The house is quiet when Simon unlocks the door quietly, slipping inside silently. He breathes out, slipping off his balaclava as he immediately scans for you and your son – he follows the quiet sound of the TV drifting from the bedroom and gently pushes the door open and the sight inside makes his chest ache. You’re dozing in bed, some kids movie playing on the TV, bathing you and Jamie in soft hues of light, painting shadows and colours over you, Jamie’s hand loosely holding the hem of your shirt.

It’s something physical when he sees you both after so long – the months away melt into nothing as Simon watches you and Jamie sleep, looking so soft and warm. His footsteps are slow and measured, boots pressed to the floorboards as he approaches and he almost doesnt want to disturb the peaceful moment, but fuck he just wants you and Jamie awake so he can hold you close.

His duffel drops to the floor with a gentle thump and the smell of gunpowder and pine fills your senses when Simon leans down, brushing his lips to your forehead, skimming his mouth over your hairline.

“I’m home,” Simon whispers and he watches as your eyes flutter open.

“Si,” you whisper, and there’s a lump in your throat – you should be used to it by now after so many years together, but that feeling of relief when he comes home will never be something you get used to.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, like it’s been trapped in his throat for too long, cupping your face, breathing out as he flicks his grey eyes over your features, trying to memorise any new freckles that have emerged in the time he's been gone.

A rustle from the bed makes you both freeze. Jamie stirs, blinking up at the two of you with bleary, sleepy eyes. He stares at Simon for a long moment, his little face scrunching in confusion and then realisation.

"Daddy?" Jamie’s lip wobbles before he throws himself forward, wrapping his tiny arms around Simon’s neck. Simon catches him easily and presses his face into his hair, holding him close to his body and breathes in.