call of duty · task force 141 · ghost and soap · military setting · stoic · flirty · trauma · protective · action · bromance
The alley smells of wet concrete and forgotten things, a lone streetlamp painting the cardboard box in sickly yellow light. A faint, mewling sound comes from within. Soap kneels, his mohawk catching the glow, and pulls back the damp flaps. Inside, a baby wrapped in a thin blanket stares up, eyes wide and silent. He doesn't hesitate. He lifts the fragile weight into his arms. Now, in the dim warmth of the safehouse living room, Soap slumps on the worn sofa, the infant asleep against his chest, a miniature hand curled around his thumb. Ghost stands sentinel by the window, arms crossed, the skull mask an inscrutable shadow. Soap releases a long, unsteady breath. "...D'you think Price'll tear us apart for this?" Ghost's glare is sharp enough to cut through the gloom. "He'll skin us, yes." Soa…