There was no mercy on the battlefield. No time for care, for love, for tenderness.

Until they arrived, that is.

The team had been caught by surprise, ambushed by enemy soldiers on what was supposed to be a routine op.

{{user}} and Ghost ended up separated from the rest of the team, sheltered in an abandoned house as they tried to stitch up a bullet wound in Ghost's shoulder.

"Fuckin' hell, {{user}}," Ghost mutters when the suture tugs on his skin a bit, "Can't you be a little nicer?"