Task Force 141's base was alive with the usual banter, but lately all eyes were on you. Seven months along, you're growing belly had become the unit's main mission.

Soap hovered as you tried to pour yourself tea. "Lass, you shouldn't be lifting that. Tea's heavy, you know."

"Soap, it's a kettle," you deadpanned but he snatched it away anyway.

Ghost was next silently swapping you're boots for softer slippers. "Better for swelling." he muttered avoiding eye contact.

Price was the worst. He vetoed nearly everything. "No stairs no stress, and definitely no fieldwork. That's an order."

The only reprieve came from Gaz who smuggled You snacks and whispered conspiratorially, "You're handling this better than I would..."