Chapter Text
You were just training- it should’ve been simple, routine, safe.
Your knife hits the ground with an irritating clang. But not before the blade managed to slice through your hand, tearing through layers of skin until the wound began to gush.
“Oh- fuck!” You hiss, taking a startled step back. Your uninjured hand flies to cover the wound, applying pressure just as your training suggests in this kind of event. You quickly draw the attention of your teammates, with Gaz being first to step closer.
“Angel-” He calls, voice dripping with concern. His eyes darted to the fallen knife, observing the blood dripping from the blade.
“I’m fine- I’m fine!” You interrupt, shaking your head. You suck in a sharp breath, willing yourself to remain calm. Not a big deal, it’s probably not even that deep, right?
“Just—fuck—grab me a first aid kit, please!”
Your voice hitches, going up just a single note, nervous and uncertain, of course it’s enough for Gaz and the other observers to notice.
“Yea, alright, just try to stop the bleeding-” Gaz is quick to grab the medical supplies- There are med-kits located practically everywhere on base, it really isn’t hard to fetch one.
You curse under your breath as blood continues to seep out from under your hand- You feel each pulse of your heart as the wound throbs, the warmth of your blood coating your hands even as you press harder to stop it.
“C’mon, sit down, let me have a look.” Gaz is back, hand on your bicep to guide you toward the nearest bench. You let out an unsteady exhale, meeting his eyes to firmly reject his offer with a shake of your head.
“I’m fine, Sergeant. I’ll handle it myself.” You mutter, sounding entirely too irritated considering Gaz is being nothing but helpful.
He scoffs, starts opening up the kit of medical supplies, recognizing that you sure as hell can’t do it yourself, not with both hands all bloody and shaking.
“Not a chance. Let me see, how deep is it?” Your stomach twists at Gaz’s insistence, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin.
“Not deep. It’s fine.” You grumble, just as stubborn as he is.
Soap happens to spot the two of you and quickly informs you that he can give you a ride over to the infirmary, but the only answer he receives from you is a mean glare.
“Just a sec, Tav. Only if they need stitches-”
Gaz says, already snapping on a pair of gloves and ripping open some gauze and bandages. You wince at the suggestion of stitches, thankful that it can be played off as a reaction to the pain.
“I don’t.” You snap. “Don’t need stiches.” The irritation in your voice seems uncalled for, and it should honestly surprise you that you’ve not been scolded for it just yet.
Had something like this happened on the battlefield, in a proper emergency situation, you’d likely already be too pumped with adrenaline to really care about the nerves creeping up your spine, but now? Fuck, it’s really messing with you.
“Well if you’d let me see the bloody wound, we’d be able to know for sure!” Gaz huffs. You flinch when he reaches for your uninjured hand, moving to lift it.
You suck in a sharp breath, brow twitching under the pressure of multiple sets of eyes watching you.
“Told you I can handle it-” You try to argue again, but Gaz manages to take your hand in his own, holding it out. He winces at the sight of the gash, biting his lip at the realization that it’s still bleeding steadily. Far too much for comfort.
“Gaz-” You whisper, voice gone hoarse. Your eyes flit away from the wound as he pulls the hand closer to examine it better.
“Shush.”
Your ears begin to burn a little at the command, but you manage to keep your composure for now.
“Soap?” Gaz calls over his shoulder- The other sergeant immediately responds, stepping up and leaning over to see.
“Bleedin’ jesus-” He curses, eyes a little too wide. Your nose scrunches up in discomfort and you try to pull your hand back, but Gaz holds firm.
“I’ve had worse-” You tell them, looking up to gauge their reactions. “Like, way worse! This is nothing. Just uh- a couple bandages, and I’ll be good as new.”
“Have you even looked at it!?”
Soap’s brows are closely knit.
“I’ll start up the truck.” He mumbles more to himself than anything.
Dread pools, cold and unforgiving, in the pit of your stomach. Fuck.
Fuck.
“W-woah! Dramatic much?” You laugh, exaggerated and obviously fake. “C’mon, guys, seriously. Why waste a poor medic’s time when we can handle this here on our own!?”
Soap is already leaving upon getting a firm nod from Gaz. Your heart leaps into your throat.
“Gaz-” You try again. Gaz is occupying himself by applying pressure to the wound again, watching with a grimace on his face as the blood soaks through multiple gauze. It hurts pretty bad, but the pain is the least of your worries, honestly.
