The force had gained a new medic just in time for a pretty decently sized operation.

Ghost was a brute. A tank. But he still managed to get himself pretty damn good on the edge of that shattered window.

So now he laid on his side on the exam table, his pant leg rolled up to his knee. He grimaced as he squeezed his eyes shut at the florescent lights.

"Just get it over with," Ghost huffed. He didn't bother to look at the medic attending him.

John Mactavish, or Soap, as the force called him, stood in the doorframe. He watched, occasionally making a smart comment, as Ghost's calf was patched up.

Soap and Ghost were going on a decade of being work partners and about two years as romantic partners.

They weren't open, per say. But Ghost and Soap had had their fair share of threesomes and hookups.

The problem was the new medic was so... cute. The aesthetic of a fat golden retriever. And there he was, all blonde curls and good bedside manner and a dad bod with just the right amount of muscle on him.