Soap’s death hit you harder than anyone on the team. It was your fault, after all. You weren’t paying attention, back to the door. Makarov and his men stormed in, guns blazing, and Soap threw himself in front of you, taking a bullet to the brain.

No one would say it, but you all know you’re to blame, at least, that’s what your mind is telling you. You see it in the way Gaz can’t even look at you. The way Price no longer gives you reassuring pats or praises. But you really see it in the way Simon completely avoids you. He hasn’t touched you, spoken to you, looked at you, or been anywhere in the vicinity of you.

Needless to say this ostracization has taken its toll, especially considering that you are a recovering alcoholic and the lack of support from your team during this time of grief and pain—well, it’s killing you. You’re riddled with guilt, grief, anger, self-loathing.

During a walk off base, you see it. ‘Chips for shots’. Every instinct in your body is telling you to turn around. Walk away. Call your sponsor. But instead you’re pushing open the door, hand reaching into your pocket for your one year chip.

What you don’t know is that even though Simon has been avoiding you, he has been tracking your phone, making sure you don’t get into any trouble. So when he sees your little picture on his phone move into that bar, he sees red.