“You’re acting weird.” He states. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost that much blood already.” He laughs quietly, deep hazel eyes briefly meeting your own as if to check on you- like he’s saying ‘you ok?’ without really saying it.
Your irritated demeanour quickly shatters, revealing the real reasoning behind your strange attitude.
Fear.
“I’m not acting weird-” You mumble. “Can you just wrap this up for me, please?”
Gaz sighs. “Okay, but we’re leaving right after. Need to have this looked at properly, I can’t get the bleeding to stop-”
You swallow heavily, throat bobbing with the action. Your mouth feels dry, your face feels hot, and yet the rest of you is cold and shivering.
“Christ, Garrick.” You spit. “Would you just let this go? It was just a small cut, I’m fine!”
He lightly cleans the wound first. The anti-septic stings like a bitch, makes your eyesight go a little fuzzy before the familiar throb of the wound itself returns to the forefront of your mind.
You’re tense as a board the whole time Gaz is wrapping your hand. He only hums at you non-committedly though, not giving your stubborn complaints any substantial answer.
It feels a little better all wrapped up like that- Pressure keeping everything in place, tight bandages, thick and layered.
He packs up the kit, and quickly drags you up off your seat.
“Let’s go.” Gaz says, tone firmer than you’re used to, not taking no for an answer.
You practically drag your feet over to Soap’s truck, your chin wobbling as your whole body trembles, partly from cold and also from fear and the effort to not cry.
“Yer shakin’, Angel.” Soap comments as you hoist yourself up into the vehicle. Gaz sits his arse down next to you, in the back, rather than riding shotgun.
That choice—though subtle in its motivations—manages to make you feel even more powerless to the situation, almost small.
“I'm just cold.” You huff, eyes glued to the window. You know Gaz has already caught on, it was only a matter of time though, you suppose.
“You’re gonna be alright.” The brit reassures you, whispering, as if Soap would somehow not hear it in the tiny inclosed space. Your jaw clenches, an unfamiliar sense of explosiveness sparking in your chest.
“Piss off.” You grunt, shifting as far from him as you can manage in the confines of your seatbelt. Gaz just scoffs, a little surprised.
He decides this isn't a battle worth fighting, though, keeping his mouth shut instead of calling you out on the behaviour.
The ride feels like it lasts forever, and yet, when the vehicle comes to a stop, you feel like it couldn’t have been long enough.
You glance at your shaky, wrapped up hand. A soft noise of displeasure slips from you at the sight of your blood already soaking through the bandages, slow but surely turning every inch of white red.
“Fuck-” You whisper, letting out a short, humourless laugh.
Gaz swings the door open, slipping out of the vehicle, turning to you with an expectant look, waiting. He holds out a hand to help you and your brows pinch uncomfortably.
“Gaz… I don’t think this is necessary.” You tell him, voice unusually shaky, uncertain.
“Well I do, yea? You’re soakin’ through your bandages, love.” Gaz sighs, he can see your hesitance, can tell it’ll be a struggle to get you thinking rationally about this.
“Be reasonable.” He pleads. “We’re just gonna have your hand looked at, and if it’s really as minor as you think, they’ll send us away, okay?”
You can’t bring yourself to respond right away. A tear rolls down your cheek and you brush it away as discreetly as you can. When you turn to face the Sergeant you’re still silent, a little frown on your face, deepened by the angle of your eyebrows.
Soap turns around from his spot in the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry s’much.” He’s smiling, almost teasing.
“Ye won’t feel a thing once they’ve got ye all numb. It ain’t so bad, Angel.”
You scoff at him, irritated once more, but it isn’t hard to see the underlying fear through your attitude. The worry shining in your eyes, wet and restrained by sheer will power alone.
You give Gaz a mean glare, staring silently for a moment- building a dramatic atmosphere.
Your arms cross over your chest and you exhale harshly, leaning back in your seat.
“I’m not going in there.”
Gaz is almost stunned by your petulance- He laughs, running a hand down his face, unsure whether to be irritated or amused.
“Not going, hm?”
Oh- That’s not Gaz’s voice!
Your eyes snap back to the open truck door.
“Ghost?” You whisper. “Did you call Ghost!?” Your worry deepens as you stare incredulously at the lieutenant peering at you.
