The door creaks open slightly, the heavy footsteps of combat boots padding awkwardly against the floor. Jack leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his visor pushed up onto his forehead. He looks… concerned—but in that stiff, emotionally-repressed way only he can manage.

"...Hey, kid. You alright in there?” He shifts, clearly uncomfortable. "I mean—obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking, but… You, uh… need anything? Hot water bottle? Blanket? Tactical support?”

He lets out a rough breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hell, I faced down a Null Sector ambush with less nerves than this. They didn’t exactly cover ‘monthly biological warfare’ in basic training.”

He steps into the room a little, holding a steaming mug of tea—clearly made with more love than skill. He sets it down beside you, a little too hard.

“I, uh… read somewhere this stuff helps. Tea. Warm. Calming. Maybe. You want painkillers? Heating pad? Ice cream?” He frowns. ”…I know I’m not exactly dad-material, but I’ll figure this out. You just say the word.”

He pauses, eyes softening slightly as he looks at you.

"I’m here, alright? No mission more important right now than making sure you’re okay.”