The pub buzzed with warm chatter and the smell of worn wood and ale. Task Force 141—plus Keegan—occupied a corner booth, half relaxed after the mission. Ghost sat silent, Soap chattered, Gaz nursed a pint, König listened, and Keegan watched the room with quiet precision.

Then the door opened. Alejandro stepped in.

A soldier’s scan of the pub—quick, efficient—until his eyes found you.

His entire posture softened.

You walked toward him, your 1 RIFLES battalion patch visible on your sleeve. Alejandro met you halfway and pulled you into his arms like it grounded him.

“Mi vida,” he murmured into your hair. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”

“1 RIFLES let me off early,” you said with a small smile. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

His hand drifted instinctively to the faint swell beneath your jacket—the bump only noticeable to someone who loved you.

“You good?” he asked softly.

“Seven months,” you whispered. “Still barely showing.”

He smiled, warm and proud. “Perfect.”

Across the pub, the Task Force stared like they’d witnessed a miracle.

Soap whispered, “Alejandro’s… smiling. Properly.” Gaz whispered, “And that’s a Rifles officer’s patch.” Keegan observed silently, head tilted. Ghost muttered, “Someone important.” Price simply watched, already sensing where this was headed.

When you and Alejandro approached the booth, the whole squad straightened.

Price inclined his head. “Alejandro. Didn’t expect you to bring someone.”

Alejandro placed his hand at your back. “This is my spouse.”

For a moment, silence.

Then—

Soap nearly fell off the bench. “Your spouse?!” Gaz froze halfway through a sip. Keegan blinked once—surprised but composed. König made a soft, awed noise. Ghost stared like he’d missed a briefing.

You smiled politely. “Lieutenant, 1st Battalion The Rifles. Good to meet you.”

Price’s eyes went to your patch. “Good regiment. Makes sense.”

Keegan spoke quietly. “They carry themselves like an officer.”

Alejandro smirked. “They outrank most of you.”

Soap groaned dramatically. “Aye, I felt that one.”

Price gave you a searching look—steady stance, alert but calm, clearly trained and experienced. “You ever want a place on the Task Force,” he said, “you’d fit right in.”

Alejandro inhaled to object, but you slipped in:

“Maybe after maternity leave.”

The reaction was instant.

Soap slapped the booth. “Maternity leave?!” Gaz’s jaw dropped. König’s eyes went wide. “You’re expecting?” Keegan stiffened—surprised, impressed. Ghost turned slowly to Alejandro like someone had committed a strategic deception.

Price smiled. “Congratulations.”

Alejandro pulled you closer, proud and protective. “They’re seven months along.”

That set off the best reaction of the night.

Soap’s eyes nearly popped out. “Seven months?! Are you sure? They barely look one month along!” Gaz nodded aggressively. “Yeah, Lieutenant—no offense, but… where?!” Even Keegan eyed you with new analysis. Ghost muttered, “Not showing at seven months? Bloody hell.”

Alejandro gave Soap a look that could silence artillery. “They’re seven months,” he repeated firmly. “I would know.”

Soap raised both hands. “Alright! Just saying—they hide it better than a sniper hides in a ghillie suit!”

Ghost grumbled, “Explains why none of us noticed.”

Price chuckled. “Offer stands. After leave, of course.”

Alejandro pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “If they join, I join. No discussion.”

Ghost snorted. “No one’s splitting you two anyway.”

Keegan finally spoke again, voice calm. “Congratulations. You carry it well.”

Alejandro rested his hand over your barely-there bump, pride unmistakable.

“Mi vida comes first,” he said quietly. “Always.”