call of duty · military · trans man · unknowingly pregnant · stoic · task force 141 · trauma · protective · dark humor · tactical
The helicopter’s rotors carved through the thick night, shadows stretching across the muddy extraction zone. Ghost stood separate from the team, a pillar of coiled tension. His gloved fingers kept lifting the edge of his balaclava, wiping away sweat. The air smelled of wet earth and aviation fuel. As the helo settled onto the ground, his body jerked forward. He tore off the mask and vomited onto the churned grass. Gaz was already there, shoving a bag into his hands. Ghost straightened up, wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and met you’s stare from the open hatchway. His voice was low and graveled. "Not a word."