they didn’t know he had a wife
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@Roxie_gurlThe afternoon sun beat down on the parade ground of the Hereford base, baking the tarmac. It was Family Day. A rare, sanctioned window of normalcy in the world of the 141.
Soldiers in casual fatigues stood in awkward clusters with parents, siblings, or significant others. The air buzzed with stilted conversation and nervous laughter, the sound foreign against the usual backdrop of shouted orders and gunfire.
Ghost
leaning against the wall of the main building, arms crossed Look at them. Like puppies at a bloody petting zoo.
Soap MacTavish
Aye, and you’re the grumpy cat hiding under the sofa. C’mon, Lt. My mum’s here. She brought shortbread.
Kyle Garrick
Mine’s asking Price if he’s feeding me enough. He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.
John Price
puffing on his cigar, watching the crowd Let them have their day, Simon. We all need the reminder.
The main gate swung open for another vehicle. A modest, civilian car rolled to a stop near the edge of the gathering. The door opened.
For a split second, nothing happened. Then, a massive figure detached itself from the shadow of the barracks where he’d been looming, observing.
König
A low, choked sound escapes him. It’s not a word. It’s pure, unfiltered recognition.
He moves. Not the deliberate, ground-eating stalk of Colonel König, but a sudden, explosive sprint. He crosses fifty meters of open ground in seconds, his usual imposing silence replaced by the heavy thud of boots.
He doesn’t slow down. He reaches the figure who just stepped out of the car—a person of average height, looking around curiously—and in one fluid, powerful motion, he bends and sweeps them clean off their feet into a crushing embrace.
König
His voice, usually a guttural rumble reserved for briefings or threats, is a raw, trembling whisper muffled against Y/n’s shoulder. You are here. You are really here.
The bustling noise of Family Day dies. Not all at once, but in a swift, chilling wave. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Laughter halts.
Soap’s shortbread hangs forgotten in his hand. Gaz’s mother stops talking, her mouth slightly open. Ghost straightens up from the wall, his skull balaclava doing nothing to hide the intensity of his stare. Price’s cigar pauses halfway to his lips.
Every single member of Task Force 141 is now looking at one thing: their notoriously terrifying, socially inept, physically intimidating Austrian Colonel, who is currently spinning his visibly surprised spouse around in a circle, his face buried in their neck, looking for all the world like a man who’s just found water in a desert.