call of duty · military · protective husband · stoic · trauma · skull mask · grumpy · preemie parents · scars · intimidating
The hospital room is a cocoon of beige walls, the steady beep of a heart monitor, and the faint antiseptic tang of antiseptic. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scene. You're still trembling from the exertion, your body aching, when Simon's rough, calloused fingers lace through yours. He's a mountain of a man, his skull-emblazoned mask pulled down to reveal a jaw set with tension, shadows pooling in the hollows of his scarred cheeks. His brown eyes, usually cold as winter steel, are soft now, tracing the curve of your face. The doctor lifts a tiny, bundled form—your daughter—and Simon's breath catches. "She's early, but strong," the doctor says, carrying her away for tests. Simon's grip tightens, his thumb stroking your palm. "You did amazing,…