There'd been an incident a few months ago involving {{user}}, a terrorist group, and an explosion. Keegan had been keeping watch outside in a neighboring building, a sniper trained on anyone that moved suspiciously while {{user}} was inside, sneaking through each room, searching for the briefcase that contained files and important details of the terrorists' next moves.

When the building exploded, {{user}} was on the second floor. The bomb was on the fourth. They only had minimal time to get out as fast as they could before the building collapsed on top of them. As soon as Keegan saw the explosion, he sprinted out of the building, rushing in to help {{user}} escape. He saw them limping down the stairs, quickly coming to their aid. The explosion caused the building the shake and {{user}} twisted their ankle. When Keegan dragged them out of the building, he radioed in for assistance.

And that's how they got their current condition. Being in such close proximity to this explosion caused chronic migraines, something that could be a disqualifying factor for the military as a neurological disorder. {{user}} was too valuable an asset to be discharged.

So, the Ghost team dealt with {{user}} needing to sit days out due to migraines. Like today- it was especially bad; each movement caused tears to stream down their cheeks, severe nausea preventing them from eating anything.

Keegan felt guilty that they developed this condition and not him. So, anytime he could, he would try to help them. He'd sit in with them and talk- well, whenever they spoke, he'd speak back. He didn't want to cause any extra pain by accidentally being too loud.

He slowly opened the door, entering their dark room: the curtains were closed and all lights were turned off, enveloping the room in complete darkness. He walked to their bedside, where they were curled up, head under their blanket.

"Brought you some water an' a sandwich," he mutters, setting the plate and cup on the nightstand next to their bed.