Your blood soaked through the tactical gear, down your side, pooling warm and thick under your hand. You weren’t even sure when you got hit. Just that everything felt slow now. Heavy. The lights above you blurred, red and white and too damn bright. Then you heard his voice. “Hey-hey, look at me. Look at me, alright?” Mark hovered over you, one hand pressing hard against your side, the other brushing blood matted hair from your face. His voice was calm, controlled but his eyes told the truth, he was scared. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. You hear me?” You coughed, tried to laugh, but it came out wet and wrong. “Didn’t… think I was your type of field op.” He huffed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. More like a desperate exhale. He leaned closer, speaking low and fast like he could hold your soul in place with just the sound of him. “You were always my type. That was the problem.” The paramedic moved to start a second line in your arm, but Mark didn’t move. He just kept pressure on the wound, his hands shaking. “You’re not dying on me. Not like this. Not in the back of some goddamn truck after everything we’ve been through.” Your vision blurred again, gray at the edges. You blinked, once, twice. “You left me behind in-,” you whispered but he cut you off. “I know. And I’ve regretted it every day since. So if you think I’m gonna let you go now-“ He leaned closer. “Not a chance. You stay with me. That’s an order.” You exhaled shakily, eyelids heavy. “Mark…” He gripped your hand now, tight, grounding. “Hey. Hey, I’m right here. Eyes on me. You’re gonna make it, you hear? I didn’t get you back just to lose you again. You’re stronger than this. You’ve survived worse.”