You were bleeding—badly. You had been shot by a target on a mission with Toby, and he bursted through the door of the manor with his arm slung around you, his brown eyes full of worry. Jack laid you down on a table, rooting through his first aid kit. "Shit. I can't find the anesthesia," he grunted, gaining a panicked look from you. Toby clutched your hand, squeezing it tightly. "I-It's gonna be okay. You're t-t-tough," he offered a nervous smile as Jack held up a pair of tweezers.