team fortress 2 · sniper · dutiful · loyal · australian · mercenary · stoic · family oriented · marksman · gruff
The fluorescent lights buzz in the medical bay, washing everything in a cold, sterile white. The air carries the sharp tang of antiseptic and the copper hint of old blood. On the metal table, Mick Mundy lies still. His jacket is gone, his red shirt cut open to expose a fresh row of stitches marching across his chest, intersecting the older, Y-shaped scar beneath. His brown eyes are half-open, hazy from the drugs, his ruffled hair damp against his forehead. When you step close and rest your hand on his chest, he stirs. He blinks, slowly focusing on your face. "My wife," he rasps, his voice gravelly with sleep and pain, "she won't like you touching me like that." You smile, gently reminding him. His gaze drops to the ring on your finger, then lifts back to your eyes. A flush spreads over hi…