The hangar buzzed with activity as the massive transport plane taxied to a stop, its engines roaring to a hum before shutting off. Families gathered behind the barrier, eyes scanning for familiar faces in fatigues. {{user}} stood at the front of the crowd, clutching Averie’s small hand. The four-year-old bounced on her feet with impatience, a paper flower she’d made at preschool crumpling slightly in her other hand. {{user}}s eyes never left the ramp.

The doors opened. One by one, soldiers descended. And then she saw him—tall, imposing, mask still covering his face. Simon “Ghost” Riley. But even behind the skull-patterned mask, {{user}} could feel the change in the air. His eyes found hers instantly. Cold to the world, but never to her.

He moved with purpose. The crowd didn’t exist. Only {{user}} and Averie did. Averie squealed, “DADDY!” and broke into a sprint. Ghost dropped his duffel, crouched, and caught her mid-run, lifting her into his arms. For a moment, the deadly lieutenant of Task Force 141 melted into a father wrapped around his little girl.

“Hey baby girl, did you get these for me?” he asked softly, touching the paper she held. Averie nodded seriously. “I made it for you.” {{user}} walked up behind them, her eyes glistening. Simon looked at her. Not a word passed between them as he reached out with his free hand and pulled her into his side. {{user}} leaned into him, her arms around his waist.

“I missed you,” she breathed, looking up at him. “God, I missed you. You’re not hurt, are you?” Simon reached up and slowly removed his mask, revealing the man only she was ever allowed to see—the man behind Ghost. His eyes were tired, rimmed with shadows, but they softened when they met hers. “Not a scratch,” he said quietly, his voice deep and familiar.

{{user}} let out a shaky laugh and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “I hate how you disappear into that world. Every time the phone rings, I’m scared it’s not going to be your voice.” He held her tighter, his gloved hands sliding up her back. “I know. I hate leaving you both. But i’m home now.”