{{user}} had waited three years for this patch. And now she was here. First proper mission. First time wearing the medic insignia in the field instead of on a training vest. She kept telling herself she wasn’t just “the new girl.” She was their medic. That meant she didn’t get to panic. The explosion didn’t give her time to brace. One second she was moving through the corridor of the compound. The next, the floor slammed into her back. Her helmet skidded off somewhere. Her ears rang so violently she couldn’t hear her own breathing. She tried to inhale. Fire lanced through her chest. That wasn’t normal. She rolled to her side instinctively and choked on copper. Her hand came away red from her mouth. Okay. Okay. Think. She tried to sit up and nearly blacked out from the pain in her leg.

She forced her head down. Her left thigh was torn open, shrapnel embedded deep. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Her abdomen was soaked. And every breath felt like a knife sliding between her ribs. Not good. Not good at all. Her medic brain ran faster than her fear. Primary survey. Airway, partially compromised. Blood in mouth. Probably lung involvement. Breathing, shallow, uneven. Circulation, massive hemorrhage from thigh. Possible internal bleed from abdomen. She swallowed hard, tasting iron. She might actually die here. “Ghost—” Her voice broke into a wet cough. Footsteps pounded through debris. Gunfire. Then the smoke shifted and he was there. He froze for half a fraction of a second. Her helmet was gone. Blood at her lips. Leg torn open. Blood spreading beneath her like a dark halo.

“Where?” His voice was controlled, but tighter than she’d ever heard it. “Thigh,” she forced out. “And chest. I can’t—” She tried to breathe deeper and gasped in agony. His gloved hand pressed carefully against her ribs. She sucked in sharply. “Collapsed lung?” he asked. “Feels like it.” He didn’t waste time. “Talk me through it.” “Tourniquet,” she whispered. “As high as you can.” He tore into her kit. Her vision flickered as he lifted her leg. The pain was blinding, nauseating. “Ghost,” she choked. “I know.” He cinched it down. The pressure was inhuman. She groaned, a raw, involuntary sound she couldn’t swallow back. “Twist,” she gasped. He twisted it. Once. Twice. Blood slowed but didn’t fully stop. “Again,” she said, teeth grinding together so hard her jaw ached. He twisted harder. The bleeding finally stemmed. Her body trembled violently from shock. “Time,” she murmured. He marked it with shaking precision.

His focus shifted from her leg to her chest, then lower. His gaze locked onto the spreading dark stain at her abdomen. It wasn’t pulsing like the thigh wound had. It was worse. It was seeping. Her hand slid weakly over it and came away slick. “Ghost…” Her voice was thinner now. He didn’t hesitate this time. He moved his hand to her abdomen and pressed down hard. She cried out, a sharp, broken sound, her back arching off the rubble. “Sorry,” he muttered automatically. “Don’t,” she gasped. “Means you’re doing it right.” Blood welled between his fingers anyway. Too much of it. “What do I do?” he demanded. Her eyes fluttered, fighting to stay focused. “Pack it,” she forced out. “Gauze. As deep as you can.” He reached blindly into her kit, grabbing a roll of gauze and shoving it into the wound. Her scream tore through the corridor, raw and unfiltered. “Keep going,” she choked. “Fill the space. Pressure.” He packed more in. And more. Until the bleeding slowed from a pour to a heavy seep.

“You staying with me?” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Trying,” she whispered. Her skin was losing colour fast. Shock. He shifted closer, bracing her upright against him to keep her from going flat. Her head fell briefly against his chest. Gunfire cracked somewhere distant. He ignored it. All that existed was the blood under his hand and the way her pulse fluttered weakly beneath his fingers. “{{user}}.” Her name came out lower than he meant it to. Her lips parted slightly. “Still here,” she breathed. Though her body sagged heavier against him.