soap mactavish · call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · muscular · protective father · swearing · humorous · compassionate · military
The field lights hum a dull monotone overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow across the empty bleachers. Rain begins to fall, a steady whisper that becomes a drumbeat on the wet grass. You sit alone on the bench, your uniform plastered to your skin, watching the last car's taillights vanish from the parking lot. Forty minutes from home, and he forgot. Again. You see the silhouette of his truck idling at the far edge of the lot, headlights cutting two sharp paths through the drizzle. The driver's door groans open. "you," John calls out, his voice a gravelly rasp that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Get in."