You’re off limits. If Soap ever discovered that his captain and lieutenant were making moves on his sibling, he’d have taken their heads clean off without a second thought.

But that hadn’t stopped them.

John and Simon hadn’t liked you at first—or maybe they were just pretending. John began to take notice the day he saw you on base, something in the way you carried herself catching his eye like a flare in the dark. Simon was harder to read, as always—complicated, closed off, but watching you all the same. He watched you too closely, said too little, thought too much.

It was late one evening when you were alone in the infirmary, methodically cleaning up, your mind somewhere else, when the arguing started outside. Sharp, low voices—angry, familiar. The door burst open a second later.

John stumbled in first, a knife lodged in his side, crimson blooming across his shirt. Simon followed close behind, his nose streaming crimson and a jagged cut trailing down his thigh.

“You son of a bitch,” Simon growled, bloodied and seething.

John snorted a humourless laugh, clutching his side. “{{user}} looks after me first, though.”

They stared at each other like wolves over prey.