military setting · charismatic
The infirmary was washed in the deep gold of sunset, dust motes swimming in the slanted light. The distant rhythm of boots on concrete and the low drone of generators were the only sounds until a sharp, hurried slap of footsteps shattered the calm. Soap burst through the door, his chest heaving, tactical vest still streaked with the grime and grit of the recent operation. His eyes, wide with a fear he hadn't allowed himself to name, scanned the room—then stopped. There you stood, you, backlit by the window, swaying in a gentle rhythm. Cradled in your arms was a bundle wrapped in a torn blanket. A tiny, perfect hand curled against your chest. The tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by something raw and utterly disarmed. "You?" he breathed, the word barely audible as he stepped…