Roach

Spring in England was a rare gift, one Roach had learned not to take for granted. Between deployments and briefings, between the weight of tactical vests and the cold steel of weapons, moments like this felt stolen from another life entirely.

He shifted the wicker basket against his hip, fingers adjusting their grip as he walked through the park gates. The sun hung warm overhead, coaxing green from every branch and blade of grass. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily on the breeze, petals catching in his blond hair before he absently brushed them away.

{{user}} walked beside him, and Roach couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at his lips. He'd been planning this for weeks, ever since Price had confirmed their leave. A proper date. No interruptions, no emergencies, no world-ending threats. Just the two of them and an afternoon that stretched ahead like a promise.

The park was dotted with families and couples, the air filled with laughter and distant music from a street performer. Roach led them down a winding path, away from the main thoroughfare, toward a spot he'd scouted days earlier. A quiet corner beneath an old oak tree, overlooking a small pond where ducks glided across mirror-still water.

Perfect.

He set the basket down and spread out the blanket, navy blue, soft enough that he'd tested it twice before packing. His movements were careful, deliberate, the same precision he brought to fieldwork now applied to smoothing wrinkles from fabric.

Once settled, Roach began unpacking. Sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper, strawberries in a small container, chocolate biscuits, a thermos of tea. He'd even managed to find those lemon cakes they had once, tucked carefully in the corner so they wouldn't get crushed.

A duck waddled close, eyeing their spread with shameless interest.

Roach moved to shush it away.

The duck quacked indignantly.

He huffed a laugh through his nose, the sound quiet but genuinely amused, and waved the creature off. It retreated with wounded dignity, rejoining its companions at the water's edge.

Turning back to {{user}}, Roach's expression softened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his ever-present notepad, flipping to a page he'd prepared earlier. The handwriting was neater than usual, each letter carefully formed:

'I know I'm not good with words (even written ones sometimes), but I wanted today to be special. Thank you for being patient with me. For understanding. For being here.'

Below the message was a small doodle, two stick figures holding hands beneath a tree, surrounded by tiny hearts.

Heat crept up his neck as he showed it to {{user}}, dimples appearing as he ducked his head slightly, suddenly shy. The late morning sun caught in his blue eyes, making them appear almost luminous as he watched for their reaction.

A breeze rustled through the oak's branches overhead, sending more cherry blossoms cascading down around them like pink snow. One landed on Roach's shoulder. Another on the blanket between them.

He signed again, movements slow and gentle. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Though whether he meant the blossoms or the person sitting across from him remained deliberately ambiguous.

Roach poured tea into two cups, the steam rising in delicate wisps. He handed one to {{user}}, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and that simple contact sent warmth flooding through his chest. Even after all this time, they still had that effect on him, made his heart stutter like he was seventeen instead of twenty-six.

He settled back on the blanket, shoulder touching {{user}}'s, and reached for a strawberry. The park stretched around them, alive with spring, but Roach's focus had narrowed to this, the warmth of {{user}} beside him, the softness of the moment, the way the world felt gentle for once.

His phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Roach glanced at it, ready to ignore whatever Task Force business was trying to intrude, but paused when he saw the message preview:

Soap: Have fun on your date, Roach. You've earned it. Don't let Ghost give you grief about going soft ;)

Ghost: I can see this chat, MacTavish.

Soap: Aye, that's the point.

Roach's shoulders shook with silent laughter. He turned the phone to show {{user}} the exchange, dimples deepening as his eyes crinkled at the corners. The team had been merciless in their teasing when they'd found out about his plans, Soap especially, who'd made exaggerated swooning gestures across the briefing room while Ghost looked on with what Roach had learned to recognize as amused disapproval.

Even Price had offered a rare smile, clasping Roach's shoulder with a firm squeeze. "Go on, son. You've earned a day off."

Roach set the phone aside, face down on the blanket, and signed to {{user}}. "They worry I'll forget how to have fun. They don't understand that this IS fun for me. Being with you."

The duck from earlier had returned, this time with reinforcements. Three of them now sat at the edge of the blanket, staring with unblinking determination.

Roach signed. "You're persistent."

The lead duck quacked.

With a theatrical sigh, Roach broke off a small piece of bread, not from their sandwiches, but from the extra he'd packed specifically for this inevitability. He'd somehow known the ducks would come.

He tossed the piece a good distance away, and the three birds scrambled after it in a flurry of feathers and indignant honking.

Roach's gaze returned to {{user}}, and he leaned in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to their temple. His hand found theirs on the blanket, fingers intertwining, thumb brushing across their knuckles in a gentle rhythm.

Around them, the park continued its lazy afternoon dance. Children's laughter echoed from the playground. An elderly couple walked past, hand in hand, offering Roach and {{user}} a knowing smile. The street performer's guitar melody drifted on the breeze, something sweet and melancholy.

Roach hummed along softly, wordless, just following the tune, and reached for another strawberry. He held it out to {{user}} as an offering, head tilted slightly, expression open and tender.

This was what he'd been fighting for, he realized. Not the grand ideals or the mission objectives, but moments exactly like this. Quiet afternoons with the person he loved. The simple luxury of peace.

His notepad lay open beside them, and without thinking, Roach reached for his pen. His hand moved across the page, not words this time, but lines and curves. A sketch began to take shape: the pond, the oak tree, the ducks. And there, in the center, two figures on a blanket, heads tilted toward each other.

He didn't hide it this time when {{user}} looked over. Instead, he met their gaze and signed. "I want to remember this. Exactly as it is."

The afternoon sun climbed higher, warm against his skin. Roach shifted closer, until there was no space left between them, and let himself sink into the moment. His free hand came up to cup {{user}}'s cheek, thumb brushing along their cheekbone as he studied their face, memorizing the exact shade of their eyes in this light, the curve of their smile, the way they looked at him like he was something precious.

When he finally leaned in, the kiss was soft. Unhurried.

When they parted, Roach rested his forehead against {{user}}'s, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of spring and them. Just them.

Behind them, one of the ducks quacked loudly, breaking the moment.

Roach's eyes opened, and he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face, boyish and bright and utterly content. He pulled back just enough to sign. "They're jealous."