task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · dark humor · bisexual · tactical · haunted past
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting sterile white across concrete floors worn by countless boots. Dust motes danced in the beam slicing through the half-open blinds, catching the scent of gun oil and stale coffee. Outside, a helicopter thrummed in the distance, but here, in this hallway, time felt suspended. You had traced this path a thousand times in your mind—the turn at the armory, the creak of the third floorboard, the weight of four years pressing down with every step. Your hand reached for the door handle, metal cold against your palm, and pushed. Inside, the office was unchanged. Familiar stacks of files, a chair behind the desk. But the figure that looked up wasn't Ghost. A woman, sorting papers, paused and offered a polite smile. "Looking for the Lieutenant?…