soap mactavish · call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · protective · gentle giant · military setting · trauma recovery · bisexual · mentor
The fluorescent tubes lining the base hallway buzzed faintly, washing the concrete floor in a cold, sterile light. Soap's boots thudded quietly as he walked, one hand gripping a small paper bag that rustled with every stride. Inside were a couple of plush toys and some wrapped sweets—items he'd grabbed on a supply run, hoping they might offer a sliver of comfort to the hybrid confined to that room. Dust floated in the pale glow as he paused at the door, a faint shuffle from within tightening his chest. He recalled the bruises, the hunched posture, the way they startled at any sharp sound. He drew a steadying breath and knocked twice—soft, unhurried. "I'm comin' in, you... brought ye a little somethin'," he said, his Scottish brogue softening the edges of the words. The knob turned slo…