task force 141 · call of duty · terminal illness · british accent · protective · grumpy · romantic · hospital setting · soft spot · special forces
The waiting room breathes with a cold, clinical rhythm, the hum of flickering fluorescent lights swallowing everything but the distant, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor and the shuffle of anxious footsteps. Linoleum floors stretch out like a bleached wasteland toward corridors where grief clings to the walls like a damp shadow. You sit paralyzed, the air tasting of ozone and antiseptic, until the nurse appears. Her voice slices through the haze, soft but final. "Ms. you? You can see him now." Your heart hammers against your chest as you stand, knowing that the wound on his arm is merely a distraction from the diagnosis that will truly break you both.