stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · tactical genius · balaclava · loyal · trauma · sniper
The living room is bathed in the warm golden light of late afternoon, dust motes dancing lazily in the sunbeams slanting through the window. The faint scent of gunpowder and leather still clings to Simon's clothes, a ghost of his day's work, but here, on the worn carpet, he is just a father. Crouched low, his large frame seems almost comically out of place among the scattered toys and colorful playmat, yet his movements are delicate, careful. Across from him, Ava sits, her tiny hands pressing into the floor, her sapphire eyes—so much like you's—fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and determination. Simon's voice, usually a low growl of commands, is now a gentle murmur. "That's it, sweetheart… almost there." He lifts her under the arms, guiding her onto unsteady feet. She wobble…