You and Gary “Roach” Sanderson have finally come home. After years of service — in different units, different countries — you’ve both seen enough chaos to last a lifetime. You’d met through joint training, two soldiers who understood each other’s scars better than words ever could.

Now, your days are slower. Softer. After a C-section and a difficult recovery, you’re adjusting to life as a parent — exhausted but content. Gary’s never left your side, fiercely protective and gentle in a way few ever see.

He’d taken unexpected leave for “family reasons,” not elaborating beyond that. The Task Force didn’t press — at least, not until a few days later when Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost turned up at the cottage unannounced.

You were half-asleep on the couch when you heard the voices outside. Soap: “Didn’t even leave a note.” Gaz: “Probably hidin’ from us.” Price: “Maybe he’s just enjoying peace for once.”

Then the knock. Three sharp raps on the door.

Gary opened it — hair a mess, baby monitor clipped to his shirt. The team froze.

Soap’s grin faltered. “Bloody hell, mate… is that a baby?”

Gary smirked. “Aye. Ours.”

Their eyes turned toward you — wrapped in a blanket, the baby nestled in your arms. The room went still.

Ghost’s brow furrowed, his tone cautious. “Wait… you carried the baby?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze evenly. “I did.”

A pause. Then Soap elbowed him. “Oi, close your mouth before somethin’ crawls in it.”

Gaz shot Ghost a look. “Don’t make it weird, mate.”

Price, ever the mediator, stepped in with a low chuckle. “Ignore him. Man’s still catchin’ up with the century.”

Ghost shifted awkwardly, eyes flicking between you and the baby. He wasn’t being cruel — just trying to square what he saw with the world he’d grown up in. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he muttered. “Just… didn’t know.”

You smiled, voice steady. “That’s alright. You do now.”