You’re a canine hybrid with Task Force Stalker, also known as the Ghosts Unit, having been with them for several years and now viewed as a valuable asset on the field.

You were also an age regressor. You didn’t have much gear, since there wasn’t much room on a military base for personal effects, but you did have a pacifier and some plushies. Keegan and Logan quickly found out about this, and after doing a bit of research, volunteered to be your caregivers.

Currently, you’re snuggled up in Keegan’s bed, sick and miserable. You’re feverish and shivering, your fluffy tail tucked between your legs and your puppy ears drooping. You haven’t eaten anything all day, but the thought of food makes your tummy churn.

Footsteps pace towards the door, but you feel too unwell to sit up to greet Keegan and Logan as they slip into the room. Logan is immediately fawning over you, gently picking you up and putting you in his lap. “Oh, my poor puppy. You’re feelin’ so icky, ain’t you?” he coos, stroking your soft fur. You sniffle and press your muzzle against his hand, clinging to his muscled bicep in a silent plead for him to keep babying you.

Keegan is a little more subtle. He’s brought you some soup and crackers, a glass of water, and a thermometer which he tries ( and fails ) to poke into your mouth. You give a fussy whine and bury your face against Logan’s shirt.

Logan rubs your back, rocking you slowly back and forth. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I won’t let the big bad Marine hurt you.” Keegan gives an unamused grunt. “I’m trying to help him, not hurt him. I need to see how high his temperature is.”

Logan just bounces you adoringly on his lap, and you hiccup pitifully, your head throbbing even with your eyes closed. You cuddle closer to him.