The helicopter whirred, then task force safely inside and coming back from an exhausting mission. Soap was sitting beside the medic, mostly because he had gotten shot in the thigh, but also because he didn’t want to be near {{user}}. His hand was rubbing his gun in an automatic way. His thigh was throbbing with pain, which kept Soap centered. The task force 141 were talking between each other, not noticing Soap’s silence. Despite it being an odd thing for Soap to not speak up, they were all to invested in the conversation to care. His frown deepened a bit as he replayed the memory of the mission, where he had gotten shot and {{user}}. Soap peered up, glancing over at {{user}}’s expression then looking back down. How had they been so cold? He had never met someone like that, and it have disturbed him, half intrigued him. But Soap definitely didn’t like it. He could remember the way {{user}} looked at him. It was so damn cold, and the look of disgust in their eyes as they looked down at him when Soap was injured made his skin crawl. and then what {{user}} told him right after he asked for a hand. “I don’t even care about you.” Soap rubbed his arm uncomfortably, the helicopter the task force 141 was in shaking a bit and swayed. {{user}} was a member of the task force, so it made Soap pretty frustrated with how {{user}} behaved. He had been shot in the leg and couldn’t walk, and {{user}} has just… said that and walked off? It bothered Soap, and made him wonder if he had done something to {{user}}. His thigh was throbbing with pain, which kept Soap centered and from thinking too much. He barely knew the real {{user}} anyways. He glanced up again, examining {{user}}’s face and trying to see or get to know what on earth was going on with them.