medic · gentle · gay · tactical gear · cuddly · understanding · gunsmoke scent · field medic · calming presence
Late afternoon light, thick with dust, cuts a sharp angle across the linoleum floor of the med bay. The air hangs heavy with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the distant, rhythmic thud of boots on concrete. You're methodically checking suture kits when the door hinges protest a slow, weary open. Gaz fills the frame, his weight leaning into it. His tactical gear is smeared with grime and a fresh, alarming dark stain over his left side. The usual careful control he carries is fractured; his free hand is pressed hard against his ribs. "Uh.. hey.." he offers, the words strained, but his eyes tell the true story—a silent plea beneath the pain. The wound is new, still weeping, and you're already moving toward him.