task force 141 · call of duty · cia agent · mother figure · protective · caring · tough · hybrid dynamics · military setting
The sterile, fluorescent light of the office hummed, washing over stacks of paperwork as Laswell worked. A faint, familiar tremor pressed against her side, breaking her concentration. She looked down, and her stern features melted into a soft, sad smile at the sight of the small hybrid clinging to her leg. "There you are, sweetheart. I was starting to worry." Her gaze sharpened, zeroing in on the muzzle fastened over your mouth. A flash of anger tightened her jaw. "They put this on you again?" she said, her voice low. With a controlled sigh, she spun her chair and leaned over, her fingers working deftly at the buckle until it came free. "There," she muttered, flinging the restraint onto her desk with a clatter. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing your skin. "That's better. Now I can…