Chapter Text
Inside the thick, eggshell white walls of the infirmary, the A/C pumped cool air loudly on the hot summer night. The sound was incredibly annoying; the rattle of the old machine was scratchy and scraped away at your sanity. The smell of rubbing alcohol was so strong it sat on your tongue and in your nose uncomfortably, reminding you where you were at all times. The infirmary had a smell–you’d noticed–of cold steel, alcohol, and anxiety.
The fear inside the men who came into your workplace was palatable; while they could take the bullets which wounded them, most soldiers feared you. You didn’t blame them–in the field or when supplies were low you had been forced to operate without anesthesia before. In a way, you liked being a monster in their eyes. It forced them to respect you, especially when you’d held their guts in place before. But it isolated you–no one wanted to hang around the cold, quiet doctor when they had their comrades.
So it was a surprise when one of the Captains on base came to visit.
You smelled him before you saw or heard him; the distinct smell of sweet tobacco and hints of wood and old paper hit you as you typed your notes into the computer. His footsteps were silent for such a big man, they spoke to his years of dedicated training. In your ears, you could hear the soft–yet very present– lub-dub of your heart grow as he approached your desk.
“Doctor,” his voice was rough, strained by age, stress, and his smoking habit. You’d talked to him about it before, warning him of the danger of his little habit every time he had his physical, and every time he’d just smile and laugh.
“Captain,” you shuffled the stack of paperwork next to you around, straightening the pages to make them at least a little bit more presentable, “What can I do for you? Get shot again?” you saw the little grin on his face despite how hard he tried to hide it. In the four years you’d worked together, you had patched up at least a dozen bullet wounds. At this point, his blood almost stained your hands.
“Here for a visit, one of my boys is still locked in here, yeah?”
“Yeah. You should tell Soap he needs to be more careful next time he goes out on a bender, nearly cracked his skull in half.”
“Not that he has much of a brain to protect though,” you laughed a little. That was the kind of joke only a commander–a soldier–could make. While they ragged on each other, you knew every one of those soldiers would die for their comrades. That was a kind of loyalty you never saw off base.
“I suppose,” you paused for a second as you made eye contact. Pale blue eyes looked back at you, allowing you to see tiny flecks of gold and gray in them. “He’s on bed three, sir,” was all you could say to break the quiet tension.
“Thanks,” he lingered for a moment–studying something about you–before he turned to leave.
Subtly, you peered around the corner to the room which held most of the beds. You saw Price and his soldier talking, the scot seeming to have recovered faster than you’d expected. It was almost sweet to see such a gruff, stoic man being concerned for his soldier. You could fight the smile that wiggled its way onto your lips, though it broke the second you heard your phone ringing.
The vast majority of your contacts had the same, default ringtone, but you’d set a custom one for this caller.
There was only one person who would call you this late—your ex. If there was an award for being the most insistent prick, you were pretty sure that this man would have won it for years. His calls were always the same, long and full of desperate rambles; he would either be high, drunk, or horny when he called. Hearing his whiny, scratched-out voice sent a bolt of fear through you, tensing every muscle as you wished you could collapse into yourself.
A part of you desperately wanted to block him, but another compelled you to listen to his rambles. Despite being usually alone, at least he was always thinking of you. It wasn’t healthy–your therapists had always told you that–but it brought some excitement to your monotonous life.
While you were internally freaking out, the call had cut to voicemail, and the hold your anxiety had on your heart loosened subtly. You glanced up from your desk, seeing the captain looking at you with an odd expression. Fuck , you thought, there’s no way he didn’t see that . Like a turtle, you wanted to crawl back into your shell to avoid his stare. But when you looked back, his attention was back on your patient. You let out a sigh of relief and turned back to your paperwork.
It felt like an hour, but you guessed that he only stayed a half hour at most before he passed your desk again. Price set a hand on the white counter, drumming his fingers softly as he waited for you to notice.
“One sec…” you finished writing one of your notes though the script looked terrible and smudged in your handwriting, “All good? You didn’t kill him, yes?”
“No, I should have killed him for making such a stupid mistake, though,” he shook his head with a little subtle smile, “I just wanted to ask if you were going out with the rest of the lads this weekend. I know you’re not one to drink, but, it's supposed to be quite the event.”
“Oh,” this was news to you, no one had invited you yet. Honestly, you couldn’t blame anyone; having a buzzkill doctor at some party is not most soldiers’ idea of fun. “Um, sure? To be honest, I could use a break. Are you going?”
“Yeah,” Price nodded, his hat bouncing with his head, “Somebody has to keep an eye on them.”
“Ha, yeah. I don’t know how you deal with them every day,” For some reason, talking to him just felt easier, “I struggle with my nurses and they barely backtalk at all; I can’t imagine having to deal with a whole squad of knuckleheads.”
“You get used to it,” where some other officers would have taken the opportunity to talk shit about their inferiors, you detected a hint of pride in his tone, “But they’re good men–most of them. Hell, I’d trust them with my life,” he paused, as if unsure what to say for a moment, “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you Saturday.”
“Wait, what bar is it at? Is it walking distance or do I need a cab?”
“I can take you if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh,” the butterflies in your stomach beat their wings harder, making you painfully aware of the presence, “No, I wouldn’t mind at all.” You gave him your best sleep-deprived, on-the-verge-of-passing-out smile.
“Looking forward to it, wear something nice,” he said playfully–like a friend would–but it lit something deep within your subconscious–something you desperately didn’t want to deal with at the moment.
“Yes sir.”