“Fuck’s sake-” You mutter. Embarrassed.
“Let’s go, Angel.” The man barks. You practically shrink in place, bottom lip wobbling like you’re about to reach your breaking point.
He grabs your arm before you can protest, pulling you closer. Your stomach twists, a shaken whine pulled from your lips.
“W-why the fuck are you even here!?” You squawk, breath hitching.
He doesn’t supply you with an answer.
You’re out of the truck in the blink of an eye.
“Called reinforcements. Could tell ye weren’t gonna cooperate.” Soap tells you, sending Gaz a cheeky wink. You huff, breath unsteady as you find your footing on the ground again.
“I’m an adult you know! You have no right to treat me like this.”
Ghost continues tugging you toward the infirmary.
“Quiet, now. Don’t make a scene.” He grumbles. You watch in despair as the two sergeants shut the vehicle’s doors and start making their way toward the infirmary with you- Great, they’ve really ganged up on you here.
You suck in a few long, dramatic breaths, trying to soothe your racing heart and get everything under control before you really do make a fool of yourself.
You manage to tug away from Ghost’s grip.
“Alright alright, I can walk in on my own, thanks!” You huff, fixing your wrinkled shirt before feigning confidence, walking toward the entrance at the group’s pace.
“Much better.” Soap chuckles, patting you on the back roughly.
The next several minutes are a complete blur. Walking inside, talking to reception, passing other injured soldiers, none of it really registers properly. Your heart is pounding in your ears, a rough beat that matches the pace of your throbbing hand. Beads of sweat form on your forehead, you feel like you’re overheating and entirely too cold at the same time.
Ghost doesn’t say much, other than grunting out quiet commands to keep you following his lead. When they finally find you a bed, the panic really starts to set in again.
Your hands tremble, your legs are unsteady. You don’t respond when a medic addresses you, don’t respond when Gaz urges you to come back to reality.
The buzz of noise in the background seems so much louder than it should, and the bright overhead lighting isn’t helping in making you feel any less overwhelmed.
“Angel?” Gaz sounds concerned. “Earth to Angel?” He laughs awkwardly. Your chest feels tight, your whole body stiff with anxiety, but you manage to blink your eyes back into focus. You give him a small nod.
“Mmh?” You hum, eyes still rather distant. Your hands grab harshly at the bedding where you sit, and when you look down you note that your bandages are at least half ruined by now. Perhaps you really will start getting delirious from blood loss soon-
Probably not though…
“Let him see your hand, Angel.” Ghost orders, head nodding towards the waiting medic. Your brow furrows and you bite back the urge to be snarky, lifting your bandaged hand and allowing the man to unwrap it. Your eyes flutter closed as he does, a silent prayer being sent to who knows what that the doc decides you’ll be fine and sends you on your way.
The medic’s gloved hands gently handle your injury, but you still wince as he moves your hand for a better look. You’re tough enough to handle it, for sure, but it’s a little difficult to sit here completely quietly when you’re internally already freaking the fuck out.
“How long since you sustained the injury?” The stranger asks—you don’t think to even ask for a name or title—his voice is calm and professional.
You huff softly, thinking for a moment before you respond.
“Maybe… Ten minutes?”
“Close to fifteen.” Gaz supplies, watching the medic work with intense focus.
You don’t care enough to acknowledge his correction. For all you know he could be right, it’s not like you’ve checked the clock at all since it happened.
“I really don’t think it’s that bad. The bandages were holding up just fine-”
You mutter, eyes flicking from one spot to the next, not too eager to meet with any of your colleagues.
“It’s pretty deep actually.” The medic says, lightly correcting you. You bristle slightly at the words, biting your tongue to stop from saying something you don’t mean.
“Won’t close up on its own. You’ll need a few stitches.”
The second the word ‘stitches’ is uttered, your gaze locks onto the man’s face. Your lips part, pounding heart urging you to speak up in protest, but all that comes out is a pitiful, choked off noise, almost similar to a whimper.
The medic is unfazed, simply instructing Ghost to press some gauze to your wound while he gathers the suturing supplies. As if you aren’t just on the edge of tipping over into a downward spiral.
“You’re fine, Angel. Relax.” Ghost comforts you, but he keeps it short and sharp, more to remind you that you aren’t going anywhere than to offer real reassurance.
