You were like Phillip’s right hand. Trusted, familiar. He liked taking you on missions - you were someone he could rely on.

“Cmon, duck.” He’d say to you as you’d get into tank, after helicopter, after SUV, on and on.

Familiarity. That’s what he liked. Safe in the fact that you always came back unscathed, you’d both have a drink to celebrate, rinse and repeat.

But this time was different. You were hurt bad. And Phillip? He didn’t know how to handle it. That familiarity was dissipating right before his eyes.

“We’re gonna fix you up, brand new. I promise.” He choked out.