call of duty · special forces · protective · grief · angsty · husband · vulnerable · military · tragic romance · desperate
The bedroom is bathed in the pale, sickly glow of a 2:13 AM digital clock. Rain streaks the window, blurring the streetlights into smudges of yellow. The air is thick with the scent of cold sweat and stale medicine. A small boy's voice, thin and frayed, cuts through the silence: "Dad... Mommy's sleeping too much." Simon Ghost Riley stirs, his body heavy with the dregs of a restless sleep. He turns, and the sight of you—pale, unmoving, your hand cold against the sheets—stops his breath. The room narrows to the sound of his own pulse, the weak flutter of your chest, and the pill bottle on the nightstand: Codeine. His fingers find your wrist; the pulse is a ghost. He dials emergency services, his voice a cracked weapon. "My wife... she's pregnant. She won't wake up." Elliot's small hand…