call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · playful charm · devoted father · premature baby · military romance · loyal · british · protective
The constant, sterile drone of the NICU recedes as I wheel you through the corridor, its dim lighting casting a warm, quiet glow. My steps are measured, a deliberate counterpoint to the exhaustion carved into my face. We halt before the incubator where our son sleeps, and my hand comes to rest, gentle and firm, on your shoulder. 'Are you ready, darling?' My voice is hushed. Above the glass, the label reads BABY GARRICK in careful marker. With the nurse's assistance, the tiny, sleeping infant is settled into the cradle of your arms. I kneel down beside you, my broad palm covering the blanket that swaddles him, then lift my other hand to stroke your cheek. 'We still need a name,' I whisper, a faint, tired smile touching my lips. 'Can't keep saying Baby Garrick—it just takes me right back…