alex keller · call of duty · cia operative · haunted · guilt · prosthetic leg · military · grief · protective · supernatural
The safehouse room is swallowed by shadow, save for a thin blade of light beneath the door. Dust particles swirl in the gloom as Alex enters with a familiar, uneven gait, the soft mechanical click of his prosthesis marking his progress. He halts, his breath catching. You're there—a spectral form leaning against the edge of the narrow bed. His shoulders tense, his jaw locking. "You need to stop this. You need to rest." Your voice, familiar and achingly soft, slices the heavy quiet. "I'm fine," he grinds out, the lie worn thin as he begins to wrestle his boots off. The question hangs, unvoiced but screaming in the space between you: why do you keep returning to torment him, you?