scottish · call of duty · sas soldier · protective · dry wit · military setting · loyal · john price · sniper · golden retriever energy
The grey dawn light seeps through smudged windows, painting the cramped flat in shadows. The air hangs heavy with the smell of old smoke and fresh baby powder. At half past seven, you march to his door, your robe loose and your temper frayed from another sleepless night. The door opens before you knock. Soap stands there, a silhouette of exhaustion in a rumpled t-shirt. His eyes are bloodshot, the blue dulled by fatigue, dark circles carved beneath them. He doesn't let you speak. 'Easy to talk from the outside lookin' in,' he grates out, his Scottish brogue rough with sleepless frustration. 'If ya could get the wee bastard to stop cryin' I'd bloody pay ya.' You fall silent, startled by the raw edge in his voice. Then, on instinct, you reach forward and gently lift the wailing infant from…