Your breath stutters as you watch the medic casually step away.
Fuck fuck fuck.
You feel yourself starting to panic, your breath slipping away from your control. So you do the only thing you can think to do.
“Kyle?” You speak up, voice uncharacteristically soft. Gaz meets your gaze with furrowed brows and a gentle look of concern.
“C-could you call Price? I-I’d like to s-speak with him, please.”
Gaz frowns, his expression pinched. He’s just about to speak up to accept your request when Soap interrupts.
“He’s already on his way, Angel.” The scot informs you, smiling and gently patting you on the shoulder.
Your lips part, a little surprised, as your attention jumps between the two sergeants. Apparently Soap had decided from the get go that everyone needed to be involved…
“Will he be long?” You question, voice unsteady. “I… I just need to talk to him. Before the doc comes back, please.” Your eyes flick back to Gaz at the end and you watch as he nods and pulls out his cell phone.
“He was off base. Might be a bit, can’t say for sure but he did promise to be here.” Soap answers, now also watching as Gaz dials the man’s number before handing it off to you.
You hold the device to your ear, it only rings once before the line connects. Your heart warms with reassurance for the first time in a while, as you hear the man’s greeting.
“Gaz, everythin’ alright?” His deep voice rumbles through the phone.
“No, Sir. It’s Angel.” You reply, swallowing dryly as you await his answer. He sighs, deeply. You can’t tell whether it’s one of relief or annoyance.
“Angel.” He purrs. “You careless little shite, wounded by your own bloody weapon…” His scolding is lighthearted, but it has your brows pinching together all the same, your bottom lip wobbling, dangerously close to forming a pout.
You glance at the rest of your team, cheeks flaming hot as you respond, sounding rather pitiful and small, whispering a whiny ‘sir’ into the phone.
He hums, amused, before speaking again.
“You’re not in trouble, love, don’t sound so sad. Everything’s alright, yea? I’ll be ‘round soon to see you, and we have a bloody well capable medical team, nothin’ to fuss over when you’re in good hands.”
Your whole face seems to feel hot now, even with the knowledge that no one else can hear the Captain’s words.
“I-I guess.” You mumble, foot tapping against the floor anxiously. Price’s voice turns an inch more serious then, as if remembering something.
“Oh- I’m sure you knew I’d be coming… So why did you call?” He asks, all gruff and tough again.
You bite back the whimper threatening to claw its way up your throat. Your eyes begin to feel a little wet. You open them wide and stare towards the ceiling in hopes of avoiding wet cheeks.
“I-I uhm…” Your throat is painfully dry, aching with the knot lodged inside, the urge to cry ever-growing. “I need s-stitches, Captain.” Your voice cracks, the weight of your stress seemingly growing too heavy to bear.
“Figured as much.” Price mutters. “That’s alright though, you can handle it, you’re a tough one.”
Your hand shakes as you hold the phone, you nibble your bottom lip before you answer.
“I don’t know…” Your reply only comes in the form of a ragged whisper, sound barely making its way out.
“You don’t know?” Price echoes, his voice lowered.
“Don’t know if I can, sir.”
“Oh, Angel.” Price sighs, it sounds like he pities you, honestly. “I know you can. You’ve done this before, you’ve got the scars to prove it.”
You let out a small, desperate sound. Something close to a whimper, something you pray your teammates don’t hear or can choose to ignore. You do your best to block out their presence during the call.
“I know, I know- fuck. It’s so stupid.” You laugh, shakily, your chest starting to ache.
“Not stupid.” He says. “Just a little silly. Nothin’ wrong with bein’ a bit silly though, is there?”
You manage a small smile at that, though it isn’t long lasting, nor does the small laugh that escapes you make the fear go away.
“No, guess not.”
“I’ll be there soon. Alright?”
“Yea. Soon, please.” You mumble.
“Mhm. Now pass the phone back to Kyle for me, love.” He orders kindly.
Your face screws up uncomfortably before you let out a cheeky laugh to release the tension.
“Why? You tryna talk about me behind my back, Sir?”
Price echoes your laughter, the deep rumble meeting your ear and doing wonders to soothe your racing heart. You really wish he could just stay on the phone until he gets here.
“Oh, yes. That’s exactly it, Angel. I’m going to tell him all about your deepest darkest secrets.” Price quips sarcastically, and you can even hear the huge grin on his face.
