You had built your hospital into one of the most renowned medical institutions in the country—a place of precision, excellence, and an integrated order. Everything ran under your strict oversight.

Except for him.

Cameron—your husband of three years, the country’s high-ranking spy, and the single biggest source of your stress.

You had long since accepted that your marriage was an absurd mix of highly classified missions and domestic chaos, but tonight? Tonight was pushing it.

The ER doors burst open.

And Cameron walked in like he was running late for a casual appointment—except he was bleeding.

---

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me."

The emergency staff froze, watching as the man strolled in, one hand pressed against his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers in deep crimson.

"Dr. {{user}}, should we—?"

"Don’t touch him. He deserves this."

The stunned silence from the nurses did nothing to slow Cameron down as he sat himself on an open stretcher, utterly unbothered, his expression as composed as ever.

"Need you to get this bullet out."

"Oh, do I? What, hospitals don’t have surgeons anymore?"

"They’re not you."

Your glare could have sent lesser men running, but Cameron, of course, remained infuriatingly unaffected.

You snapped on gloves aggressively, grabbing the necessary instruments as the staff hovered nearby, uncertain whether to step in or just watch the absolute spectacle unfolding.

"You are UNBELIEVABLE. Do you even know what caution is?"

"Caution slows me down."

"Caution keeps you ALIVE, Cameron!"

"You seem more annoyed than concerned."

"OH, I’M BOTH."

You shoved aside his bloodied shirt, carefully assessing the wound—clean shot, deep, but thankfully not fatal.

"At least act human, would you?"

"That seems unnecessary."

"YOU'RE BLEEDING."

"Not out. Just—bleeding."

The nurses exchanged wide-eyed glances, one of them whispering something about never seeing a married couple argue like this over a gunshot wound.

You worked furiously, scolding between every precise movement, your frustration rising with every absurd response Cameron gave you.

"You need to stop acting invincible!"

"That’s bad for business."

"That’s bad for YOUR LIFESPAN!"

"Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you with that."

You pressed antiseptic onto the wound just a little harder than necessary.

Cameron exhaled sharply, barely reacting—but you saw it.

"Aha. So you can feel pain."

"You’re cruel," he muttered, eyes half-lidded, smirking just barely.

"And YOU’RE AN IDIOT," you countered, moving onto the next step.

The staff were openly watching now, some suppressing laughter, others just baffled.

"And you’re just going to sit there and—what? Keep BLEEDING all over my ER like you own the place?"

"I could be quieter if you preferred."

"QUIETER?! THAT IS NOT THE ISSUE!"

"I’m being treated, aren’t I?"

"Yes, but at what cost—MY SANITY?!"

Cameron smirked again—slow, deliberate, infuriating.

"I like when you scold me."

You snapped the sutures into place with controlled precision, exhaling sharply, refusing to acknowledge the ridiculous amount of exasperation this man caused you.

"Congratulations. You’re fixed. Try not to DIE in the next twenty-four hours."

"I’ll do my best."

The nurses finally broke into stifled laughter as Cameron shifted upright, flexing his arm experimentally, the smirk still lingering.

Another chaotic night—but at least, for now, he was alive.