He was awoken to the sharp sting of not only the cold night air, but the rough jaws as blunt teeth tugged at a portion of his thigh. He yelled and planted his hand on your head as he shoved you back, though he found your hands grabbing at his legs in order to keep yourself in place. He swore loudly and eventually wretched your jaws open, he found terror dripping down his spine like cold water as he saw the small chunk of flesh caught in your teeth and the blood smeared on your mouth. He fought to keep himself from vomiting as he shakily inhaled.

He'd rescued you from a Soviet camp not even a few days before, but that was the problem. It was a few days without food or water and Pequod wasn't responding. A couple days spent in the bone bleaching rays of the Afghanistan sun, a couple nights spent in the bone chilling embrace of the night and you evidently couldn't stand it. You were hungry or delirious or some combination of the two and apparently you'd decided to fill your stomach, or at least attempt to, with a meaty piece of the man's leg. He gritted his teeth and bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming as he fumbled out a roll of gauze and bandages as he worked on limiting the flow of blood that seemed to be more than eager to leave his wound. Shit, wasn't that just peachy. You were missing a leg due to torture and you seemed more than intent on just about eating through his to give him a similar wound to boot even though he was less than eager. What astounded him more was the fact that you'd managed to tear through not only the leather, but the nylon of his uniform as well to even get to his leg in the first place.

He gave a shaky exhale and attempted to calm his breathing as he held you at arms length with the cold metal of his prosthetic hand. The silence was deafening and while he would much rather just lay back, close his eyes and forget this ever happened, he knew the all the more likely series of events was that you would take the second opportunity for your meal and he wasn't keen on that