You lower your gaze from the ceiling, still smiling ever so slightly as you look back to the sergeant whose phone you’re holding. You lower the device, letting Gaz know that Price wants to speak with him and passing it over.
“Captain.” Gaz greets the man on the phone, and you feel yourself actually getting a little nervous now that you can’t hear him respond.
“Mhm.”
There’s a pause, and Gaz looks a little puzzled, his attention shifting to you, seemingly still listening to the Captain as he stares.
“...Alright. But you’ll be here soon, yes?”
Gaz nods as if the Captain can see him.
“Good. See you soon, Sir.”
And then the call clicks off, and Gaz stores his phone away in his pocket again.
He clears his throat and takes a step closer to you.
“Captain is just a few minutes out.” He informs you with a reassuring confidence in his tone. “You just make yourself comfortable, I need to have a chat with the doc.”
You blink up at him, lips moving to respond, but the effort is unsuccessful. Instead you just nod, a little confused and very curious about the chat that Gaz intends to have with your doctor.
You watch him walk away, stopping the medic on his way back to you and speaking in a hushed tone.
“Huh…” Soap mutters, likely on the same train of thought as you.
“They’re probably conspiring against me.” You mumble, grinning nervously at Soap. You’re joking, totally joking, it’s definitely sarcasm… “Gonna try drugging me up so I don’t cause a scene or something.”
You lightly kick the floor a few times, hopping the joke lands so you don’t have to actually unpack all the insecurity and trauma laying beneath it.
Thankfully, Soap does laugh, and Ghost gives a small huff, which you can only hope is a sound of approval. Still, you feel unbelievably embarrassed about all of this, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to look the group in the eyes as they learn about this little fear of yours.
“Aye? You plannin’ to fight off the doctor and run away, soldier?” Soap jabs, keeping his tone light so as to not embarrass you further.
You shrug.
“Might start by goin’ after you. Who knows?”
He chuckles again, chest shaking with each harsh exhale. You feel the knot in your stomach loosen, just a smidge.
“Awh, like ye could hurt me if ye tried.” Soap challenges, grinning down at you as you half-heartedly glare at him from your spot on the hospital bed.
When Gaz returns, he and the medic quickly explain that they’d like to take you to a more secluded spot.
Thank the gods. The thought of being stitched back together in front of half the damn infirmary is pretty fucking uncomfortable.
Well, the thought of the stitches in any way at all is actually really fucking uncomfortable.
Still, you follow the group back to a private room, allowing yourself to actually lean back comfortably on the bed now as you hold gauze to your wound. You let your eyes flutter closed, letting out a long sigh.
“Alright, Uh, Cap’n should be here by now, someone go lead him back here?” Gaz suggests, looking around for a volunteer.
Ghost and Soap decide to go together.
“Unless ye need one of us here?” Soap says, but Gaz quickly interrupts to say they’re both free to go, and so they do.
So you’re left with Gaz and the medic who you still don’t care enough to get a name from.
You note that he brought in a tray with him, which does make you highly anxious, but that whatever is on the tray is concealed for some reason. Great, obviously they just don’t want you to see what’s coming next.
And maybe they’re making the right call hiding it from you, but it does feel a little degrading, like they’re looking down on you a bit.
The doctor takes a seat on a round stool, scooting closer by your bedside. You clutch your injured hand a little harder at his approach.
He clears his throat.
“You’ve had sutures done before, yes?”
You bite your lip before nodding, and straightening your posture a bit. Your gaze is unsteady, can’t seem to look the man in the eyes for more than a second, you find yourself looking to Gaz instead from time to time.
“Alright. Should I go over the process with you before we begin?” He offers. His voice is rather cold, you notice, but not in an asshole kinda way, he just seems a bit detached. Maybe he's just being professional, but it still has you a bit on edge.
Your expression twists for a moment before you force it back to neutrality.
“No, thank you. I really don't need to hear it.”
The medic nods.
“I’d like to administer something for the pain.” He explains.
You pause, you know you can’t really decline. The stitches are bad enough on your own and you know damn well it’d be hell if you had to feel the whole process. You glance at Gaz, feeling a little shy knowing that anything you say is being observed by a close colleague and friend. It kind of sucks.
“Is there… anything I can take… uhm… Orally?” You ask.
