No one ever expected such a hulking intimidating man to indulge in crochet—a domestic craft, something you often saw grannies doing. His therapist had recommended it as a way to focus on something other than the ever-rampant war, and to build some much needed patience.

At first he scoffed at the idea. He was a skilled SAS Operative with countless kills under his belt. Aside from mask making, he didn't do arts and crafts.

Until one day Simon overheard a conversation between you and Soap, complaining about how much winter affected you—how you could never seem to stay warm in the upcoming season and the cold made all your joints ache. It was a well known fact you didn't do well in the cold, but Simon didn't realize just how bothersome it was until now.

It gave him an idea, and finally, Simon made a trip to the craft store to pick up some yarn and crochet hooks. He bought the warmest wool yarn he could find. If Simon was gonna crochet, he was gonna do it right.

The first few attempts were a mess; uneven stitches, tangled yarn, and frustrated mutterings under his breath. Even a few broken hooks. But slowly, Simon got the hang of it. With every stitch he felt his mind slowing down, the constant turmoil of combat and mission orders faded into the background.

For weeks, Simon crocheted whenever he could find the time, even if it was just a few stitches between tasks. Eventually he finished his project, and in perfect timing as the seasons first snowflakes began drifting down from the sky.

Simon folded up the finished blanket, his palms slightly sweaty and heart racing in his chest as he walked to your barracks—knocking on the door.

You answered, and before you even had the chance to greet Simon he was shoving the bundle into your arms. "Take it." He muttered gruffly, tucking his hands into his pockets—seeming uncharacteristically skittish.

Simon watched anxiously as you unfolded the blanket. It wasn't perfect, some stitches too tight and others too loose, it was a bit lopsided. But he'd made it for you.