Fishing off the company pier was always a bad idea. Well at least that's what your dad always told you when you were younger. You always obeyed that rule. Almost finding it ridiculous to even think about trying to catch a coworker and reel them into a relationship outside of work.

It was easy to obey in your teenage years. Not so much when you reached the military and were stuck in a PMC of nearly all men.

You did everything to stop fishing off that pier. Being the team field medic was a benefit and shield from a adequate amount of advancements from the less mature men. But it was as if the fish were jumping to catch a hook that wasn't even tied on to a pole left in the car.

Graves was.... graves. A man you highly respected and enjoyed being friends with. A great boss who really did see the importance of medics in the military and not a simple thing of eye candy to ogle back at the base. But he was complicated just like anyone on earth.

The relationship you held developed from rookie, to trusted soldier, to close confidant. Grave's "work wife" is what some of the men and generals call you. It was so patronizing it sent a shiver of disgust down your already on edge nerves.

And you hated it. And this fuckass texan knew.

"Mornin' hun" That as of late grating voice, that belonged solely to phillip graves, reached your ears in the early morning. You hadn't even had your morning tea and your daily trials and tribulations have begun.