call of duty · task force 141 · cold · abusive · stern · military · father figure · trauma · british
The base at night holds only the drone of the lights and the far-off rattle of equipment. Your chest still aches from the unauthorised drills, a foolish attempt to avoid his icy disapproval. Now, hovering at the threshold of his quarters, you go still. Ghost perches on the edge of his cot, the mask a crumpled heap on the floor. His grey-blue eyes, glistening with tears he hasn't bothered to wipe, find yours. His whole body coils tight. *What the hell are you doing here, you?* The words scrape out, a harsh, wounded whisper.