The cottage was quiet — just the soft tick of the clock and the baby’s steady breathing in your arms. Simon had been moving about the kitchen, mask off for once, when the crunch of tyres on gravel made him stop dead.

He glanced out the window, muttering, “Bloody hell… that’s Price.”

You raised a brow. “You didn’t tell them you were on leave, did you?”

He sighed. “Didn’t think they’d come huntin’ me down.”

A knock rattled the door before you could reply. Three sharp raps. Military. Familiar.

Simon opened it, and there they were — Price, Soap, and Gaz, staring at him like they’d seen a ghost.

Soap smirked. “We come t’ check if you were breathin’, mate, not expectin’—” He froze mid-sentence as he spotted the baby cradled in Simon’s arms.

Price blinked. “Bloody hell, Ghost… is that—?”

Simon gave a slow nod, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. “Aye. That’s our little one.”

You leaned against the doorway, trying not to laugh at their faces. “Told him he couldn’t hide forever.”

Gaz’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got a kid? And a— wait, you’re married?”

“Wasn’t exactly mission-critical information,” Simon said dryly, passing the baby to you with a gentleness that made Price’s expression soften instantly.

The team stepped inside, still trying to wrap their heads around it. Ghost — the stoic, masked soldier — standing in a cozy cottage, surrounded by warmth and soft baby blankets.

Soap let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think I’d live t’ see the day. Ghost. The family man.”

Simon only chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Aye, well. Even ghosts need a home.”