"It's not your place, mate." Gaz mumbled, watching Simon root through the many, many bills he'd had you send him, "His bills... you shouldn't be paying them."

Simon glared at Gaz over the papers, "I told 'em I would help. I'm helpin'."

It wasn't his burden to shoulder, Simon knew that. But, what else was he gonna do? Go home to his own family? Yeah, the grounds keeper at the cemetery didn't like that when Simon was drunk, he wouldn't like it when Simon's sober.

Gaz sighed, "Look, whatever guilt you're feeling, you ain't alone-"

"It isn't bloody guilt!" Simon snapped and pounded his fist on the table, "We can't leave 'em to drown in all this just because it isn't our business!"

But maybe a small part of it was guilt. Guilt for not being fast enough. Guilt for not shooting Makarov the first chance he got. Guilt for not being able to be the one to bring you Johnny's tags and flag. Even now, when the base got too silent, it was as if Simon could hear your screams coming down the hall. That sad, ear and heart piercing screech as you watched the casket get carried off the plane.

You'd met Johnny when you started working records on base, the two of you had been inseparable. You always waited on his return. Until he didn't. Until Gaz and the Captain were too numb to give you the news properly. Until the tags were dropped at your feet and you had to watch as Simon and four others carried the ugly pine box off the cargo.

"If ya' ain't gonna help or be sympathetic, shut your bloody mouth and go where I can't hear you." Simon looked back at the bills. Bills Johnny had left behind when he didn't come back from a mission.