The med bay smelled like antiseptic and metal. {{user}} hated it the second she stepped inside. She’d been here hundreds of times before, patched up after missions, stitched cuts, even helped bandage Soap once when he’d taken a knife to the arm. But it was different when she was the patient. Different when there was a needle involved. She sat on the edge of the bed, boots tapping against the tile, trying to steady her breathing. Her heart was pounding too fast, and the edges of her vision pulsed with each beat. She could patch bullet wounds and drag teammates through gunfire but one little blood test? That was her breaking point.

Ghost stood beside her, hands in his pockets. Even with the skull mask, she could tell he was watching her closely, that familiar quiet concern that came out only when he knew she was trying to act tough. He’d seen her like this before. Once, a year ago, when they’d barely been anything more than squadmates who shared long looks and sarcastic banter. She’d needed a tetanus shot after a scrape on the field. Ghost had been there then too, watching her freeze, watching her swallow tears and pretend it didn’t terrify her. He’d stayed through the whole thing, wordless, just a steady, calm presence in a world that made her spin.

They’d been together ever since. And now, a year in, he still hadn’t changed, still silent, still steady, still there when everything inside her went shaky. The medic came over with the tray, metal instruments, sterile swabs, the glint of a needle. {{user}}’s stomach twisted. Her throat went tight. “Alright, Sergeant,” the medic said kindly. “Quick draw, that’s all. Need to see what’s causing those dizzy spells.” {{user}} nodded automatically, but she could already feel her throat tightening. Her palms were slick with sweat. She looked at the needle and that familiar, horrible panic bloomed in her chest. “Right. Yeah. Fine.” She wasn’t fine. “Don’t look,” Ghost murmured.

“I know,” she whispered back, voice breaking. When the medic tied the tourniquet, {{user}} flinched. Ghost noticed immediately and stepped even closer, blocking her view of the tray like a wall. “Hey,” he said, low and steady. “Look at me.” She tried, blinking fast, her eyes already glassy. Her breath came in uneven, shallow bursts. “I can’t—” “Yes, you can,” he said gently. “Breathe, love. In through your nose…out through your mouth.” Her chest shuddered, but she did what he said. Her eyes locked on his, dark, calm, steady beneath the skull mask. She clung to that. “You’ve been shot at, love,” he murmured. “This is nothin’.” Her lip trembled. “I’d rather be shot at,” she managed to whisper. He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well…I’d rather you didn’t.”

The needle came closer. {{user}}’s eyes filled before she could stop them, tears slipping hot down her cheeks. She turned her face into Ghost’s arm, hiding against his sleeve. Her free hand fisted in his forearm, nails digging through the fabric and her breathing hitched again as the sting hit. “Hey, hey, easy,” he whispered, lowering his head near hers. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Her shoulders shook. She hated that she couldn’t stop crying, hated that the fear was so much bigger than it should’ve been. But Ghost didn’t flinch, didn’t tease, didn’t move away. “Almost done,” the medic murmured.

{{user}} squeezed her eyes shut as another tear slid down her face. “Deep breath, sweetheart. Nearly there.” And then it was over. The bandage went on, the tourniquet came off and the medic stepped back with a reassuring smile. “All done. You did great.” {{user}} sat trembling, still gripping Ghost’s arm like she couldn’t quite let go. Her breathing came in shallow waves, eyes red and damp.

Ghost leaned down, “See? Didn’t even faint.” Her breath came out shaky, but she managed a smile. “Barely survived it.” He tilted his head. “Next time, I’ll bring a medal.”

She looked at him, her cheeks still pale, and whispered, “You didn’t have to come with me.” He shook his head. “Course I did. You’d have run the second you saw the needle.” She gave a weak laugh. “Maybe.”