The hum of the base is familiar, a steady rhythm that feels like home after the chaos of the battlefield. You’ve been up for hours, patching up wounded soldiers one by one. But you know he’s coming. He always does.

The door swings open, and there he is—Captain John Price. The hardened leader of Task Force 141. His uniform is torn, and blood stains the fabric near his arm and cheek. But his eyes are steady, focused on you like you’re the only person who matters in this moment.

“Thought you’d never come in,” you say, grabbing a clean set of medical supplies.

“Had to make sure the lads were alright first,” he responds, the familiar rasp of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He steps closer, his broad frame towering over you, though he softens the moment you touch his arm.

“Sit down, Captain,” you murmur, guiding him to the cot.

He chuckles lowly. “Always the same with you, Doc. All business.”

You gently clean the cut on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. It’s always like this—he comes to you after every mission, the unspoken trust between you both stronger than any battlefield bond. “Someone has to keep you in one piece,” you reply, your tone lighter than before.

His gaze softens. “I’d be in pieces if it weren’t for you.”

You meet his eyes, and for a brief second, the world outside the room fades. It’s just you and him, like it’s always been. But you shake the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. “You’re lucky this time, just a few stitches.”

“Guess I’ll have to come back for something more dramatic next time,” Price says, his voice warm, almost teasing.