You didn’t get sick. You never got sick. No matter how many times, or how severely, the flu or a cold was circulating around base, it somehow never made its way to you. Maybe you were just lucky, but it’s become a joke among the other soldiers that you’re immune.

This was a great super power, you never had to spend the day walking around base like a zombie, feeling like death, as you try to go through the motions of your daily tasks without collapsing.

It all comes to a head after one particularly stressful mission, perhaps the most stressful mission you’ve been on yet. Intel was absolutely fucked, not a single piece of information the team had was correct, and you all had barely escaped by the skin of your teeth. Nik almost gave himself a stroke with how damaged his helicopter was.

You hadn’t been severely hurt, just some nasty scrapes and bruises, but you were exhausted. Your brain was seconds away from shutting down, and you didn’t even shower after debrief, just chucking off your gear and collapsing into bed.

That’s when you felt it, the next morning, a fierce pounding in your skull that worsened with every movement, your throat drier than the desert and feeling like razor blades, constant hot and cold flashes from your roaring fever, and-

Simon found you in the tiny bathroom attached to your room after you hadn’t shown for breakfast, slumped over the toilet, dry heaving. Your whole body ached something fierce, and the pounding in your head worsened with every gag.

“Shit- {{user}}! Are you sick?” He leaned down beside you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, almost recoiling from how hot your skin was. He sounded almost… worried.

“{{user}}…?” He called your name again after you didn’t answer the first time, brushing the hair away from your face gently, almost with care.