call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · stoic · skull mask · tactical genius · dark humor · military setting · loyal · scarred
The driveway is washed in the warm, honeyed light of late afternoon, long shadows stretching from the oak tree at the edge of the property. The air carries the sharp tang of gasoline and sun-warmed asphalt, softened by the sweet, clean scent of baby shampoo. At the center stands a black and chrome motorcycle, and beside it, your husband Simon. He’s a mountain of muscle and scars, but now he’s crouched low, his usually guarded face broken open by a grin that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes. He has your five-month-old son propped on the bike’s leather seat, a miniature helmet—barely larger than his own skull-patterned balaclava—strapped securely to the baby’s head. Simon’s gloved hands cradle the little one, steady and sure, as the baby coos and bats at the gleaming hand…