Work Text:
Dale tried to ignore the smirk on Doc Schmid's face as he wrapped up his arm in prep for the cast. Dale had just finished telling him how he got the injury in the Ranger attack on their officers and Delta ops.
"You need to stay away from Deltas, my son. They'll cause you nothing but trouble," Doc told him with a voice of doom, shaking his head sorrowfully.
Dale bristled. "What the hell do you mean? You're a Del-"
"Trouble," Doc interrupted, his bright blue eyes boring into Dale's. "You'll be considered lucky if you only end up breaking all your limbs and not your heart."
Dale felt the blood drain from his head and he turned away from Doc, not wanting to admit even to himself why he trailed after the Delta boys--alright, one specific Delta. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered.
Doc said nothing, but the smirk stayed in place. He wiped his hands off on an old khaki tee-shirt and slapped Dale cheerfully on the shoulder.
"Stick to the Rangers, my son. They take care of their own. In whatever way you need," Doc said, and winked lasciviously at him. "Hooah."