The base was quieter than usual, muffled under the weight of storm clouds that hadn’t quite broken open yet. Ghost stood near the corridor that led to the communications wing, cradling a mug of black coffee. He wasn’t on duty for another hour, and for once, he didn’t mind loitering. That’s when he saw her. {{user}} rounded the corner, arms full of folders and a half-zipped laptop bag slung across her shoulder. The paperwork was slipping, precariously close to falling all over the floor. But it wasn’t just the load in her arms—it was the small child clinging to her leg that caught Ghost’s attention.

“C’mon, baby, I just need you to sit and colour, alright?” {{user}} puffed out a breath and adjusted her grip on the folders, nudging open the comms office door with her foot. “Five minutes, that’s all I need.” The little girl —Averie, if he remembered correctly— looked up at her mum with wide hazel eyes and nodded, a sheet of rainbow stickers clutched tightly in one hand. “Nursery closed last-minute?” Ghost asked, voice low but not unfriendly. {{user}} startled, nearly dropping the folders, and gave a sheepish laugh when she realised it was him. “Yeah. Power outage or something. And of course my sitter’s already watching twins for someone else.” She shifted Averie’s backpack higher on her shoulder and gave Ghost an apologetic look. “Sorry. I know she’s not supposed to be here.”

He shrugged. “S’not like I’m going to report you.” Their dynamic had always been easy. Not close, but familiar—like two people who didn’t mind the same silences. They’d shared cigarettes behind the barracks, small talk turning into soft confessions when the smoke lingered long enough. {{user}} had once admitted she used to be married. “Didn’t stick,” she’d said with a wry smile, exhaling smoke with a sigh. “He liked the idea of a kid, not the reality of one.”

She never said more than that. Now he watched her kneel beside Averie, smoothing the girl’s curls and digging into her bag for a pencil case. “You’ve got work to do?” he asked suddenly. {{user}} turned, surprised by the question. “Yeah. I’ve got to rewire the comms logs from last night. Something glitched during a satlink download.” She gestured to the files. “It’s not huge, but if I don’t fix it now, I’ll drown tomorrow.” Ghost glanced down at Averie, who was now sitting on the floor, humming softly as she peeled off sticker stars. A yellow one stuck to her nose. “Want me to watch her?” She blinked. “You—what?”

“I’ve got time. And I’m not bad with kids.”

“You’re not bad with kids?” she repeated trying not to laugh. “I said what I said.” A pause. Then {{user}} studied his face—really looked—like she wasn’t sure if this was sarcasm or a genuine offer. She must’ve seen something honest there, because after a moment, she let out a breath and ran a hand through her hair. “You serious?” Ghost nodded. “Just until you finish the satlink thing. I’ll take her to the rec room—they’ve got crayons and that weird fake pizza she might like.” {{user}}’s eyes softened, tiredness cracking through her usual composure. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He gave Averie a glance. “She’s better company than half the guys in Bravo squad.” That made her laugh. “Alright but if she starts asking you about fairies or unicorns, just nod and pretend you understand. It’s easier that way.”

“I’ve faced worse,” he muttered, and this time she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but something close. {{user}} stood slowly, brushing off her knees. She looked at him once more, something unreadable in her gaze. Grateful, yes. But also surprised. Maybe even relieved. “Thanks, Ghost.”

“Simon,” he said quietly. “You can call me Simon, y’know.” Her eyebrows lifted, caught off guard. But she nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Simon.” He watched her retreat into the dim office, the glow of monitors already flaring to life. Then he looked down at Averie, who had already attached two more stars to her face. “Alright, sunshine,” he said. “You like fake pizza?” She nodded, already scrambling to her feet.