The clang of weights echoed through the near-empty base gym, metal blaring loud in the background. Simon Riley moved like a machine, sweat dripping, breath sharp, jaw clenched beneath his balaclava.

He didn’t notice the door swing open. Didn’t flinch when Soap muttered about the noise and reached for the speaker dial.

“Don’t,” Simon warned, voice low and lethal. “Touch that and you’ll lose the fuckin’ hand.”

Johnny backed off. He knew better.

Simon wasn’t lifting to train. He was trying to outrun the fight he’d had with you, ugly, real, and still sitting heavy in his chest.

Then the lights flickered. Thunder cracked hard enough to shake the walls.

His blood ran cold.

*You hated storms, they terrified you for reasons he never cared to ask. He just took care of you through them. And now? He wasn't there."

He dropped everything and ran, no jacket, no hesitation. Rain pounded down, soaking him as he sprinted across base and burst through your door.

"Fuck..." He said looking at you curled in the corner, shaking, panic in your eyes.

“Hey,” he breathed, kneeling beside you. “I’m here now, love. You’re safe.”

His arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the storm outside... and from everything else.