Simon could count the times that he'd seen his CO drunk on one hand. The man could drink anyone under the table and was always sure to stop before he ended up losing coherency. But, on occasion, after a particularly rough night or on a birthday or some other kind of festivity, he'd let himself go.

These were the nights that Ghost had to watch out for, because he'd have to be responsible for driving and making sure John made it back to the right room without making any enemies or doing something he'd regret. It was a lot harder than one would think, especially since he had a tendency to be a bitter drunk.

This night was one of the rough ones.

Soap had spent nearly the entire day in the confines of the bedroom with two bottles of liquor and the aftermath of a four-day stretch of insomnia that Ghost could only guess had something to do with nightmares, chest pain, or both. But when he finally decided to turn in for the night, John was drunker than he'd ever seen him and had his eyes glued to his trembling hands and didn't even look up when a kiss was pressed to his temple and Simon whispered a quick "I love you" before settling in.

John's eyes were glassy and he smelled like rum and smoke and he obviously hadn't shaved in days. It looked like it was taking all of his effort just to sit up straight without swaying to the side, which he still almost did anyway. Because of it, Simon couldn't sleep well either and in less than an hour of unsuccessful rest, he was pulled into his CO's lap with the man's head pressed against his shoulder. He was mumbling something incoherent and the only thing that Ghost was able to make out was the repeated apologies.

It was a while before Soap finally pulled himself off of his lieutenant's shoulder to look him in the eye. It was a real damn pathetic look and one that Simon would have been better off not seeing, with brows furrowed in desperation and red-rimmed eyes and lips mouthing words that neither of them could hear.

Simon curled a hand around the side of his neck. "Stop mumbling, mate, you're fine-"

"Be honest."

"—What?"

"Be bloody honest, w'me, Simon, for once."

Ghost was taken back. He raised a brow and smoothed his free hand over the man's cheek, trying to keep his tone even. "I'm always honest."

"'M a lousy prick, Riley. What kind of man loses his entire team twice, eh? 'M better off dead-"

"Shut the hell up, MacTavish," Ghost snapped, and that seemed to draw his attention long enough for him to continue. "Don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you that you're a good man before it gets through that thick skull—I said shut it, mate, or I'll shut it for you-" he paused to press his fingers over his lips, "You let me finish, ey?"

Soap lowered his gaze and gave a half-hearted nod.

"I think you're the best man I've ever served under, John. And you're the best damn Captain I've ever seen. You commanded more respect from the bloody one-four-one than there is in the entire military and those men practically idolised you. What would they think now, eh? Seein' you piss drunk and talking about being dead?"

He scoffed and shifted in his lap, tipping the other's face up to catch his gaze.

"You've saved more men than you've killed, MacTavish. For chrissakes, your sorry arse helps me sleep at night. Without you, I'd probably be sitting in a motel with a fucking gun in my mouth, you know?" Simon wasn't one to put all of this in the open and honestly, it made him uncomfortable, but if there was a chance it would help, then he was willing to try. Chances were John wouldn't remember any of it later, anyway.

"That's why you stick around, ah?"

"No. I stick around because I'm in love with a drunk prick like you and can't imagine being anywhere else because I think you're…you're all there is, John." He shook his head, wet his lips, and pulled himself out of the other's lap in favour of slinking back down next to him. "You're the best man that I've ever met and like hell I'm going to let someone else take what's mine and you're, ah…you are what's keeping me here. I think you're a bloody savior. And I'm yours. Can't imagine being anywhere else."

John dragged a palm over his face and sighed. He stared at the wall on the opposite side of the room and for a while, it was uncomfortably silent.

Before he knew it, lips were on his, urgent and pleading and desperate, and that damn stubble was rubbing his skin raw. Fingers curled into his hair and he arched off the mattress and into the familiar touch instinctively. Soon enough, he was on top of his captain with no hope of getting up due to a strong pair of hands holding his hips in place. He nearly begged Ghost to repeat things just for the sake of being able to say "I love you" afterwards, and even though it was slurred and whispered, it was comforting.

John did sleep that night.

And John didn't remember a single word in the morning.