It was well past 2300 when Ghost finally stepped into their quarters. The base hallways outside were quiet, the kind of silence that came after a day where everyone had run themselves ragged. He shut the door behind him with a soft clickand tugged down his mask, letting the cooler air of the room brush over his face. His eyes found her instantly. {{user}} was on the bed, legs crossed, her work tablet pushed aside. The soft blue light of the screen had faded, leaving only the warm glow of the bedside lamp. As a communications officer, she spent most of her day with a headset clamped over her ears, voice calm and precise as she directed teams through fire and chaos. But here, she was just herself, hair loose, eyes tired, the tension in her shoulders giving away the long day she’d had.

They’d been together a few months now, though it never felt that new. After years of sidestepping each other, pretending the pull between them wasn’t there, the shift into something more had been quiet, almost inevitable. Ghost didn’t need to guess what was in the small white box she held in her lap, he knew. And he knew why she was stalling. “Need a change?” he asked, voice low. {{user}} looked up, her brows lifting just slightly in that guilty you caught me stalling kind of way. “Yeah. Just building up to it.” He crossed the room without thinking, his gait as sure and grounded as ever. Ghost had a way of filling space without crowding it, tall, broad-shouldered, presence heavy in the best way. With him, you always knew exactly where the safe ground was. “You’ve been building up to it for twenty minutes, haven’t you?” he said, setting his gloves down on the dresser. She huffed out a quiet laugh. “Maybe.” Ghost knew exactly why she hesitated.

{{user}} had Type 1 diabetes, so every day of her life was carefully measured between sugar levels, bolus doses, and pod changes every few days. She could work a full mission while juggling live comms for three teams at once, but something about changing her pod always made her pause. Not because she couldn’t do it, she’d been doing it since she was a kid but because she hated the sting, the click, the reminder she’d never get a break from it. So, somewhere along the way, it had quietly become routine: if Ghost was there when it needed changing, he’d change it for her.

“Where’s it going today?” he asked, already sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. She gestured toward her thigh. “Right side.” He took the box from her lap, opening it with deliberate care. He pulled out the pod first, peeling away the sterile backing with a quiet snap, then set it down on the bedside table while he reached for an alcohol swab. “Gonna be cold,” he warned, voice low. The scent of the alcohol hit first, sharp and clean, before the chilled pad pressed against her skin in small, steady circles. He worked from the centre outward, making sure every bit of skin under the adhesive would be clean and dry. She barely flinched, his touch was firm but gentle, like he was grounding her.

With the area prepped, he picked up the pod and attached it to the inserter with a soft click. He pressed the adhesive side to her thigh, adjusting minutely until it sat flush. One hand stayed on her leg, holding it steady. “Ready?” She nodded. “One…two—” snap. The sound was soft, but she still blinked like it had surprised her. “You always skip three,” she said, laughing under her breath. “Don’t like giving you the time to overthink.” He smoothed the adhesive done, his plam wamr. The touch lingered a moment longer then neccessary, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin before he pulled back. “There. All done”

She let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, glancing down at the pod before looking back at him. “Thanks,” she murmured. Ghost only shrugged, but there was a softness in his eyes. “Told you, if I’m here, you don’t do it alone.” Her lips curved faintly, and she reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze.