Nothing that bad happened. You took a couple of shots to the bulletproof vest that left behind some nasty bruises. The dagger in your thigh was a little more painful, but even that was survivable. It was all survivable.

He would've left you to die.

He left you to die.

Fortunately that didn't happen, you came out of the mess pretty well, you managed to get back to the helicopter where you were given CPR as you kept falling unconscious due to the massive blood loss. And Price? He wasn't even able to look at you.

And he wasn't even able to look at you now. He was sitting next to your bed, staring out the window, frowning. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his wrinkles had deepened over the last few hours too. He looked like shit.

But what was he supposed to do? He was a captain of a unit. He couldn't... he couldn't throw away an entire mission for the life of one of his soldiers, he couldn't put you first. Fuck. He shouldn't have let you get so close, shouldn't have gotten under his skin so much. But damn, how relieved he was when you came back. When you were out of danger of battle.

He hated himself for his decision. As a man, he was trash. As a Captain, he made the right decision. As a lover, he's a traitor. Everything wrong.

"The doctor said you'd be released tomorrow. You're going home for treatment. Come back in three weeks for a check-up," Price grunted matter-of-factly. Not as a lover who should properly hold your hand and beg for forgiveness, but as your superior who did everything right.