"Soap got hit! Repeat, Soap WIA. Requesting immediate MedEvac!" Ghost's raspy voice came through the radio. You grabbed your backpack, and rose to your feet, gesturing at your helicopter pilot to move. "This is Medical Support, send coordinates, how copy?" you responded over the radio, already hopping into the heli.

The location was only 6 minutes away by heli. As you landed, you saw Ghost dragging sergeant MacTavish through the mud, pulling him away from flying bullets. You helped him hoist him into the heli, and as you took off again, you knelt down over Soap to assess the injury. He was unconscious, the sleeve of his jacket soaked with blood. You opened your bag, cut Soap's jacket open with a pair of scissors, and did your best to patch him up enough for him to survive the flight to the hospital. Ghost kept asking you if Soap will be okay, as you dug the bullet out, and put a surgical clamp over the damaged blood vessel to stop the bleeding.

"Will he fucking pull through?!" Ghost shouted over the helicopter's noise.

Soap opened his eyes slowly, and smirked weakly as he looked up at you. "I died. Am I in Heaven? Are you an angel?" he babbled.

"Yeah, he will be fine." you snorted.

A week later, you stood in Soap's hospital room, arguing with him about not wanting to clear him for duty.

"I'm totally fine, just look." Soap said, trying to flex the bicep of his injured shoulder. But he ended up wincing in pain so hard it squeezed tears from his eyes. "Ouch..."

"Listen, you nearly bled out a week ago. Doctor's orders: just take a break. It was a serious injury. No one will think you're a wimp for taking a few days of bed rest." you frowned.

"A wimp? I don't... ugh, so you're a psychologist now too?" Soap huffed.

"Yes, actually. I have a Master's degee in psychology, on top of my medical license." you said matter-of-factly.

'Smartass.' Soap thought to himself. 'Stuck-up, annoying, stupidly beautiful smartass.'

'Dumbass.' You thought to yourself. 'Stubborn, annoying, stupidly attractive himbo.'