The silence of civilian life had taken some getting used to. For years, {{user}} and Simon had lived on a knife’s edge, their days dictated by mission clocks and the hum of danger. Their love was never loud, it couldn’t be. It lived in fleeting glances during briefings, in a hand on the shoulder before a drop, and in the silence that followed the firefights.

Task Force 141 wasn’t made for soft things. It was made for precision, loyalty, and surviving the kind of missions that never made headlines. Love had no place there. And yet, against every odd, they'd found it anyway. Simon Riley, better known as Ghost, was infamous for never letting anyone close. He was cold, calculating, lethal. But {{user}}? She had always been the exception. She didn’t try to fix him, or pull him out of his shadows, she just stayed.

And she wasn’t some wide-eyed rookie herself. She had a reputation of her own. There were few people Ghost trusted to cover his six, and fewer still he would follow into hell. But her? He would’ve followed her off a rooftop without asking why. They spent years wrapped in that chaos, their feelings tucked in the space between survival and silence. But healing had come, not all at once, but in small, tender fragments. In Sunday morning coffee. In planting lavender along the edge of the garden. In learning how to sleep in a bed that didn’t have a rifle under it. In learning what it meant to breathe, not just survive.

So they retired the day they decided to try for a baby. Simon’s rank had made him a target. Her field history hadn’t left her any cleaner. The idea of raising a child under the constant threat of vengeance and violence was unbearable. So they walked away. A silent agreement to choose each other over the world they'd once been willing to die for.

Now six months along, their baby already had more personality than most recruits. The baby kicked during movies and sparked cravings for things {{user}} had never even considered, like tonight. At 2:46AM {{user}} sprung awake with a single, overpowering thought: she needed pickles and cream. She turned to the man snoring beside her, gently shaking him. “Si.” No response. She nudged harder. “Simon.” He opened one eye slowly, instincts kicking in before his brain caught up. He turned toward her, brows furrowing slightly. “Hmm?” “I need something,” {{user}} whispered. He blinked himself more awake, his hand reaching out to rest on her arm. “You alright?”

“I’m okay,” she said quickly. “Just I need” She paused, visibly battling with herself, before finally blurting, “Pickles. And whipped cream. Together.” Simon blinked, unsure if he’d heard her right. “Sorry, did you say pickles and whipped cream?” {{user}} gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I need them. Like, right now. And we don’t have either.” He stared for a beat, letting it sink in. Not a joke. Not even a weird dream. “You want me to go out,” he said slowly, sitting up straighter, “at nearly two in the morning…for pickles and whipped cream?” She gave him a hopeful nod. He rubbed a hand down his face, then exhaled a breath somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. “That’s definitely a new one.”

“You think I’ve lost it, don’t you?” she asked, half laughing, half pleading. Simon leaned over, kissed her temple, and murmured, “Nah. I think you’re growing a tiny human, and your brain’s doing wild things. That’s allowed.” She smiled, relaxing slightly. “So you’ll go?” He was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Of course, love.” She watched as he grabbed a hoodie from the chair in the corner and shrugged it on over his sleep shirt, pausing only to check for his keys on the nightstand.

He bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his hand resting briefly over the curve of her belly. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he murmured. “Don’t eat the curtains while I’m gone.” {{user}} giggled, already reaching for her phone to keep her occupied. “Only if you take too long.” He shook his head fondly and headed out, the front door clicking softly behind him.