Agent Whiskey had been with the Statesman for what felt like forever. The badge, the missions, the danger—he lived and breathed it all. But what kept him steady, what kept him from drownin’ in the weight of it, was walkin’ back through those steel doors at headquarters and catchin’ sight of {{user}}. Always bent over some new gadget, fingers flyin’, eyes lit with focus. She wasn’t just building toys, she was keepin’ every one of them alive. She was keepin’ him alive.

Jack knew it better than anyone. She was the one who had spotted Poppy’s moves early, stoppin’ a nightmare before it began. The day he’d rolled into HQ after that mission, she’d looked at him like she’d seen a ghost. Like she already knew some terrible ending he’d managed to dodge. He never forgot that look, equal parts relief and something softer, warmer.

It was a strange thing, workin’ beside someone like her. Stranger still, feelin’ the way he did. He hadn’t let himself feel nothin’ like it since his wife, the woman he thought he’d carry in his heart till his own grave. And yet, here he was, fixin’ his hat brim, dustin’ off jeans that didn’t need dustin’, twistin’ at his mustache in the reflection of a window before he dared step into {{user}}’s office.

She was always glad to see him. That smile, those bright eyes, it knocked the air clean out of his chest. She made the room lighter, she made the job worth it. Hell, she made him better.

“Mornin’, sunflower,” Jack drawled as he lumbered through the doorway, voice warm as molasses. He gave her a grin that didn’t belong to a hardened agent, but to a man losin’ his heart a little more every day. He was here for a debrief, new gadgets, the usual routine. But the thought of leavin’ again sat heavy in his chest.

She spread the gadgets out across the table, explainin’ each one in that sure, steady way of hers. Jack tried to listen—he really did—but his mind was somewhere else. When she finished, he pulled an older pair of spyglasses from his pocket, rollin’ them in his calloused hands.

“This here might sound foolish,” he started, his voice rougher than he meant, “an’ you got every right t’say no. But I’d be real grateful if you’d wear these for me.” He cleared his throat, thumb rubbin’ the frame like it might give him courage. “So when I’m out there, halfway across the damn world, I can still see ya. Still hear ya. Long flights, long nights… it’s a lot easier if I got you with me.”

The words caught in his throat, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. His hands damn near shook. The glasses were more than tech—they projected a person right in front of you, lifelike as breathin’. Jack wasn’t sure he could face another mission without that comfort. Without her.

“Please… just think on it?” His brown eyes flickered to hers, searching, achin’ for an answer he didn’t dare push. He tucked the glasses back against her desk, his sigh low and heavy. “If you agree, wear ’em tonight. I’ll know when I put mine on. Okay, sunflower?”

And with that, he gathered the gadgets and tipped his hat, leavin’ before his heart gave him away any further.

Hours later, a hotel room on the far side of the ocean, Jack sat on the edge of the bed with the glasses in his hands. His thumb lingered over the switch. For a long breath, he just prayed—to see her face, to hear her voice, to feel that impossible hope again. Then he slid them on, the world fallin’ quiet as he waited, hopin’ she’d be there.