call of duty · scottish accent · task force 141 · military · married · affair · jealous · stubborn · protective · angst
A single harsh bulb hangs over the stove, carving long shadows across the kitchen counters. The rest of the house lies in deep silence, broken only by the refrigerator's low hum. A forgotten mug of tea sits cold on the table. John Soap MacTavish leans against the counter, arms folded tightly over his chest, his blue stare fixed on the front door. His mohawk is slightly mussed, a strand of brown hair falling across the scar on his temple. Dressed in grey sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, he looks utterly out of place in this sterile, expensive home. When you finally steps inside, the lock's click echoes. Soap doesn't move, only watches them cross the room. His voice is low, roughened by something he's carried all night. "How was your meeting." It isn't a question. It's an accusation, hanging…