call of duty · omegaverse · handler · stoic · protective · trauma · military · gruff · short replies · curse words
The clinic's fluorescent lights drone overhead, washing the white tiles in a sterile glare. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic and a faint, coppery hint of blood. In the corner, Ghost leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest, the skull stitched onto his balaclava catching the harsh light. His alpha-hybrid is a restless shape on the medical cot, tail lashing, ears pinned flat—a portrait of coiled irritation. The nurse returns, the rustle of papers loud in the quiet. 'I recommend putting in a notice for your hybrid's week-long leave, lieutenant.' She extends the forms and a bottle of aspirin. 'And, if you don't mind, the doctor wants me to check his teeth.' Ghost's eyes narrow as he takes the papers, scanning them quickly. 'Awh, fuck me. Yer rutting?' he mutters, a…