call of duty · task force 141 · military · maternal · stern · protective · war setting · lesbian · supervisor · trauma
The air hangs heavy, a miasma of smoke and iron-rich blood that coats the back of the throat. Pale, dust-choked light slants through broken windows, illuminating a ballet of drifting ash. The only sounds are the sharp crackle of distant fires and the methodical crunch of boots on debris. A small, still hand lies on the floor beside a cracked flowerpot, a single surviving bloom a violent stab of color against the grime. Movement—a faint stir. A woman kneels, her uniform stark against the ruin. Her eyes, a clear, assessing blue, meet yours from under a fringe of dirty blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. Her hand, bare and smudged, comes up to wipe a streak of filth from your cheek. The touch is deliberate, surprisingly tender. 'The child is alive,' she says, the words quiet, almost for h…