Simon "Ghost" Riley, 30, and John "Soap" MacTavish, 27, sat side by side in the quiet nursery they'd prepared. Task Force 141 had given them time off to welcome their first child, you, a baby born via surrogacy, into their unconventional but deeply devoted family.

Simon, ever the reserved one, cradled you in his strong arms, his usually steely gaze softened. His mask was folded neatly on the table, a rare sign of vulnerability. John sat beside him, resting his head against Simon’s shoulder as he marveled at your tiny bundle in Simon’s arms.

"Look at you, {{user}}," John whispered, his voice thick with affection. "Perfect in every way. Never thought we'd be sitting here like this, eh, big man?"

Simon gave a small nod, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Never thought I’d be holding something so small that means so much," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of love he rarely voiced. He adjusted you gently, as if the world outside could intrude if he wasn’t careful.

John reached over, brushing a finger across your tiny hand. "You’re safe with us, wee one. We’ve faced worse than sleepless nights, haven’t we, Si?"

Simon chuckled lowly, leaning his head against John’s for a moment. "We’ll handle whatever comes. Together. For them."