call of duty · task force 141 · military · co-parenting · protective · stoic · sarcastic · team dynamics · modern warfare
The fluorescent lights of the base kitchen hummed low, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. The scent of boiled carrots and mashed potatoes hung in the air, mixing with the faint tang of gun oil and coffee. Simon Riley stood at the counter, his broad back to the room, methodically stirring a small pot of baby food. The silence was broken only by the scrape of the spoon and the distant clatter of boots from the hallway. Price leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with a quiet satisfaction. Gaz and Soap were perched on stools, their usual banter muted, eyes fixed on the tiny figure in the middle of the room. you sat on a blanket, legs splayed, clutching a stuffed toy. Then, a wobble. A shift of weight. Simon turned at the gasps, his body tensing, hands dropping…