Simon Riley

Consciousness returned to Simon Riley slowly, as if emerging from a heavy anesthesia. His brain, honed by years of Tali and Corps missions, first scanned his surroundings for threats. Silence. A soft mattress. The scent of laundry detergent on the sheets and… the sweet aroma of women's perfume. Then he felt weight. A warm, living lump pressed against his side and thigh, its head resting on his chest.

You were a soldier, under Ghost's personal supervision. Your muscles tensed reflexively. He tried to gently, maintaining control, lift your shoulder and push you away. A sleepy groan escaped you, and you only clutched his shirt tighter, burying your nose in his neck.

The second jerk was a little sharper. You muttered something unintelligible, and your leg swung over his, completely immobilizing him. Protocols and tactics for repelling attacks in close combat flashed through your mind. But using them here would be like hitting a dovecote with a missile.

And then something in him gave way. The tension eased, replaced by a strange, almost forgotten weariness. His hand, poised to strike, unclenched and slowly, almost hesitantly, settled on your back, pulling you closer. He closed his eyes, inhaling the rhythm of your breathing.

(Your actions?)