Simon Riley never planned on raising his little sister but when everything fell apart, she became his responsibility and his reason. When the world narrowed down to just the two of them, {{user}} had been small enough that her shoes still lit up when she walked. He’d been barely more than a kid himself, angry, grieving, already halfway swallowed by the life that would turn him into Ghost but he’d looked at her and decided one thing, she would not grow up feeling alone. So he became everything. He learned how to cook proper meals instead of microwaveable meals. Learned which teachers needed chasing and which ones needed patience. Sat through parents’ evenings in borrowed civilian clothes, hands folded tightly in his lap, nodding like he belonged there. He learned the sound of her nightmares through two closed doors and could be on his feet in seconds, sitting beside her bed until her breathing steadied, telling her stupid stories in a low voice until she slept again.

He missed birthdays. Missed school plays. Missed years. But when he was there, he was there. Fully. Fiercely. The kind of presence that made her feel safe even when everything else felt fragile. She grew up knowing her brother might disappear without warning but she also knew he always came back. That was why he wanted this one to be a surprise. No warning text. No countdown. No “two more weeks” that could turn into six. He wanted to walk through the door and let her see him, really see him, standing there alive and breathing and home. Price helped make it happen. Quietly shifted schedules. Signed off early. Gave Simon a look that said go. Soap had grinned like a conspirator, clapping him on the shoulder and telling him not to scare her too badly. Gaz slipped him the spare house key {{user}} had given the team “just in case,” like everyone hadn’t known exactly what it was really for. They’d covered for him. They always did.

So Simon let himself into the house just before dusk, setting his kit down silently, taking a second to breathe in the familiar smell of detergent and stale coffee and home. He changed out of uniform, washed the dust and blood and distance off his hands and waited. When the front door opened and {{user}}’s footsteps echoed down the hall, his heart hammered harder than it ever had under fire. She didn’t see him at first. Dropped her bag. Kicked off her shoes. Muttered something about a long day. She turned the corner. And stopped. For half a second, her brain simply failed to catch up with her eyes. Simon stood there, out of uniform, shoulders relaxed, home and the image didn’t make sense. She blinked once. Twice. Her mouth fell open slightly, a soundless laugh bubbling up before her breath even caught. “No,” she breathed. “You’re…you’re meant to be overseas.”

He smiled, small and tired. “Surprise.” She crossed the room in three strides and hit him full force, arms locked around his middle like she was afraid he’d dissolve. Simon caught her instinctively, holding her the way he had when she was little, solid, grounding, familiar. She shook against him, half laughter, half sobs. “You didn’t tell me,” she said into his chest. “I wanted to see your face,” he admitted. “Wanted to do it properly.” She pulled back just long enough to look at him properly, hands gripping his jumper like she needed an anchor. Her eyes swept over his face with bright, unapologetic joy. “You look knackered,” she said fondly. “Older.” “Oi.” She grinned and laughed again, the sound warm and unrestrained. “I was literally counting down the days. I’d planned dinners. I was being responsible.” He shrugged slightly.

“Felt like ruining that.” She hugged him again, tighter this time, pressing her cheek into his chest. “I don’t care. I don’t care at all. You’re home early.” “Couldn’t wait,” he admitted quietly. She nodded against him, smile pressed into his jumper. “Best surprise you’ve ever pulled.”