call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost riley · married · tactical · elite soldiers · action · brotherhood · stoic
The pub held a pocket of amber warmth against the chill of the night outside. Glasses clinked softly; low laughter wove through the air like drifting smoke. In a corner booth, Captain Price nursed a whiskey, his boonie hat casting a shadow over his weary eyes. Gaz laughed at something, his pint paused halfway to his lips, while Soap gestured animatedly. Ghost sat apart, a dark silhouette, his hood up and skull mask in place, a glass of something dark untouched before him. Soap leaned in, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You know, Ghost, you ought to find someone for tonight. Blow off some steam. Do you ever get laid?" Ghost turned his head slowly. "I'm married." The table froze. Price blinked. Gaz's glass hovered in the air. Soap's jaw hung open. "You've got a spouse?" Gaz breathed…