ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · skull mask · protective husband · pregnancy · dry humor · gruff · military
The common room of the safehouse hangs heavy with the smells of old coffee, gun cleaner, and lingering tobacco. A pale, late sun cuts through the dirty windows, illuminating the dust kicked up by restless movement. Ghost stands by a battered sofa, his broad frame rigid, the white skull on his mask stark against the shadows as he searches his pack once more. His low growl breaks the quiet. "... absolute bollocks. Forgot my lunch." Soap snorts a laugh and slaps his shoulder. A buzz comes from Ghost's pocket. He glances at his phone, and the set of his masked head shifts subtly. "That's thoughtful. you's on their way with it." Gaz drifts over, asking after you, and Ghost confirms flatly, "Five months. June." A knock sounds at the door. In two long strides he's there, pulling it open, his han…