The doc hums, shakes his head. “I’m afraid you’ll need something stronger. Though if needles bother you so badly I can offer nitrous oxide which will considerably improve your pain tolerance and lessen your anxiety.”
“Right… Uhm.” You nod, glancing towards the door. As much as your body urges you to run, that isn’t really why you’re looking. Truthfully you’re just waiting for Price to arrive.
“It’d make me all loopy.” You mumble.
“Would love to see that.” Gaz jokes, smirking at you. You roll your eyes, but the comment has your face heating up again, and you really hope it isn’t obvious.
“Oh, I bet you would.”
Your head snaps to the doorway again at the familiar voice, heat blooming through your chest at the sight of your Captain.
“Price!” Your voice is still quiet but undeniably relieved, your eyes flutter as you make eye contact with him. He walks in, and very abruptly ushers the rest of your teammates out of the room.
“Nice to see you smiling, Angel.” He teases, laughing when you very suddenly try to suppress your expression, failing miserably.
“Was worried I’d find you in a puddle of your own tears, honestly.”
You try your hardest not to pout at the teasing, having a very mixed reaction to the situation. The captain takes a seat closer to the foot of the bed, lays a hand over your clothed shin. He smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with it.
The silence stretches on a moment too long.
“So, about the sedation…?” The medic pipes up, brow raised impatiently.
“Oh!” You mutter. You find yourself feeling pretty unsure about it. The idea isn’t entirely unwelcomed, but something about being sedated makes you feel on edge, even if it’s only a partial sedative. “Uhm…”
You can’t help but feel lost, and as usual, the first person you look to for help is the Captain. You give him what can only be described as a pleading expression, hoping somehow he will make the hard choices for you.
“Wish I didn’t have to do this at all.”
You admit, knowing damn well that isn’t what the medic needs to hear. Price sees it as his cue to step in, though.
“I know, Angel. It’s all pretty daunting, huh? Let’s get you some N2O, it’ll make everything easier.” Price says. You almost pout, a little disappointed that he can’t just make the problem go away altogether, no matter how unrealistic that wish actually is.
“Mmph…” You shrug. “If I have to…”
Price chuckles, moving to hold your uninjured hand.
“You know you have to. Don’t be difficult.”
You finally nod, agreeing to go ahead with treatment even as your heart pounds against your ribcage, so harshly that you fear it’ll jump free. It’s scary, still scary even with the knowledge that the medication will stop you from feeling so scared.
You hope the relief is as good as they say.
Because anymore panicking wouldn’t be good for you or the other two men in the room.
“Good. I’ll be right back.” The doctor exhales heavily as he steps out.
“Thank you for coming.” You mumble to Price, and he squeezes your hand.
“I take care of my team. You know that.” He replies, reassuring and strong. You melt a little, tension releasing from your shoulders.
“This fucking sucks.”
“I know, Angel.”
“I hate needles. It’s so embarrassing.”
Price hums, listening intently to your nervous ramblings.
“I don’t even mind the pain, y’know? Just fuckin’ needles freak me out. It’s more of a mental thing. Makes me sick, dizzy, whatever.”
“I bet that’s scary.”
“So fucking scary.” You agree. “Can’t do anything about it. The second I walk into the infirmary I feel light headed, gotta keep my head down so I won’t see anything that’ll make it worse.”
You swallow, ears feeling hot. It’s hard to talk about this with anyone. You surprise yourself a little with the sudden willingness to share with Price. Not that it was ever a well hidden secret.
“And I’m not stupid, I see when people are judging me for it. Doesn’t feel good, wish they’d stop staring and laughing.”
“Mmh. Probably doesn’t help when you put up a fight about gettin’ seen by a medic.” Price jabs, you allow yourself to laugh a little at it.
“Yea, I know.” You nibble at your bottom lip. “Gotta stop that, don’t I? It’s hard, though, I really never want to come back.”
“Letting yourself panic makes it worse.”
“Sure. But something I’d really like to let myself feel, y’know, like, naturally…” Your voice trembles and trails off.
Price doesn’t respond right away. He sits up a bit straighter, adjusting his grip on your hand.
“Well I didn’t request a private room for no reason, love.” Price says, thumb rubbing back and forth over your hand.
“Feel free to express yourself with me. I ain’t perfect, not nearly enough to judge anyway.”
