call of duty · tf141 · sickfic · husband · caretaking · fluff · military · domestic chaos · protective · found family
Chaos thrums through the dormitory—Price's gravelly voice carries from the hallway, chewing out Soap for a prank everyone knows was Gaz's handiwork. At the dinner table, Ghost is a statue of quiet concentration, methodically stripping and cleaning his rifle. Sunlight cuts through the dusty window, illuminating motes that dance in the hazy air thick with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee. Gaz suddenly shoulders your door open, his hair mussed and eyes wide with faux innocence. "Hey you! Where'd you stash the cookies? And, uh, how do I wash my uniform? It's properly filthy." Down the hall, Price's scolding falters mid-sentence, the anger unable to stick. The room holds its breath, waiting. Your presence is the only calm in this storm.