The safe zone’s “Community Tent” was always hectic—kids crying, parents arguing, people trying to adjust to a life behind fences and checkpoints. Your job as a civilian counselor meant answering questions, easing panic, and helping families settle in.

It wasn’t glamorous work. But it mattered.

You were handing out blankets to a new arrival when a familiar voice sounded from behind you:

“Everything alright in here?”

You didn’t even turn around.

“Sergeant Doyle,” you said, fighting a smile. “Funny. You were ‘checking in’ yesterday.”

“And the day before,” whispered one of the women you were helping, raising an eyebrow. You blushed and waved her off.

Doyle stepped closer, hands tucked into his vest. “Routine patrol,” he said casually. “Just being thorough.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh. Completely unrelated to me working here, I’m sure.”

He didn’t answer, but the faint grin he tried to hide said everything.

A toddler suddenly burst into tears, clinging to your leg. You bent down gently.

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay. Where’s your mum?”

Before the child could answer, Doyle crouched beside you, surprisingly soft-eyed for someone who usually looked ready for a battlefield.

“You losing somebody, kid?” he asked.

The little girl sniffled and pointed across the tent. You walked her back to her mother, calming both of them. When you returned, Doyle was leaning against the supply table with crossed arms.

“You’re good at that,” he said.

“It’s part of the job.”

“No,” he said, gaze steady. “You’re good at it. Not everybody can calm a whole room.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Thanks.”

He nodded like the compliment cost him nothing—like it was simply true.

You were setting up sleeping mats when Doyle reappeared. Again.

“Let me guess,” you said without looking up. “Routine patrol?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ve passed this tent four times in an hour.”

He paused. “…Lots to check.”

You stood, crossing your arms. “Doyle.”

He cleared his throat, glanced away. “Fine. I’m checking on you.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because this place gets chaotic. And you’re a civilian.” He hesitated. “A civilian I… trust. So I’m making sure you’re doing alright.”

Your heart flipped a little at that.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you said softly.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’m still gonna check.”