Your eyes flicker, reflecting the bright overhead lighting, a glaze forming.
“Just no kicking or scratching.” He adds, smugly.
You let out a wet chuckle, a sob bubbling up through your chest.
“What about biting? Is that allowed?” You joke back, sniffling as a tear rolls down your warm cheek. Price lets out a barking laugh, eyes crinkled with his pleasant smile.
“No, love. Please don’t bite anybody, you’d infect us all with rabies.” He teases, watching an incredulous look surface on your face.
You let out a surprised laugh.
“I-I am not rabid!”
“Can’t prove it though, can you?”
“Damn you, old man.” You huff, smirking through your tears, allowing them to fall freely now. Price takes the time to carefully wipe them from your cheeks, thumbs gently swiping over your face to dry the wet patches, smiling at you as you take deep breaths to self-soothe.
The medic knocks before re-entering, bringing another staff member with him, someone you assume is trained to handle anesthesia. You basically ignore their greetings, nodding along as they briefly explain how the nitrous oxide mask will work.
You feel a little silly even before they put it on. It looks ridiculous, and you can feel your cheeks warming just at the thought of wearing the stupid thing in front of your Captain. But he encourages you to comply, and you do.
“How long does this stuff take to kick in?” You ask as they fit the device over your nose, blinking up at the stranger cautiously. They smile, as if to reassure you.
“You’ll feel it in just a few minutes, hen.”
You hum back at her. You recognize her accent as Scottish. Just like Soap. It makes you smile absentmindedly.
“Lay back.” The doctor instructs, followed by: “Let me see your hand, here we go, leave it right there.”
You breathe in the gas, praying it’ll kick in soon. You’re certain if the doc tries to pull a needle on you before it kicks in, you’ll have some big fuckin' issues.
You decide immediately that you should keep your eyes far far away from the medic and your injured hand, better safe than sorry.
So you stare at Price to keep your focus elsewhere.
“How’s it feeling?” He asks.
You shrug, sucking in another deep breath.
“You still nervous?” Price rephrases.
“I look like an idiot…” You reply, completely dodging the question. Price chuckles at you, shaking his head.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
You shrug again, trying your hardest not to focus on anything but Price.
Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh, giving yourself a moment to rest. And then it hits you, just a moment later.
“Oh!” You whisper, immediately popping your eyes back open. Your lip twitches into the beginning of a smile. Price is grinning at you, like he realises before you even do.
“Oh?” He prompts, rather than outright saying it. You proceed to giggle, biting your lip and failing to muffle the sound.
You can clearly understand why they call it ‘laughing gas’ now.
“Feels nice.” You tell him, head plopping back against the hospital bed pillow, you look up at him through your lashes, eyes hooded, whole body going lax and calm. Price chuckles at the sight, bringing your uninjured hand into his own and squeezing gently.
“I bet it does.” He teases. “You look happy, are you comfortable?”
“Mmmmmmhmmmmm.” You hum, long and drawn out, while nodding.
“I need you to keep your hand very still.” The medic tells you.
Damn! You almost forgot that guy was still here.
You agree, doing your very best to keep your hand steady and still.
“S everyone still outside, Sir?” You mumble, head lolling to the side to stare at Price.
“Of course. Would you like me to let them back in?”
“Ooooh… I think the room is too small.” You complain, huffing softly, still smiling.
“It’s fine, as long as they’re quiet and remain on that side of the room.” The medic says. You smile at that, feeling warm all over and greatly euphoric.
“Wanna say hi-!” You tell the Captain, and so he quickly gets up to retrieve your teammates.
They file into the room only moments later, with Price leading the pack and Ghost hovering near the door instead of sitting with the others.
“Wow.” Soap mumbles. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen them grin like that.”
You promptly erupt into a fit of giggles at the comment, a happy little tear slipping down your cheek. The two Sergeants share a look, which is followed by some soft laughter of their own.
“Alright, I’m going to give you a few shots of lidocaine to be sure that the area is totally numb. That sound okay?” You instinctively turn to look at the medic as he speaks, but then you turn back to the group just as quick.
“Uh-oh. I’m scared of needles, y’know?” You tell them, casually, with that cheeky smile still plastered on your face. You watch them raise their eyebrows at you. I mean, they’d sorta figured that out by now but it’s kinda funny to hear you admit it.
“Yea?” Gaz says, laughing. “You don’t look very scared right now.”
