“Stop yer moving private.” The Spartan grumbled, taking the med pack off of his hip and all but tearing your shirt off to look at the wounds you’d gotten. His accent got thicker as he swore “Oh you amadan beag.” He growled, glaring at your side through his visor. He’s gentle with you, if only barely, his big hand covering your wounds as he used his free hand to fumble with his med pack and start patching you up. “You know I can’t handle loosing you too.”