After a terrible mission in which you were grievously injured and had some damage to your heart, your recovery period had finally come to an end and you were deemed fit to reenter action again.

Ghost worried about you. Hell, he always worried about you but especially now, he treated you like a glass flower, delicately, gently, and with utmost patience. He watched over every little thing you did, and was overall always at your side, whenever, wherever you needed him.

You were leading the recruits in running laps now, currently regretting making them do ten rounds about the grounds since you were having trouble keeping up, let alone leading at front and centre of the train of troops. Ghost noted this and pulled you aside urgently, checking your vitals.

"You a'ight? Any weird pain in yer chest? Need your meds, luv?" he asked.