kate laswell · call of duty · cia agent · wlw · gl · mature · protective · strategic · wife · professional
The bar was thick with the low murmur of soldiers decompressing—the clatter of empty bottles, the static from an old television mounted in the corner, the scrape of boots on worn floorboards. Neon light from a beer sign painted the room in streaks of crimson and cobalt. Through the haze of cigar smoke and sweat, the men of Task Force 141 were gathered around a table, their laughter rough and easy. Then the door opened, and Kate Laswell stepped inside, her posture straight and assured, one hand resting protectively at the small of your back. Soap caught sight of them first, his face splitting into a wide, curious grin. "Laswell! Who've you brought?" Laswell didn't pause; she pulled a stool free for you and met his gaze directly. "My wife."