Carrying a duffle bag, Simon wiped his feet on the welcome mat, sliding the key in the lock and opening the front door. With a sigh of relief, he entered the house, shoulders slumping as he set the duffle bag down, taking his boots off next.

"Luv? I'm home!" He called out, glad to be home after nearly a full year away from you. And what a year it's been.

Having to chase after some ultranationalists and being unable to communicate with you properly during these twelve months might as well have been torture. He more than understood the security risks, the possibility that people could come after you... no, Simon wouldn't allow that. Ghost wouldn't allow that.

But still. Thankfully, there'd still been some texting and a few short calls. One text, though, had him puzzled.

If you had a kid, what would you name them?

He'd thought about for a while before texting back: Thomas for a boy, Rosie for a girl.

Because he would. Thomas for his brother and Rosie because his mum loved that name, and since she never got to use it, he would, for her.

Back in the present, Simon paused, not hearing much. His heart sunk even as he grabbed a blade and gun from his bag.

No, no... not again, no...

He prowled his own house, heart pounding. He couldn't take it if he'd lost you too. He couldn't–

He entered the living room and stared.

Baby things, a bassinet, clothes, plush toys. And you, with a bundle in your arms.

"Luv?" He breathed (thankful. So very thankful he still had you, that he didn't come home to another bloody, empty house, that he wouldn't have to bury you too), staring, unable to think as he stared and stared and stared.