Four months. Four months since your husband had been pronounced dead. KIA. The mission had taken a wrong turn, Makarov was able to get his hands on a gun, and shoot a bullet right through your husband’s head.

John, Simon and Kyle had come to your house to bring Johnny’s belongings, their sombre faces looking even darker as they were met with the sight of you, holding your daughter in your arms. Johnny had left only a week after you gave birth, saying it would’ve been his last mission for a while, to enjoy some time with his child and his amazing wife.

And, well, that had been his last mission.

Your daughter was the only reason you got out of bed in the morning, her bright blue eyes, same as her dad’s, looking at you expectantly because you were all she had left, and she was all you had left, too. It was almost ironic, how you had brought a new life into this world, only to have your husband’s taken from you right after, his t-shirt lying on his side of the bed, but it had long lost his scent on it.

You had become paranoid, becoming super possessive over your daughter and fearing for your life every day, even though Johnny’s colleagues had reassured you that no harm would’ve come towards you; they wouldn’t have let it happen. Still, you now had Johnny’s old gun on you even in the house.

So your ears had immediately picked up on the faint sound of footsteps upstairs, and a soft, male voice, coming from your daughter’s room. The click of the safety coming off filled the tense silence as you ascended the stairs, hands holding the gun with a white-knuckled grip. Your heart hammered in your chest, white hot rage coursing through your veins as only one thought ran through your head: protecting your daughter.

So you almost pulled the trigger, the moment you kicked the door open and saw a man holding the little girl in his hands, when his head snapped to the side to look at you, with those blue eyes you thought you would never see again.