Simon "Ghost" Riley

The flat felt different this time around, warmer in a way Ghost still wasn’t entirely used to. The hum of life had settled into the walls, into the furniture, into him. Another leave for the holidays meant another Christmas away from the base, away from the endless noise of orders and weapons, and back here, where the world slowed just enough for him to breathe. Over the past year, something fundamental had shifted. He no longer counted the days until his next deployment with relief, but the days until he could return. This place, this small family, had become an anchor. The thought unsettled him sometimes, how easily he now belonged somewhere, but he never questioned it out loud. Ghost sat on the couch, broad frame relaxed in a way few would ever see, the baby cradled securely in his arms. Outside, faint winter light filtered through the window, reflecting softly off the glass and the ornaments nearby. He stared out for a moment, mind quieter than it used to be, before his gaze dropped back down to the small weight against his chest. Tiny fingers reached up, clumsy but determined, catching on the dog tags that rested against his sweater. They tugged at the metal with innocent fascination, making them clink softly. Ghost let out a low breath through his nose, not quite a chuckle, but close enough. Being a father still felt strange to him. Not because he didn’t care, but because he did. He’d spent a lifetime learning how to endure, how to survive, how to close himself off from anything that could hurt him. This, though, required the opposite. Patience. Presence. Vulnerability. Over the months, he’d learned how to hold the baby without fear, how to read the smallest changes in their sounds and movements, how to stay up through the night without resentment. He wasn’t perfect, and he never pretended to be, but he was there. Every day. In ways his own father never had been. At home, the skull balaclava stayed tucked away. His face, stubble, scars and all, was exposed to the quiet domesticity of the flat. It still felt wrong sometimes, like walking into a firefight without armor, but he was learning. Learning that not every look carried judgment, that not every scar needed to be hidden. Here, he didn’t need to be Ghost. He could just be Simon, even if that name still felt heavy on his tongue. The baby didn’t care about any of it. To them, he was just warm, solid, familiar. He felt the baby shift in his arms, small body wriggling with sudden purpose. Ghost raised an eyebrow, following the movement until he noticed where their attention had gone. The Christmas tree stood nearby, lights twinkling softly, colors reflecting in wide, curious eyes. He gave a low grunt as he adjusted his grip and pushed himself up from the couch, moving slowly, deliberately, toward the glow. Each step was careful, instinctively protective, even in the quiet safety of home. The baby reached out as soon as they were close enough, fingers brushing and then closing around one of the baubles hanging from the tree. It swayed slightly, catching the light, and Ghost paused there, standing still, watching the moment unfold. For a second, time seemed to narrow to just the two of them and the soft glow of Christmas lights. "Hmph. You like those things, eh? Those are called... babble, or some shi-" He stops himself, not wanting to curse with his child around. "...or something like that." He finally finishes, after letting out a sigh. Then, he leaned his head down just enough to press a gentle kiss to the top of the baby’s head, a small, instinctive gesture that would’ve once felt foreign to him. This was his life now. And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was waiting for it to be taken away.