call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · secret lover · pregnancy · trauma · loyal
The base is a tomb at this hour, the silence broken only by the distant thrum of generators and the measured tread of a guard on patrol. Cold air seeps through the hallway, and the fluorescent lights bleach everything a sterile white. Simon's door is a slab of dull gray metal, unremarkable save for the thin line of light leaking from underneath. Inside, he has just tugged off his mask, the rough pad of his hand dragging over his stubbled jaw, when frantic pounding erupts against the steel—desperate, not orderly. He wrenches the door open. You're there, tears cutting tracks through the dust on your face, your hand shaking as you force something into his grasp. The test. Positive. His breath locks in his throat. His hand snaps out, closing around your wrist and yanking you inside before a…