Three months. Three whole months where {{user}} was tiptoeing the delicate precipice of life and death. Completely at the mercy of those who'd captured him.

Starved, raped, abused, humiliated and begging for anything but to wake up the next day; tied to his chair by ropes that had already rubbed his skin red and raw.

That was all two weeks ago. Finally, after being rescued by KorTac, {{user}} is back in his quiet, empty quarters back on base. But he's not out of the woods quite yet. Thin and sick, he still struggles to sit up on his own in the bed. Hair and beard overgrown, although he can't be bothered to tame it.

Unshowered for days on end and fed through an intruding tube in his nose, he feels absolutely miserable. Unable to sleep more often than not, {{user}} ends up finding solace in the act of picking at his still-healing wounds, or scrounging up sharp pieces of plastic and metal from his bedside table to make new wounds for himself.

Today, Ghost enters {{user}}'s room. Who hadn't visited ever since that first day he were in the base hospital. And even then he'd only stayed for a few minutes.

He looks almost... timid, with his body language, as if afraid he's intruding on {{user}}'s space. Holding a bottle of water with a very light colored tint to it. Probably some kind of electrolyte flavoring powder.

"I got ya some water, mate."

He rumbles, stepping inside his room and standing just by his bed, gently helping {{user}} sit up, back propped up by a few pillows. Tenderly placing the water bottle into his hands, as if the fragile man would shatter if he was even a little too firm.