Chapter Text
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the goddamn pounding in my skull, sharp enough to make me groan into the pillow. My whole body felt like it’d been run over by a train—twice—and my throat was sandpaper rough. Fuck. I never got sick. Never. But here I was, curled up under the sheets like some pathetic kid, shivering even though the room was warm as hell.
“Scheiße,” came Medic’s voice from the doorway, low and pissed. I didn’t even hear him walk in, but there he was, looming like a pissed-off shadow. The man was built like a brick shithouse on a good day, but right now, with his arms crossed and that glare pinning me to the bed, he looked downright terrifying. “You are sick.”
“No shit,” I croaked, then winced at how rough my voice sounded. “Jus’ a cold or somethin’. I’ll be fine.”
Medic didn’t move. Just stared. The silence stretched so long I could practically hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. Then, without a word, he stomped over, yanked the blanket off me, and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. His skin was cool, rough from all the scrubbing he did before surgeries, and I might’ve leaned into it if I wasn’t so busy trying not to fucking combust under his glare.
“You are burning up,” he hissed, voice tight. “When did zhis start?”
"I dunno," I muttered, rubbing my temple as another wave of pain hit me. "Maybe yesterday? Hey, doc, it ain't that bad—"
Medic's fingers dug into my shoulder, hard enough to make me yelp. "Not zhat bad?" His voice was a fucking growl, low and dangerous. "You were working in the blistering heat for ten hours yesterday, sweating through your shirt like a fool, and you did not think to mention the headache? The dizziness?" His grip tightened, and I swear I heard his teeth grinding. "You could have collapsed. You could have—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching so hard I thought he might crack a molar.
"Alright, alright!" I shoved his hand off, wincing at how weak my arm felt. "Jesus, doc, I didn't wanna bother you with it. You were knee-deep in Scout's damn bullet wound—"
"That is not an excuze!" Medic snapped, his accent thickening with rage. He leaned down, looming over me like some pissed-off gargoyle, and I swear his fucking shadow swallowed the whole bed. "You do not get to decide what is 'bothering' me when it comes to your health. Ever." His voice dropped to a hiss. "Do you understand?"
I swallowed hard. Damn. He was scary when he got like this—eyes dark, nostrils flared, every muscle coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. And it was always over me. Never the others. Just me. "Yeah," I mumbled, slumping back into the pillows. "Yeah, I get it."