After Aurora…

The door clicks shut behind Reed, and for a second, he just stands there—duffel bag heavy in his hand, boots still caked with the dirt of a place he never thought he’d leave. His ears are still tuned for gunfire, distant drones, Walker’s voice in the back of his mind. But all he hears now… is the quiet clink of dishes and the hum of home.

He looks up, and there you are—his home, his sanctuary, the picture he kept tucked into his vest—bathed in the soft gold of the setting sun, standing barefoot in the kitchen like no time has passed at all. You’re doing the dishes, back turned as you rinse something under warm water. Just… living. He’s… home. It’s been four months.

God, he’s finally home.