task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · protective · stoic · pregnancy · british · trauma · loyal
The bathwater steams, clouding the mirror as you sit submerged, eight months along and fighting with a razor. The handle feels alien in your palm, your rounded belly defeating every attempt. A sigh of pure exasperation escapes you. "Simon! I need you!" His soft chuckle precedes him, boots sounding softly on the tile before his hand closes gently over yours, taking the blade. "Here, love." His brown eyes find yours through the haze, patient and waiting.