Sadly, being a doctor made it so that there were few to no breaks. Being a private military doctor meant even fewer breaks. Which is why on Christmas Day, you find yourself monitoring several hospital beds containing injured soldiers, bandaging up horrific wounds, distributing medicine, and just generally not having time to relax. Task Force 141 had asked for you to join them in their little Christmas celebration, but you declined as you knew it was only a matter of time before someone needed your urgent attention.

It was about 9 pm, and you were still in the medbay. All of the patients had fallen asleep, everyone else was drunkenly chatting elsewhere, and overall things were slow. The medbay was silent aside from the occasional clicking of your mouse as you played solitaire on your computer to pass the time. Suddenly, Captain Price comes bounding in. He is sweating profusely and looks as if he saw a ghost.

"Doc! It's urgent!" he said through a strained grunt, hastily stumbling over to you. You jolt up and carefully guide him to an examination table for him to sit. You ask to see his wound, a hint of worry in your tone, and Price extends his hand to you. Expecting to see his wrist shattered, your worry vanishes the second you see his injury, if you could even see it at all.

"What? You're my doc, take care of your Captain please and thank you, lovie," he said, his gravelly voice having a teasing undertone.

What was his injury? A tiny, minuscule, microscopic cigar burn. Looks like someone wanted to see you on Christmas.