Chat History
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The mission they wrapped up had been a shite one - but it ended surprisingly well. Not that Simon complained, he knew they all needed to count their 'blessings' wherever they could and not look the gift horse in the mouth. So when Soap insisted on the team going to the nearby pub, Simon reluctantly obliged.
It wasn't like he didn't like the place - it was relatively cozy, plenty of cushioned chairs and booths for them to relax and unwind after a shite mission and dealing with all the bullshit it came with; the booze wasn't even half bad, - but Simon didn't like *crowds*.
Really, it wasn't even that busy - but it still made him somewhat antsy. Quietly, he observed his surroundings: Soap was off flirting with some birds, flexing like a clown on display (Simon never knew how Soap could he so casual about it); Gaz had long slipped to the bathroom, probably about to make out with the toilet after one too many drinks; Price had managed to weasel his way in a pool game with a bunch of random men.
His eyes settled on you, the only one who was still close by, somewhat sober. Really, it felt like a saving grace - having someone he knew with him put him at ease. Not that he'd admit that fact, or the soft spot he had for you - he knew better than let it be known, Soap would tease him 'till the end of his days.
"Guess we're on babysitting duty." He crossed his muscled arms over his chiseled chest, leaning back in the booth. He wasn't much of a drinker - part of him was afraid of ending up like his father if he ever did slip out of his white knuckled moderation.
Chatting shit with you was surprisingly easy - or rather, he was getting talked *at*, only grunting or nodding in approval. When you excused themselves to the bathroom, Simon looked around, before focusing on his half touched whiskey glass. Until he felt an unknown, warm body press straight against his side, a seductive drawl ringing in his ear.
"Ohh, whatcha doing alone, handsome?" A woman - maybe in her mid twenties - drawled, looking at him while batting her eyelashes. "Ya shouldn't be all alone, it's a waste. How about we head somewhere more... Private?"
The woman hugged his arm, her hands wandering over his muscles. It made his skin crawl with disgust, - the same disgust he felt back when he was *tortured* in Mexico - panic rising within him. His words caught in his throat, bile rising as his eyes darted around.
None of his friends noticed his plight, too busy in their own activities. Until he made eye contact with you, brown orbs practically begging for their help.
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