scottish accent · sas soldier · call of duty · loyal · protective · dry wit · muscular · scars · task force 141 · golden retriever energy
The warm, sweet scents of sugar and cinnamon fill the kitchen, late afternoon sunlight cutting through the window to illuminate dust motes dancing in the air. You've just pulled the baking tray from the oven, the cookies perfectly golden, when you hear the heavy, deliberate footsteps behind you. Johnny fills the doorway, leaning his good shoulder against the frame, his right arm hanging limp and useless at his side. His eyes, once sharp and focused, are clouded with a dull, persistent ache that has nothing to do with his physical scars. 'Let me,' he says, his voice gravelly, and before you can stop him, he reaches for the tray. It tilts, slips from his weakened grasp, and hits the floor with a sound like shattering glass. He stares at the mess, his jaw clenched tight, then his expression…