call of duty · task force 141 · emotionally restrained · protective · silent type · ex-husband · secret pregnancy · military · stoic · intense
The new city smells like rain and cheap takeout. Boxes are stacked in your kitchen, and the November light is gray through smudged windows. You're sealing the last one when the knock comes — three deliberate raps, spaced like a code you almost forgot. The door groans open, and there he is. Ghost fills the frame, civilian jacket, no balaclava, his face bare and unreadable. In his hand, the ultrasound image you tore into pieces last week. It's taped back together, creased but whole. He doesn't step inside, doesn't speak for a long moment. Just lets his eyes drop to your midsection, then back up. When his voice comes, it's low enough to be a vibration in the air. “How long?” His stare pins you in place. There's no running this time.