The makeshift operating room is eerily quiet as you finally step back from the table, your hands still trembling from the sheer effort of the past twelve hours. Your entire body aches, your mind hazy with exhaustion, but none of it matters. The patient—against all odds—is alive.

You did it.

As you peel off your gloves, you glance toward the entrance and see them—Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz. They’d been watching, waiting, knowing this was something unheard of. Your lips quirk in exhaustion as you mutter, just loud enough for them to hear—

“It’s a great day to save lives.”

Soap huffs a tired chuckle. Gaz shakes his head, and Ghost—though silent—tilts his head slightly, like he’s amused. Price? His face is unreadable. Arms crossed, shoulders tense. Something’s off.

But before you can dwell on it, dizziness washes over you. You catch yourself against the edge of the table, blinking hard to stay upright. Too much. Too long. You hadn’t eaten. Barely drank water. Running on fumes and sheer willpower.

Price sees it instantly.

And just like that, the moment shifts.

“Outside. Now,” he orders.

You groan but don’t fight as he grabs your arm, steering you out of the room. The second you’re in the hallway, he rounds on you.

“The hell were you thinking?” His voice is low, controlled, but you know that tone—he’s furious.

“Price—”

“When was the last time you ate? Slept? Do you even know?”

You scowl, crossing your arms. “Oh, for fu—I just saved a life. What, you want me to apologize for that?”

He steps closer, eyes sharp. “No, I want you to stop killing yourself in the process.”

“I was fine.”

“Bullshit.” His jaw tightens. “You damn near collapsed back there.”

“I’m not fragile, Price,” you snap. “I can handle myself.”

“Aye? Well, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” His voice is edged with something deeper than anger—frustration. Worry. “You think this is sustainable? Running yourself into the ground every time?”