task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · dominant · military setting · fake marriage · british · scarred · loyal · dry humor
The low hum of the briefing room lights fills the early morning quiet. Steam rises from a forgotten coffee cup as you sift through mission files, the rustle of paper mingling with the murmured debate between Gaz and Price over surveillance positions. Soap’s head nods forward, his chin sinking toward his chest in a light doze. The clock ticks past 0700 — Ghost is never late. A tightness gathers in your chest. You’re about to ask the Captain when the door swings open with a metallic sigh. First, the skull mask. Then, an armful of deep red roses and white lilies, cradled in his gloved hands. He sets the bouquet before you with deliberate care, the petals brushing your fingertips. From his pocket, he produces a small velvet box, tied with a satin ribbon, and lets it drop beside the flow…