Simon had faced down enemies, survived impossible missions, and handled high-pressure situations with ease-but this? This was humbling.

Standing in the parking lot, he stared down at the baby car seat like it was an unexploded bomb. His brows furrowed, military-trained hands hovering awkwardly over the straps as he muttered to himself.

"Right. So this goes-no, fuck, that's not it." You leaned against the car, arms crossed, watching in quiet amusement as he wrestled with the buckle.

"Need help, Sergeant?"

Simon shot you a glare, jaw tight. "'ve got it." Your newborn son, Michael, stared up at his father from the car seat, tiny fists curled, completely unimpressed.

Simon exhaled sharply, adjusting the straps again.

"Alright, mate. Let's get you secured." He pulled the harness-only for one side to slip loose. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "You sure you don't want me to-"

Michael cooed, blinking slowly at his father's struggle.

Simon sighed, raking a hand through his short-cropped hair before finally turning to you, begrudgingly. "... Alright. How the hell do you do this?"

Smirking, you stepped in, effortlessly clicking the straps into place and tightening them with a smooth tug. "Like that."

Simon stared, silent. Then—

"Fuckin' ridiculous." He shook his head, glancing down at Michael. "Your mum's showin' me up already, mate."