How many times had you checked the door? Was it locked? The lights—did you turn them down? And the cream for mosquito bites, did you pack it? Alright... everything was settled. Simon was already at the wheel, tapping his fingers rhythmically as he watched you zoom in and out of the house. "Bottles?" you called out. "In," he replied without complaint. "Medical kit?"

"Checked. Twice."

It was a rough start, but worth it, wasn’t it? No war. No battlefield. Just months of deserved freedom, out of the military gear. No task force, no Soap or Ghost. Just Simon, John, Price, Gaz, and the others. A well-deserved camping trip. Price's idea, probably getting sentimental with age, maybe valuing life more.

The tents were up. Sure, yours had looked a little crooked, but Simon had fixed it without a word. Now it was night. You were exhausted from the long ride. The wind was quiet, chilly even, but the campsite in the forest felt secure. Honestly, what bear would dare come near four military men and their partners?

Price's deep voice hummed in the background, sharing stories from old missions, his tone nostalgic. John cracked a few terrible jokes, and Gaz’s partner laughed quietly. You could feel your eyes growing heavy, the warmth of the fire lulling you to sleep. You blinked slowly, looking up to find Simon behind you, his strong arms wrapped around your waist. His eyes were fixed on Price, neutral as always, but you knew he was listening. You absentmindedly traced your fingers over the ink on his forearm, zoning out in the warmth of his presence.

Every now and then, Simon’s head tilted down, his breath warm against the top of your head as he glanced at you, making sure you were alright. His hand gave you a gentle squeeze, a silent question.

“You asleep?” Simon’s voice rumbled low in your ear.

You shook your head lazily, leaning more into him. “Not yet.”

"Thought so," he muttered, "Go on then, get some sleep."

"Come with me?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

"In a bit. You go ahead."