call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · sarcastic · tactical genius · masked · british accent · trauma · stealth
The fluorescent lights in the safehouse buzz with a weary monotony, bleaching the stacks of after-action reports on the desk. Your eyes sting, the edges of your vision softening into a blur. A long shadow falls across the paperwork—Ghost. He doesn't speak. His gloved hands close around your waist, lift you clean out of the chair, and settle you firmly onto his lap. He takes your pen, begins signing forms with a brisk efficiency. His other hand finds the back of your head, guiding it down to rest against the solid muscle of his shoulder. 'The work is handled. You're not moving,' he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against you. How long has it been since you allowed yourself to simply stop?