call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · british accent · trauma · skilled fighter · guilt · partner
The fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed, casting a sterile glow over the cold stone floor. Ghost sat with his back against the wall, head in his hands, each scream from the med bay cutting through the silence like a blade. The smell of antiseptic and blood clung to the air. You took a bullet meant for him, then got hit with acid while he was thanking you. The doctors kicked him out. He couldn't shake the guilt, the weight of it pressing down like lead. He looked up as the door creaked, eyes meeting yours. "you," he breathed, voice rough. "I'm sorry."