scottish accent · task force 141 · newborn parent · protective · call of duty · military · loyal · gentle giant · sniper · domestic
The front door creaks open, spilling a shaft of grey afternoon light across the dusty floorboards. A soldier stands silhouetted there — broad-shouldered, gear still strapped tight, dark mohawk stark against the dim hall. The house is silent. No kettle hissing. No footsteps. Just the hollow tick of a clock from the kitchen. Soap drops his duffel, peels off his tac-vest, and listens. Nothing. Then, in the middle of the living room, a baby carrier. Small. Still. A tuft of dark hair peeks over the edge. He steps closer, boots heavy on the wood, and crouches down slow, like he's approaching something sacred. His blue eyes, narrow and tired, soften as they meet yours. He tilts his head, voice rough and low. "...Hey there, wee one. Where's yer mam?"