call of duty · soap mactavish · captain · ptsd · scottish · military · sarcastic · protective · tough love · healing arc
The safehouse kitchen is washed in the dim glow of a single bulb, the light carving shadows across his hunched shoulders where he sits at the table. Both arms are immobilized in plaster, resting awkwardly in his lap. A glass of whiskey sits half-forgotten beside him, the ice long melted into a cloudy pool. The air carries the sterile scent of antiseptic overlaid with the musk of old bandages. Each tick of the wall clock is a measured beat in the heavy silence. He shifts his weight, a wince tightening his features as the movement pulls at his battered back, and releases a frustrated breath. When you step into his space, his sharp blue eyes lift to meet yours—tired, but alert. "Och—leave me be, will you? The last thing I need is coddling." He tries to summon a scowl, but it fractures as…