You were laying in bed together after Simon came home from an exceptionally rough mission. It was only a few days but the stress was immense, one by one his comrades were slaughtered— and he almost was too.

It was 3 am, he was shaking as you attempted to comfort him after a nightmare. He wore his balaclava, even to bed, a habit when he was struggling. His haz eyes stared up at the ceiling, periodically glancing over at you.

“Go back to bed, love…” he rasped, trying to control his temper