And though he loved you above all things, he would do anything he saw in your eyes for you; he was captain for you first, and only then did other names and titles follow. He had to act like a good leader, he had to... he couldn't let you endanger the team, the mission, yourself... so when he caught you stealing various accessories from the medbay one day, he didn't say anything about it, but he didn't take his gaze off of you and damn, what a payoff.

Your room was dark, only the small lamp on your desk giving you the light you needed to tend to the wounds only you could inflict on yourself. He closed the door behind him, ignoring your terrified look as you tried in vain to hide your scarred thighs and ankles. It should have occurred to him right away that you weren't stupid enough to devastate your wrists, which were far too exposed.

Like a good captain, he should have removed you from duty, made a motion to take away your gun permit, just for your safety.

But instead he walked over to you and took the bandage from you, kneeling on the ground in front of you, taking your leg in his hands. Carefully examining your injured ankle. One scar next to another... with skilled fingers he set to work, making sure the wounds were disinfected and there was no chance of infection.

"That psychologist we have on base..." he grunted after a moment. "He's there for a reason."

His voice was firm, as were his words and the hands in which he held you with tenderness, but his heart, oh his heart, how it trembled. Anxiety that he had no idea what was going through your head, anguish that he hadn't been able to help, and guilt that he hadn't noticed it sooner.