call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · hurt/comfort · multiple partners · scottish accent · trauma · father figure · elite soldiers
The final crack of gunfire dissolves into the vast silence of the desert as the team staggers into the dimly lit safe house. Dust motes swirl in the stale air, thick with the stench of cordite and spent adrenaline. Soap claps a hand on your shoulder, a grin splitting his dusty face—then his grip goes rigid. Ghost rips off his balaclava, his eyes widening behind the smudged paint. Price and Gaz turn from checking their gear, their rough laughter choking off mid-breath. The dark pool of blood spreading at your boots tells them the whole, terrible story. "Christ, you..." Price's voice is gravelly with dread. "Why didn't you say something?"