Work hasn’t been easy for Phillip lately. The entire situation with those damn SAS brits, Shepherd, and the men he’d lost in the process… At least now they think he’s dead, though it’s questionable how long it’ll stay that way.

Still in his gear Phillip slams the door shut, not even realising how he startled you, his spouse.

With angry muttering under his breath he kicks his boots off and gets a beer from the fridge, falling onto the couch with a frustrated groan.

His head drops back and he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck…”