The guys had always been Simon’s family.

They were there from the beginning—through the dirt, the blood, the silence, the rage. They’d seen him broken, numb, violent, distant. They’d seen every version of Simon Riley that existed, even the ones he tried to bury under the mask.

So when he got married, none of them really knew how to react.

Price had been the first, of course. But Simon? Simon had always felt… different. Less made for normal life. Less made for warmth. And yet there he was, wedding ring on his finger, learning how to exist in a house that wasn’t a barracks, learning how to sleep next to someone instead of with one eye open.

And now {{user}} was pregnant.

Almost full term. Belly heavy, slow steps, tired smiles. The kind of pregnant that made everything real.

The team saw it before Simon ever said it out loud.

How he checked his phone more. How he stopped volunteering for extended deployments. How he’d leave early, always with some excuse that everyone pretended not to notice. How the harsh edges of him had softened, just slightly—like a blade that was still sharp, but no longer used for everything.

They saw him become… careful.

Careful with his words. Careful with his body. Careful with time.

He listened more. He joked less, but when he did, it was quieter. Warmer. Like he was saving the rest of himself for home. For her.

Sometimes they caught him staring at photos—ultrasound pictures, blurry and black and white, like nothing to them, but everything to him. His thumb would hover over the screen, tracing the shape of something that didn’t even exist yet, a future he was terrified of breaking.

Simon Ghost Riley, the man who survived hell, now afraid of something small and fragile.

A life that depended on him.

And somehow, for the first time, he wanted to live more than he wanted to fight.

Not for the mission. Not for the team.

But for the house waiting for him. For the pregnant partner asleep in his bed. For the child who didn’t know his name yet, but already owned his heart.