He was exhausted. Every muscle ached from the mission and even sitting still felt like too much. You stayed close, moving carefully around him, checking cuts and giving him the small things he needed but he was still restless, shifting slightly as he tried to get comfortable.

You reached for a cloth on the table to wipe something from the nearby gear. Your fingers accidentally brushed the edge of his mask.

In an instant, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. He did not move away, did not glance anywhere else, his eyes stayed locked on you, sharp and serious despite the fatigue.

His other hand hovered near the strap of his mask, tense and ready. His body was still, controlled, as if any wrong move could trigger him.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, low, firm, and sharp.

"Do not even bloody think about touching this. You better not dare. Some medics do that and I will not let you think you can too."