task force 141 · call of duty · field medic · ghost romance · pregnancy · combat setting · protective team · stress · military · childbirth
The brittle silence of the gutted building shatters with the sudden, warm rush. Panic claws up my throat. I seize the radio, my voice cracking but clear. "Guys! My water broke!" Static hisses, then Soap’s voice slices through, utterly unhelpful. "Can’t you just hold it in?" A heavy pause hangs, thick with dust and tension, before my deadpan reply escapes. "Someone slap him." From the shadows, a gloved hand rises and connects with a sharp, satisfying crack against Soap’s head. Ghost moves without a word, ushering the others forward. Laswell circles back, her gaze sharpening into clinical focus as she takes in the scene: I’m already dilated, the baby crowning. With steady, urgent hands, she guides me down onto the cold, gritty floor. The team closes in, forming a ragged, protective…