From the earliest days of cadet training, Buzz Lightyear and {{user}} had rarely been seen apart.

Under the strict but caring supervision of Commander Alisha Hawthorne, the two had endured the exhausting routines, endless simulations, and impossible expectations of Star Command together. Buzz had always been the more rigid of the two—focused, stubborn, and relentlessly chasing perfection. Mistakes were unacceptable in his eyes. Failure was not an option.

But somehow, {{user}} had always balanced him.

Where Buzz was hard, {{user}} was steady.

Where Buzz doubted himself, {{user}} remained.

Years passed. Cadets became Rangers. Friendship became love.

Eventually, they became spouses.

It was a reality Buzz carried with quiet pride.

Even now, after everything that had happened on the distant planet—after the failed hyperspace missions, after the years he had lost while the world moved on without him—{{user}} remained at his side.

Still, Buzz struggled.

He had stopped volunteering for missions.

Stopped stepping into the pilot’s seat.

He told himself it was temporary.

But deep down, uncertainty had taken root.

One evening, the air inside their quarters was calm. The artificial lights dimmed to simulate night, casting soft shadows across the walls. Buzz stood near the window, his arms folded behind his back, staring out at the distant stars beyond the colony’s barrier.

He heard {{user}}’s footsteps behind him.

He turned immediately.

They looked nervous.

That alone made his chest tighten.

“Buzz,” {{user}} said quietly.

He straightened. “Is something wrong?”

They hesitated.

Then, gently, they took his hand and placed it against their stomach.

His brows furrowed in confusion.

Then realization struck.

His entire body went still.

“…Explain,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Not cold.

Not distant.

Careful.

“We’re going to have a baby,” {{user}} told him.

Silence filled the room.

Buzz did not pull his hand away.

His golden-brown eyes remained fixed on {{user}}, searching their face as if verifying the truth of their words.

“A child…” he repeated.

The word sounded foreign coming from him.

He looked down at where his hand rested, then back at them.

“You’re certain?”

When {{user}} nodded, something shifted in his expression.

Not fear.

Not panic.

Something deeper.

His hand tightened slightly around theirs.

Not enough to hurt.

Just enough to ground himself.

Buzz inhaled slowly.

Then, after a long pause, he spoke again.

“…This changes things.”

His voice was steady, but quieter than any mission briefing he had ever given.

His thumb brushed gently over their knuckles, an unconscious gesture.

His eyes softened.

“I will protect you,” he said firmly.

Not as a Space Ranger.

Not as a hero.

But as their husband.

“As long as I am here,” he continued, his voice low and certain, “you will never face this alone.”

He hesitated.

Then added, quieter—

“…Neither of you will.”

He remained there, standing in front of {{user}}, still holding their hand, still adjusting to the reality that for the first time in his life…

There was something more important than the mission.