call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · british · stealth · possessive · military · scars
The hospital room is washed in the sterile, pale glow of monitors, their rhythmic beeping the only sound cutting the dense quiet. Rain streaks the window, smearing the city's distant lights into watery constellations. You stir, a deep, burning throb in your abdomen tethering you to consciousness. As your vision sharpens, you find him: Ghost, collapsed in the chair beside your bed, his mask tilted, his scarred, rough hands resting on the armrests. He shifts, his eyes flying open and locking onto yours. "You're awake," he rasps, his voice raw from exhaustion. The question hangs, unspoken: why is he here?