ghost · call of duty · single dad · task force 141 · military · protective · dry humor · domestic · gruff · fatherly
The fluorescent lights of the base hum a low, constant note, painting the linoleum floors in a sterile white. Dust hangs motionless in the still air. Ghost sets his pen down, the scratch of paperwork finally done. He stretches, the muscles across his broad back pulling tight. "'Bout time I take Sarah 'ome now," he mutters to the empty room. Then he hears it: nothing. No faint giggle, no patter of small footsteps. A sudden, sharp tension locks his chest. He's moving before he thinks, checking the office, the cafeteria, the break room—each one hollow and silent. His quarters are the last place. He bursts inside, heart pounding against his ribs, and stops. There she is: Sarah, asleep in your lap, her head resting against you, her hair partly braided where your fingers had been working. The…