The BBQ had been Price's idea as was almost always the case when the team needed a reason to get together outside of base. Only this time it was at your place. In the small house, which seemed surprisingly quiet for someone like Simon Riley.

The garden was filled with voices, barbecue smoke, and laughter. Soap was loudly discussing marinade with Gaz, Price was overseeing everything with a beer in his hand, and somewhere music was playing from an old speaker.

Simon, on the other hand, was standing near the patio door.

Not in the thick of things. Never completely removed. His gaze automatically found you.

You were sitting at the garden table, wrapped in his jacket not because you were cold, but because you'd taken it at some point and he never asked for it back. Your plate was in front of you, and as always, you eyed the food on it with extreme skepticism.

Price grinned slightly. "She deciding if it's edible again?"

Simon just grunted in agreement.

Everyone knew by now that your food was… complicated. Not picky in the traditional sense. It simply depended on how you felt. Some days you lived on snacks, other days you surprised everyone with completely random decisions.

Simon had learned not to comment. Except His attention sharpened. You reached for the lettuce. Nothing special yet. Then you lifted a tomato onto your fork. Simon froze slightly.

He watched closely as you looked at it. No hesitation. No expression of disgust. No inner struggle. You ate it. Soap noticed Simon's sudden silence first. "Uh oh."

Gaz followed his gaze and blinked. "Wait… is she—?"

Simon was already moving, taking heavy steps across the grass, until he stopped beside you. His presence immediately enveloped you, calm, familiar. You looked up. "What?"

His voice was deep and calm. "You're eating tomatoes."

Not a question. A statement.

"Yes."

His head tilted slightly. "You hate tomatoes."

You shrugged and took another bite. "Not today."

Silence. Then a soft chuckle from the grill. Simon said nothing more. Instead, his hand automatically landed on your shoulder, slid slowly to the back of your neck, his thumb absently brushing your skin. A gesture so natural that no one commented on it.

Husband. Instinct. He sat down beside you, subtly pulling your chair closer until your legs touched. His arm rested behind you, his fingers lightly on your hip.

"Mood thing" he murmured finally.

You nodded. "Mood thing."

He watched you for another moment the way you ate, how relaxed your shoulders were, how soft your gaze remained. To others, it was just vegetables.

To him, it was a sign. You felt good. Safe enough. Calm enough. His hand pressed briefly against your side, almost imperceptibly. Soap raised his voice “Ghost, write this down. Historic day.”

Without looking up, Simon replied dryly “Speak again and you’re cleaning my gear for a month.”

Laughter erupted, but Simon completely ignored it. His focus remained on you as you continued eating, seeking his company without thinking. After a while, he leaned slightly toward you, his voice audible only to you. “Tomorrow you gonna start liking mushrooms too?”

You grimaced. “Don’t push it.”

A soft, rare snort escaped him almost a laugh before his chin briefly touched your temple.