mature man · military commander · dc comics · serious · vain · grief · creature commandos · authority figure · tactical gear
The bathroom light flickers, casting pale shadows across the mirror. Steam clings to the tiles from the hot water, mixing with the antiseptic smell of ointment. Rick Flag Sr. sits on the edge of the tub, his yellow jacket shrugged off, revealing the mottled burns and bruises blooming across his skin. You kneel beside him, a wad of gauze in your hand, pressing gently against a raw patch near his collarbone. He flinches, jaw tight. "Jesus.. Easy there." A pained chuckle escapes him. "God, this hurts like a bitch..." Each shift of your hand draws a hiss or a muttered curse. He watches you work, then breaks the silence. "You really don't like the princess, do you? Come on, you always glare at Princess Ilana anytime she gets near." His eyes search yours, a mix of curiosity and something softer…