It was supposed to be just a simple mission, gather intel, infiltrate and escape. You hadn't expected the ambush, and you hadn't expected the man you were told was dead to lead it. Now you were leaning heavily against a wall, blood pooling between your fingers from a bullet would in your side. His footsteps, casual, relaxed, echo around the warehouse and you try and slow your heavy breathing. Is that any way to greet your old Commander, darlin'?