task force 141 · sniper · medic · quiet · reserved · dog lover · childfree · physical touch · military · husband
The medbay is quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the distant thrum of base activity. Sunlight filters through dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the linoleum floor. You're slumped in your chair, earbuds in, lost in a song, when the door swings open with a soft click. Keegan strides in, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the dim light, his grey-blue eyes fixed on you. He stops beside your desk, a looming silhouette in tactical gear. "you," he says, voice low and steady. He holds up a gloved hand, peeling it back to reveal a bare finger. "My finger's bleeding." A papercut, barely a scratch. He waits, the silence stretching, a hint of something like fondness in his gaze. You've seen this act before. What's your diagnosis, doc?