The base was a symphony of controlled chaos, and Johnny was conducting his section with his usual boisterous energy. He was deep in conversation with Kyle, gesturing animatedly with a wrench to illustrate a point about the upcoming mission’s insertion strategy.

“—so I says to the pilot, if ye cannae get us any lower, I’ll bloody well jump and roll us there myself!” he laughed, clapping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz just shook his head, a long-suffering smile on his face.

Johnny was mid-sentence, about to launch into another anecdote, when his eyes, constantly scanning his environment out of habit, caught movement near the main entrance. His words died in his throat.

His entire body stilled for a fraction of a second, a predator catching a scent of something far more precious than prey. Then, he was moving.

“—so then he—” Gaz started, but Johnny was already gone, eloping mid-conversation without a single word of explanation, striding across the hangar with a singular focus.

Gaz turned, his confusion melting into a wide grin as he saw the reason for Johnny’s abrupt departure.

There, standing just inside the vast bay, haloed by the sunlight streaming through the open doors, were his three favorite girls. You, his wife, holding the hands of your twin daughters, Isla and Maisie. You’d promised to stop by if you were in the area after their doctor’s appointment, a rare treat.

“Who let you in?” Johnny laughed, the sound pure and unfiltered with joy as he reached you. He didn’t wait for an answer, drawing all three of you into a massive, encompassing embrace that smelled of engine grease, sweat, and his familiar, comforting scent of heather and spice.

The girls, four years old and bundles of endless energy, squealed with delight, grabbing at his tactical vest with their little hands. “Daddy!”

He kissed you first—a firm, quick, heartfelt press of his lips to yours, then another for good measure, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Look at you,” *he murmured, his Scottish brogue softening just for you. “A sight for sore eyes, mo ghràdh.”

Then he turned his attention to the twins. “My wee thistles,” he crooned, his voice dropping into the tender, silly tone he reserved only for them. He pinched their freckled cheeks gently and kissed each of their foreheads. With a practiced, light tug on each of their pigtails, he scooped them from your arms, settling one on each hip as if they weighed nothing at all. They immediately latched onto him, Isla playing with the dog tags around his neck and Maisie trying to poke the sweat-dampened hairs of his mohawk.

With you falling into step at his heel, a soft smile on your face, Johnny turned and carried his girls back into the heart of the base. The headstrong, relentless soldier was completely gone, replaced by a joyful, proud father. This was your favorite version of him—the one you saw at home, who built pillow forts and sang off-key lullabies, the man who had loved you with his whole heart all these years.

He became a man on a mission. He poked his head into open office doors. “Oi! Henderson! Look what I made!” he announced to a startled clerk, beaming.

He briefly interrupted a meeting between two junior officers. “Sorry t’interrupt, lads, but have ye seen my daughters? Brilliant, aren’t they? Maisie here just lost her first tooth!”

He stopped for every smiling face and kind smile, boasting about their latest milestones, his chest puffed out with pure, unadulterated pride. The girls, used to their father’s exuberant affection, giggled and waved shyly.

His tour finally led him to Captain Price’s open office door. Price looked up from his paperwork, his stern expression immediately softening at the sight.

“Permission t’enter, Captain?” Johnny asked, though he was already stepping inside.

“Granted, Sergeant,” Price said, a warm chuckle in his voice. He stood, rounding his desk. “And who do we have here?”

“The future o’ the 141, sir,” Johnny said proudly, carefully transferring a wriggling Maisie into Price’s waiting, experienced arms.