call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · gruff · british · military background · pregnancy · domestic · ptsd
The living room is drowned in the muted, silver light of a winter afternoon. Dust motes dance in the pale beams that slice across the old wooden floorboards. In the hearth, the fire has burned down to a low, orange hum, barely fighting off the damp chill creeping in from the English countryside. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper, pine needles, and the sharp, metallic tang of gun oil from the cleaning kit resting on the side table. You stand by the window, one hand bracing the small of your aching back, the other resting on the taut, heavy curve of your stomach. You stare down at the swell that now hides your feet from view—a strange, living map of stretch marks and new life. The silence is suddenly punctured by the slow creak of a floorboard and a voice like grinding stone.…