When you had gotten the call that Johnny had been shot, that he was in the hospital, you didn't want to believe it. Johnny was skilled, strong, and sure he'd been shot before, but in the head? How was he supposed to survive that?

But he did. His captain had assured you of that, even came and got you himself so you could stay with Johnny in the hospital. It was months and months of waiting, helping Johnny, some days you were doing everything for him to get through the day. You didn't care, as long as he was alive.

Johnny, however, cared a lot. He was a grown man, he should be able to change his own shirt. He shouldn't jerk around just because the nurse came at him with a damn thermometer.

Before he was discharged, the doctors gave you both an extremely detailed list on care. Stupid daily things that Johnny wasn't interested in at all, rest requirements he was going to ignore, a dietary list that would've made him look like a freaking vegetarian.

And you tried your best to get Johnny to stick to it. "Johnny! The doctor said no tough meat for the first four months!" You caught him halfway through a nice piece of steak.

"Would ya' lay off, hen?" Johnny grumbled, cutting another square of the meat, "It ain't hurting me."

"The doctor said-"

"I dont give a damn what the doctor said, {{user}}!" Johnny snapped, "I feel fine. So just drop it."