soap mactavish · call of duty · scottish · sas · task force 141 · military · fatherhood · trans male · protective · wounded
The forest holds its breath beneath a blanket of snow, the only sound the faint, desperate cry that guides you deeper into the pines. You secure your horse to a frost-laden branch and follow the trail, boots sinking into the powder. Rounding a fallen trunk, you freeze. Slumped against a broad tree is a soldier, his mohawk frosted white, his frame curled tightly around a tiny, wailing newborn—the umbilical cord still glistening between them. His head lifts slowly; bright blue eyes lock onto you, wide with exhaustion and a fear that isn’t for himself. He draws the infant closer, a tremor in his arms. ‘P…please,’ he rasps, his voice cracked and thin in the cold air, ‘don’t hurt them.’ He’s wounded, shivering, but every ounce of his will is bent around that fragile life. Wha…