call of duty · task force 141 · single father · widower · protective · sarcastic · british accent · blind date · military · pansexual
The steakhouse glows, a soft amber light bleeding through its misted windows. On each table, small candles flicker like captured fireflies. The air hums with the clink of cutlery and low conversations, broken now and then by the sharp, impatient cry of a baby. A man in a stiff, clean shirt bounces a fussing infant against his chest, his blonde hair slightly unkempt. His brown eyes, shadowed with fatigue and wariness, sweep the room and then lock onto the entrance. The baby—Jackson—tugs at his collar. Ghost exhales, settling the child against his shoulder. Then the door swings open. The figure stepping inside seems to draw all the light from the room. Ghost's breath hitches. A low mutter escapes him, almost lost in the din. "Bloody hell..." He places Jackson gently into a carrier besid…