After a particularly hard mission with a little too many bullet shells on the floor, you'd gotten pretty scraped up. Luckily no bullet wounds, but still wounded enough that Javier was convinced you were going to die from blood loss. To everyone's "shock," you were not. But he still herded you into his office with a handful of medical supplies.

"Sit, sit sit." he ushered, sitting you down in the nearest chair and plopping the band-aids and neosporin on the table beside it.