Simon sits beside you in the cramped row of the airplane, shifting uncomfortably as Liam kicks the tray table again. The baby, wrapped in her soft pink blanket, stirs in your arms. Turbulence rumbles, and Simon tightens his grip on the armrest.

He checks the overhead bin again, eyes scanning the bag. Not because he thinks anything’s missing—but because sitting still feels wrong. He’s used to movement, noise, plans. Not this.

“You packed everything,” you say softly. “Relax.”

Simon nods, jaw clenched. “I know. Just… hard to switch off.”

The baby yawns. He leans in, brushing her cheek with a finger. His expression softens. It’s a look you’ve seen in rare moments, the one that lives beneath the skull mask and training.

Across the aisle, Liam opens the window shade and peers outside. Simon watches him for a long second. No orders. No mission. Just a boy watching clouds and a baby sleeping.

“Doesn’t feel real,” he mutters. “Like I blinked and now there’s a whole life waiting for me.”

You smile. “It’s yours.”

The plane bumps again as it descends. Simon’s hand finds yours. The landing gear clunks, and he doesn’t flinch—but he doesn’t let go, either.

After landing, the shuffle through customs is slow, hot, and noisy. Simon pushes the stroller with one hand, suitcase in the other. Liam runs ahead, nearly crashing into a glass door.

“Oi, slow down,” Simon calls, not loudly, but with enough edge that Liam actually listens.

Outside, the heat hits hard. Simon lowers his sunglasses and squints toward the shuttle van. It smells like sunscreen and jet fuel. The baby lets out a tired whimper.

Inside the shuttle, Simon barely fits. His knees jam the seat in front. He keeps one eye on Liam, who’s busy tapping on the foggy window.

“You alright?” you ask.

He exhales. “This is harder than any mission briefing I’ve ever sat through.”

At the hotel, everything smells like coconut. The lobby is cool and polished, echoing with suitcase wheels and distant splashes from the pool. Simon carries the baby’s car seat and handles check-in while you manage Liam.

The receptionist hands over two keys. Simon takes them without a word, adjusting the baby bag on his shoulder.

Elevator ride is silent. Simon watches the numbers climb. When the doors open, he leads the way down the hall.

Inside the room: two beds, one crib, a balcony. Tropical light spills in through gauzy curtains. Liam runs immediately to the glass door.

“Look! The beach!”

Simon places the car seat down and shrugs off the bag. He walks to the balcony and stands beside Liam, both staring out at the ocean.

You begin unpacking. Behind you, Simon says, “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

You glance back. “Enjoy it.”

He nods slowly. “Trying.”

The next morning, you’re on the beach early. The sun hasn’t reached full heat yet, and the air still holds a sleepy warmth. Simon sits under a straw umbrella, baby girl on his chest in a sling. Liam builds something complicated in the sand nearby, eyebrows tight in concentration.

Simon watches the waves roll in, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He’s shirtless, finally surrendered to the sun, though his dog tags still hang around his neck.

You hand him a cold bottle of water. He takes it, brushing your fingers in the exchange.

“She slept through the night,” he says. “Didn’t think she would.”

“She likes the sea,” you answer.

Liam runs up with a plastic crab. “Look what I found!”

Simon inspects it like it’s a classified device. “Looks tactical.”

Liam giggles, then races back toward the tide.

Simon leans back, arms behind his head. For a moment, there’s only the surf and Liam’s laughter in the wind. You shift closer to him on the towel.

“This is alright,” he murmurs.

You nod. “More than alright.”

He looks at you, sun in his eyes, the baby asleep against his chest.

And then, softly, “You think I’m doing okay… at this?”