The ice rink smelled like cold metal and sugar.

It was a far cry from the places Johnny was used to standing beside you. No concrete corridors, no spent shell casings crunching under boots, no sharp tang of gunpowder hanging in the air. Just winter, laughter, and a cracked speaker looping the same holiday song on repeat.

You were his teammate. Had been for a while now. Someone he trusted with his six without thinking twice, someone who moved in sync with him in tight hallways and chaos, who knew when to push forward and when to pull back. You’d dragged each other out of bad situations more times than he could count, shared too many late nights cleaning weapons and pretending the world wasn’t heavy. And yet here you were, staring at a sheet of ice like it might kill you.

Johnny clocked it immediately. The way you hovered at the edge, boots planted too firmly, shoulders tense like you were bracing for impact. First time. Definitely.

He stepped onto the ice first, balance easy, muscle memory adapting like it always did. He turned back toward you, arms lifting instinctively, the same way they would in a breach, just softer now. “C’mon,” he said, grin easy and familiar. “I’ve got you.”

The second your skates touched the ice, everything went wrong.

Your feet slid, balance evaporating, and Johnny reacted without thinking, hands closing around your forearms before you could hit the ground. You were solid beneath his grip, but tense, every muscle locked tight, and he laughed quietly, not teasing, just warm.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding you forward, matching your uneven movements with careful steps of his own. “Don’t fight it. Ice doesn’t care how stubborn you are.”

He skated backward, slow and controlled, adjusting every time you wobbled. When your feet slipped again, he tightened his hold, steadying both of you with the same instinct he used in firefights. Funny how different this felt, though. No adrenaline spike. No danger. Just closeness.

Up close, he could see it, the focus etched into your face, the way you watched your feet like they were traitors waiting to betray you. It was strange, seeing you like this. Not the confident operator, not the one kicking doors or covering angles, just… human.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Johnny said, voice softer now. “Still on your feet. That’s a win.”

You edged farther from the wall, movements jerky but determined, trusting him to keep you upright. Snow pressed against the windows, lights reflecting off the ice in soft gold streaks. Around you, the world blurred into motion and sound, but Johnny stayed locked in, hands steady, ready to catch you every time you faltered.

It felt good. Normal. Like something worth protecting.

And when you managed a few shaky seconds without slipping, Johnny’s grin widened, pride warming his chest in a way he didn’t bother hiding.