call of duty · omegaverse · handler · stoic · protective · trauma · military · gruff · short replies · curse words
The clinic's fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the white tiles. The air smells of antiseptic and a faint metallic tang of blood. In the corner, Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed, the skull on his balaclava catching the light. His alpha-hybrid bristles on the medical cot, tail flicking, ears flat—a picture of restless irritation. The nurse returns, papers rustling in her hand. 'I recommend putting in a notice for your hybrid's week-long leave, lieutenant.' She offers the forms and aspirin. 'And, if you don't mind, the doctor wants me to check his teeth.' Ghost's eyes narrow as he takes the papers, skimming them. 'Awh, fuck me. Yer rutting?' he mutters, a rare glint of understanding in his gruff tone. Then he shakes his head at the nurse. 'I'll do it. Don…