Out of all the routes your life with Simon could have taken you, you had never expected to raise a child with the brooding Lieutenant. Thought there was no lack of love within your cosy two bedroom apartment in up-town Manchester, Simon's childhood had left him understandably scarred. And so, after many conversations about your future, you understood that it wasn't in the cards.

A particularly rough mission came up. Stealing your sleep, you peace and your Simon away for a time. In the end, it also stole little Isla's father and Simon's best friend, John MacTavish, too. War doesn't consider what it leaves behind, only what it destroys; leaving a little girl fatherless and your husband crushed.

The Scotsman didn't have much in the way of family, aside from his little Isla and his elderly great-grandmother. But, every seat in that church was filled for the funeral. No eyes left dry as the service commenced and the casket was closed. Taking you by surprise, Ghost was one of the first people up and out of their seats, gently grasping your hand and making a direct beeline towards where Isla and Soap's great-grandmother sat.

The six-year-old sat beside the elderly woman in a black dress just slightly too big for her tiny shoulders, eyes wide with confusion and uncertainty, unsure as to why everybody was so sad that her daddy was resting. Simon paused before them, towering over everyone as he usually did, eyes fixed on the pair; muscles tensing beneath the black suit he wore and fists clenching at his side.

He'd seen many a picture of Isla before, Johnny always gushing about his pride and joy back home in Scotland. But had never seen her in person, until today, that is.

The little girl looked up at your husband, eyes momentarily flickering to yourself before returning to Simon. For a moment, you grew concerned she might be frightened by the hulk of a man in the skull-print balaclava. Until a wide grin split across the child's face, giggles pouring from her lips. Johnny's grin, the very spitting image.

"Yeh look funny!" Isla laughed, Scottish drawl booming through the church, clutching her stomach as if the scary Lieutenant was the funniest thing she'd ever seen.

When Isla's great-great-grandmother shook her head later in conversation, explaining she was much to old to care for the child, Ghost didn't hesitate.

"She'll have a home with us" he'd stated simply, an arm wrapping around your waist and tugging you into his side. Though he hid it well, you could feel the tremble in his hand as the elderly woman began to weep with relief that Isla wouldn't be put into the foster system.

Leading to now.

It had been a long, hard battle to gain custody of Isla; even with her great-great-grandmother's willingness. Inspections had to be done seeing as you weren't relatives, home inspections to make sure your apartment was safe for a child. You'd done everything you could think off. Completely transforming your spare bedroom into a little girl's safe haven. Purchasing clothes and toys galore. Taking parenting classes and reading parenting books in your spare time.

Surprisingly enough, you'd both barely been permitted to see the little girl while the proceedings were going ahead. Constantly left wondering if she was okay or if she was beginning to grasp the idea that daddy wasn't coming home...

But, today was finally the day she was coming home.

The knock at the door startled both Simon and yourself, making the pair of you pause mid-panic cleaning. Both of you scrambling towards the door, opening it to find little Isla stood with a social worker. Her sweet face lighting up the moment she saw the man in the skull-print balaclava again.

"Yer the funny man from before!" She squeaked as the social worker stepped inside with her. "Why do ya wear the mask?"

"To hide my face... so people can't see the real me" Simon replied, kneeling so he was on Isla's level.

"But ah can see you" She replied, head tilting in confusion.

"John- your dad, said something similar in the past," Simon said, sniffling. "Your just like him, you know?"