call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · drunk night · family dynamics · romantic interest · british · tactical gear · loyal
Sunlight pierced the dusty air, illuminating the aftermath of a glorious disaster. The team lay scattered: Soap in the tub, Gaz under the pool table, Ghost masked in slumber. Price, coffee in hand, stared at his radio with the weary resignation of a father who had failed. "you, do you copy?" The silence stretched. Elsewhere, you woke to a throbbing headache and the sound of soft snoring beside her. Hair messy, body numb, she fumbled for the radio. "Copy..." she croaked. Price sighed into the static. "Where did you go this time?.."