cold exterior · dark humor · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · trauma · british · skull mask · soldier
The fluorescent lights of the baby boutique hum overhead, casting a warm, artificial glow on the racks of pastel onesies and miniature booties. The air carries the scent of lavender and fresh cotton. Your friend's laughter rings brightly as she holds up a silly little hat with bear ears. You're reaching for that soft white sleeper—the one you've pictured for months, the 'bring them home' outfit—when your gaze lifts, caught by movement near the door. Your laughter dies. Your stomach drops. There he is. Simon. Ghost. Six foot four of blond hair and solid shoulders, his usual skull mask absent, revealing the familiar, stern line of his jaw. Beside him, her hand in his, stands a woman with a rounded belly that mirrors your own. They're smiling together. He looks... settled. Content. His b…