Philip Graves x (afab) Reader
I felt like writing some Philip Graves Angst, so here you go guys.
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Philip Graves had been a private man.
 He was the Commander of Shadow Company, its CEO, the face of hundreds of Mercenaries. What they didn’t know was that he was a lover, a boyfriend, having someone home that waited for him whenever he was gone. Having your world crash down around you was a funny feeling. Missiles, Russians, Shepherd. The man Phil had been so reluctant to talk about. He’d blackmailed your fiancé into starting a war he couldn’t possibly win. It was Shephard’s fault Phil was gone. He’d sent him to his death. According to Kate Laswell, sitting in their kitchen with a cup of coffee between her hands, Shepherd was still out there. The dainty little ring was glittering on your left hand. As if Phil was telling you that he was still with you. Miss Laswell’s eyes had focused on the dainty thing the second you had offered some coffee to her. It was yours and Phil’s anniversary today. He’d promised to be back from Mexico by then.
 Had dropped to one knee only a month prior to going to Mexico and asked you to marry him. You had wanted to start a family with that man. Laswell tried to get you to understand that he was evil but they didn’t know Philip. They didn’t know the way he had held you in the mornings, the way he had made you snacks or made dinner for you. How when his men showed up at your house, they were all excited to meet someone close to their commander. Phil had referred to Shadow Company as his second family. His first one had always been you, and you had accepted that. Could understand the closeness. Had fed the various squad leaders on rainy evenings before they all went back to his office to discuss tactics. They didn’t know the way Philip cried with you every time that pregnancy test came back negative. How he was still your rock in a stormy sea, but those tear stains on his cheeks had been unmistakable. Told that it would stick eventually, to keep your head up.
 After the second cup of coffee, you kicked Laswell out as kindly as you could. The woman nodded in understanding, and gave you her condolences. Spending the rest of the afternoon emptying out your stomach into the toilet bowl, you hugged one of his hoodies close. It still smelled like him. His cologne and a scent that was so distinctively Phil. Thoughts kept circling your mind. About Shepherd still being out there, alive and well, while your fiancé’s ashes were being transported to your house as you mourned him. It wasn’t fucking fair. You stopped eating. Barely kept up your water intake. Phil wouldn’t want you to wither away. You knew that. His brother stopped in a few times a week to make sure you had a stocked fridge and were in fact eating. Your whole neighborhood checked in on you. The old lady from the house across from yours brought you cookies. They were still warm, and you cried over them in your living room. Phil had loved those cookies.
 Having his ashes delivered, you placed him on the dresser in the empty bedroom. Just a bed and a dresser, a meagre guest room. It was supposed to be the nursery, should your wish for a family finally take. A British Captain showed up at your door on week 6 after the talk with Laswell. He also gave you condolences. You also offered him some coffee, which he’d accepted. He looked around your house discreetly, and you couldn’t care less so you let him. Changes began to take place in the house. His office stayed the same as it was. Eventually one of the Leaders would step up to take Commander. They would need his documents then. Phil’s brother came over again, helped moved the dresser in the bedroom to a different wall. A different bed was placed in the guest room. More comfortable. Your friends asked you if you were going to go back out there. But you couldn’t. You were still Philip’s fiancée. You would stay true to him. He wouldn’t want that.
 8 weeks after the news broke, your world came crashing down again. You cried with the urn clutched to your chest, sobbing about what you were supposed to do. A stray ray of sunshine hit your face, and you knew Phil was telling you it was going to be okay. “I don’t know what to do, Phil. I can’t do this alone,” you sobbed. Later that evening, his brother showed up again. Helped you move furniture again, build some more. This time, you knew, it would take a bit longer until you remodeled again. You spent the evenings in the guest room, talking to Phil as if he was still around. Next to his urn were two photos. One of you two after getting engaged, and another of when you two had started dating. One more thing had added the little altar. A little pink stick. Leaning against the urn, you started giving him updates. Showing pictures to the urn, telling him about the appointments. The dresser was moved to a different wall again. This time overlooking the crib.
 You were sure that Papa would want to watch over his child as they grew. You were sure to tell them all about the stories of you two being in love and in the end, that Philip Graves would’ve loved his child as much as he had loved you. Privately, but with all his heart.
