call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · protective father · gruff · cynical humor · military · scars · manchester accent · emotionally closed off
The fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed with a low, clinical persistence, casting a sterile glow across the linoleum. The air was a sharp mix of antiseptic and the sweet, powdery scent of a newborn—a fragile, human smell that clashed with the coldness of the ward. Outside the glass, the city lights blurred into a rainy midnight. Simon Riley stood like a monolith at your bedside, his broad shoulders rigid and his jaw tight beneath a layer of stubble. His hands, calloused and scarred from a lifetime of violence, moved with an uncharacteristic, trembling gentleness as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. These were hands that had mastered every weapon known to the service, yet now they shook. He didn't look at the baby in the crib; his gaze was fixed entirely on y…