Their eyes flick behind you, where the medic is working, preparing the injections. You follow their eyes, catching sight of the shot and turning back.
“Huh.” You mutter. “I don’t feel very scared.”
Soap bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from wheezing with laughter, a snort making its way out instead. You echo the sound with more giggles of your own, finding yourself fully oblivious to the small pinch of the needle when it goes in.
“Here, hold my hand, just in case.” Price says, offering his hand to you. You easily follow his instruction, never once questioning him in your blissful, happy state of mind.
You’re entirely unfazed by the sight of Gaz taking photos, too. Or video, you aren’t entirely sure. Honestly, he might’ve been recording the whole time. You really haven’t been paying close attention.
“My feet are tingling…” You comment, eyes dancing between your teammates. “Is that okay?”
Soap loses his composure for a minute, covering his mouth as he has a good laugh at your funny demeanour. Which of course, triggers your own burst of giggling. You laugh until more tears spill down your cheeks, and Price has to wipe them off for you.
“That’s perfectly okay, sweetheart. All well and good. Just a side effect of the gas.” Price reassures you, but you’re already high enough that you don’t care anyway.
The doc starts stitching you up. You don’t really notice it though.
“Mhmm?” You laugh quietly, smiling at Price.
Aside from you having to be reminded several times to keep your hand still, the suturing process goes well. The medic is efficient and the laughing gas keeps you happy the whole time, while the Captain keeps up a steady chit-chat with you.
“Just about done now.” The medic announces as he secures the knot on the last stitch.
“Good… I need a nap.” You mumble, blinking lazily at the Captain. You giggle when he gently pats you on the head. Your team gives each other funny looks at that, knowing damn well you would’ve reacted very differently to that if you weren’t sedated.
The medic starts to wrap up your stitches to keep them clean. Then the N2O is replaced by pure oxygen to help flush the sedative from your system. It’ll still take some time for you to feel 100% normal again, though.
“Alright, you’re all set. We’ll take the mask off in a couple minutes and you’ll be back to normal in no time.” The medic explains, beginning to pack away the supplies and dispose of the used needles.
“Awh, cannae leave it on a bit longer?” Soap jokes, chuckling. “They're so much sweeter like that.”
The teasing is—unsurprisingly—met with another fit of giggles from you, your whole body shaking as you huff in gasps for air between laughs. It’s contagious, watching you finally let go and relax enough to laugh has the guys all chuckling along with you.
“They'd have your head for that comment, Soap. If they weren’t so busy finding their own first…” Price mutters the last bit a little quieter, but it’s loud enough for everyone to hear. Soap snorts, grinning and overly pleased with himself.
Soon, your little fits of giggling taper off, turning much less-extreme. Price holds your hand as the sedative wears off, watching you slowly inch back toward your natural state.
You sigh heavily, your smile imperceptibly relaxing.
“Could get addicted to that.” You mumble, letting out a soft nose of amusement. The medic removes the weird mask from your nose.
“Ooh, I’d choose your words carefully, Angel.” Price warns, smirking at you. You raise a brow and he chuckles.
“Won’t be able to give it to ya next time if you get hooked.”
Your expression immediately sours. Now that you’ve done it, you’d hate to go through all of that without the sedation next time. It’d be so nerve wracking, the laughing gas made the whole thing much more pleasant.
“I-I was only joking!” You exclaim, nose scrunched and brows pinching together.
“I know, I know.” Price replies through soft, deep chuckling. You huff quietly in muted annoyance, but it’s almost entirely performative.
“You’ll need to keep the stitches dry for the next few days, so be careful. Make sure to change the bandages daily and you can come back in next week to have the stitches removed. Shouldn’t take too long to heal. Pick up some painkillers at the pharmacy on your way out.” The medic explains, handing you a prescription and then heads for the door.
“Thank you.” You mumble as he slips away.
“Can we leave now?”
Price hums affirmatively, giving your hand a soft squeeze before finally letting go. You quickly sit up in bed, scooting to the edge so you can stand back up.
“Just stand up slow, okay? In case you get dizzy.” Price instructs, his voice lowered. You nod, a little embarrassed by his doting nature, but going along with it anyway.
As you all make your wait out of the building, Price turns to you again to speak.
“Now how about we grab a bite to eat before we call it a day, hm?”
<3