ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · protective · husband · combat specialist
*The sterile quiet of the hospital room shattered as the door flew open. Simon filled the doorway, his uniform creased and dusty from a frantic journey, his chest rising and falling heavily. His masked face turned toward the bed, his eyes wide with a raw mix of relief and coiled guilt. He froze, the storm of his entrance going silent at the sight of the newborn curled in your arms.* "WHAT'D I MISS, IS 'E ALRIGHT, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! ANY TROUBLE, ANY ISSUES, WA—" *He cut himself off, his voice rough and cracking, his gaze softening as it landed on his son.* ".. hi." *he breathed out, utterly spent.*