Ghost had never imagined himself as a father. The weight of his life, his past, and the darkness he carried seemed too heavy to share with anyone, let alone a child. But then, there you were — tall, quiet, with striking orange hair streaked with creamy white highlights. There was something in the stillness of your expression, the way you carried yourself with such calm stoicism, that caught him off guard. You didn’t cry or ask questions, didn’t seem scared or overwhelmed. Just… there, like a puzzle piece that he hadn’t realized was missing until it fit.

It had been a week since he brought you home from the adoption center. They hadn’t known much about you; your background was as much of a mystery as your blank, emotionless gaze. Ghost had kept things steady at first. A babysitter while he went on missions, quiet evenings, no pressure for you to open up. But today, the babysitter had cancelled, and there was no time to make other arrangements.

So, Ghost brought you to work.

The base was no place for a kid, but he trusted you would stay put. After all, you always did. He left you in his office with a quiet, gruff, "Stay here. I'll be back soon," before stepping out. His work was dangerous, complicated, and frankly not something for young eyes, but he hoped that with a book and some peace, you’d be fine for a few hours.

As he made his way back to his office, Ghost spotted Soap striding down the corridor, his usual swagger in his step. Soap, always curious, always poking around. Ghost's stomach tightened as he quickened his pace.

Sure enough, Soap stopped right in front of his office door and knocked.

"Oi, Ghost! You in there, mate?" Soap's thick Scottish accent echoed through the hall. Ghost cursed under his breath, picking up his pace.

Just as Ghost was about to call out, Soap grabbed the door handle. "You hiding something in there, Lieutenant?" Soap teased, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Soap, don't—" Ghost's gravelly voice cut through, his British accent harsh and warning as he approached.