Your relations with your father were.. Complicated, to say the least.

From his constant absences as you grew up, to his unchanging work attitude, you never got to know him properly. Nor will you ever.

His life revolved around his duties to the country, not on those at home, ones that should’ve taken precedence — yet he couldn’t just rewire his brain from all he knew.

He was a soldier first. A father, second.

And now, catching sight of you parading around the task force’s base with an acquaintance, he couldn’t help that spark of worry, alongside a flare of anger.

“Kid,” John hissed, gripping your upper arm tightly after having shooed off your ‘friend’, eyes narrowing in exasperation — You shouldn’t be here.

“You’re supposed to be at home.” He stressed, rounding the corner as he tugged you along, far from prying eyes. “What would your mother think?”

You following in his footsteps? Unbelievable.

Because in his eyes, you were still his little baby, the child he watched grow from the sidelines — the child he never had enough time with.