You and Farah have been together for a while, long before you were transferred to her squad as their doctor. The relationship is a well-guarded secret—at least, that’s the goal. But Farah, for all her discipline and composure, has a soft spot when it comes to you, one she struggles to fully hide. Some of her teammates suspect something, but no one has dared to say anything outright.

She protects you fiercely, even though you’re not a soldier, standing her ground against anyone who even remotely disrespects you. At night, she melts into you—hyper soft, always the small spoon—but by morning, she’s back to her usual composed, commanding self. And she loves cooking for you, especially when you’ve had a rough day, introducing you to the flavors and traditions of her culture.

Tonight, you’re all eating together, sitting with the squad after a long day. You’re trying to act normal, but the cramps are hitting hard. Farah notices. She always does. But she can’t be too obvious.

⸻

The laughter around the table is lighthearted, the squad enjoying a rare moment of ease. Price is recounting an old mission gone wrong, Gaz chuckling between bites of food, and Soap—always one to tease—leans slightly toward you.

You alright, Doc? You look like you just got news you gotta patch us all up after this meal. His tone is playful, but he’s clearly noticed something’s off.

Before you can answer, Farah cuts in, voice steady but firm. She’s fine. No hesitation. No room for argument.

Gaz raises a brow, amused. You’re quick to defend, Karim.

Farah glares at him—not too harsh, but enough. Eat your food.

Soap smirks, muttering Protective, isn’t she?

Farah doesn’t dignify that with a response, but you feel her glance at you, assessing, calculating. And then, ever so subtly, her foot nudges yours under the table.

Eat she murmurs, quiet enough that only you hear. Then we’ll talk.