There is not enough time in the world to have prepared you for the chaos of your first official Task Force 141 mission. Things started off relatively simple, a routine you’ve been through countless times before: getting dropped off at the exfil location, going on the plan one last time before the team splits off into two separate groups. You’re on team A with Price and Gaz.
Something about the whole situation seemed off. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up as every second passes, quietly making your way through the compound.
“Something’s wrong,” you mutter into the comms.
As soon as you let go of your mic, the east wing - where Soap and Ghost went - explodes, the whole building shaking. The lights above you flicker, and you don’t even have time to register what happened before there’s open gunfire and you’re ducking into the closest room to avoid it.
You’re pretty sure you hear Price shouting over the walkie, but you can’t make it out. Not when electrical interference screeches in your ear, and the lights in the building all pop, plummeting you into darkness.
There’s no time to adjust to the darkness. Fire fills the hallway, followed by the loud crack of lightning.
You’re out of your element, maybe in over your head, and you shriek when a hand grabs your arm, yanking you back into the hallway. Only to be met with Gaz’s amber eyes and pretty smile.
“Medic’s alive, Cap,” he reports, dragging you down the hallway.
---
It was a set up. An ambush hoping to take out the team. A failed attempt, given the way Soap and Price set the entire building ablaze.
There’s a small part of you that’s disappointed you didn’t get to see anyone transform. Your first mission with dragons, and you didn’t even get to see any!
But all the chaos turned into background noise as soon as you saw Ghost, blood seeping out of a wound on his side. All the switches in your brain finally click on, thoughts fading as your feet carry you over to him, ignoring the way he stares at you.
“‘M fine,” he huffs.
“You’re bleeding,” you shoot back immediately, already digging through your kit. “What happened?”
“Took a knife.”
Soap and Gaz snicker quietly as the way you freeze, carefully dragging your gaze up to Ghost. While he looks impassive, unbothered, there is a fire brewing in your eyes, a flame just looking for release. If you were one of them, there’d probably be smoke coming out of your nose.
“And where is the knife?”
Because it’s not in Ghost’s side anymore.
He pulls it out of his tac vest, still covered in his blood. Serrated, probably did more damage coming out than going in.
“Steamin’ Jesus! Are you fucking stupid?!” you snap at him, and there’s no covering the way Soap and Gaz start cackling as you rip into Ghost. You’re on your own warpath, chewing him out, even as your hands work to pack the wound, temporarily fixing it until you can get back to base and properly take care of it.
It’s at this moment that Price decides you’re staying. The team needs a medic who isn’t afraid of them, and you’re actively chewing Ghost out like he’s a child.
Dragons. Fearsome rulers of the sky, once believed to be nothing more than fairytales. But now they’re the military’s best kept secrets. Only those with specific clearance have the liberty of knowing about their existence, and even less have the chance to actually be in the presence of one.
And yet, somehow you’ve been granted that clearance.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what’s gotten you into this entire situation. You’re exceptional on the field, and work as well as a combat medic can, under the pressure that you face. But you’re also aware that your stubbornness has gotten you well into trouble a few times, and your mouth moves faster than your brain sometimes.
Regardless, you’re here, following General Hughes through base. He’s talking, probably explaining protocol and how this major secret is expected to be handled, but you stopped listening a while back, focused on the bald spot on the back of his head. Does he know it’s there? Should you say something?
He shouts your last name, and you stiffen up on command, dragging yourself back to the present.
“Are you listening?” he snaps, and you decide that you won’t be saying anything about the bald spot. Probably for the best, anyway, no need to dig yourself a bigger hole than you already have.
You keep your head down and do your best to listen to whatever it is he’s droning on about, but it’s all lost to you the moment you step into the hangar. Or, well, you’d always assumed it was a hangar. But standing inside, you can see the converted training grounds, the ledges by the ceiling, the hallway that leads further into the building where there must be barracks and maybe a kitchen. Everything they could possibly need, all here in one building.
Anything Hughes could possibly be saying to you falls on deaf ears. The only thing you can hear is your own heart pounding in your chest, nerves settling in your stomach as your eyes fall upon the largest man you’ve ever seen.
He’s tall and wide, broad shoulders framed by folded up wings with green scales that shine under the light like emeralds. Horns curl out from his forehead, breaking off with a jagged edge that must’ve hurt when it was originally broken. Despite the intensity of his gaze, he smiles at you, arms crossed across his chest.
“This them?” he asks, but the question isn’t directed towards you.
“Yes, Captain. Price, this is your medic,” Hughes answers, glancing towards you to make sure you’re actually listening. He nods towards Price, before telling you, “This is your new commanding officer. Behave.”
Price snorts in response, as offense flickers across your face, visibly for just a moment before you’re able to control your facial expression. But he’s gracious enough to wait until Hughes is gone before commenting on it.
“Bratty?”
Something about his tone makes embarrassment coil in your stomach, like you’re about to get scolded like a child. And while your first instinct is to get defensive, raise your hackles and get mouthy, you’d like to start this with a good impression.
“Only when need be,” you reply, and the sound of his laughter echoes in the room.
It also draws the attention of the other three dragons. They’ve all got their own dragon features: the one with the mohawk has red and gold wings, and horns that spiral like a rams; the one with the ball cap has dark blue and silver wings, and horns that grow up and spiral; and the one in the mask, as if he isn’t already scary as is, has black wings, and thin horns that grow straight upwards. They’re all introduced one by one, rank and name and callsign and - it makes your head spin just a little, trying to file away any information that might be important.
“Think we’re overwhelming ‘em, Cap,” Gaz points out with a soft laugh, voice warm and thick like honey.
“Ye’ve got time to remember it all. Dinnae fret,” Soap adds, trying to be reassuring. But it doesn’t mean much when Price reminds all you, “Not enough time. We ship out in two weeks.”
“T-two weeks?!” You sputter out in response. You barely got their files yesterday, and most of it was redacted anyway, and now you’ve got two weeks to fill in the blanks before you’re all deployed to god-knows-where to do god-knows-what. If this wasn’t literally your job, if you hadn’t excelled under pressure with less information, then you’d probably be more upset.
But still. There’s a small part of you that feels you should have been better prepared than this. Two weeks is a drop in the water when you’re working with brand new people - er, well, dragon shifters. You’re completely in the dark about the ins and outs of their medical history, of how to properly treat them, and you’ve got a lot to catch up on to feel even remotely prepared.
It can’t be that difficult, right? Right?
***
It only takes three days to realize just how wrong you were about that assumption. Soap and Gaz seem to enjoy causing trouble. For Price, For Ghost, and unfortunately, now for you as well. Despite the warnings they get, it never seems to stick. And, for the most part, they’re really only pulling harmless pranks. Obnoxious, inconvenient, but harmless.
It helps you settle into the group though, and by the middle of the second week, you’re feeling a little better about the entire situation. You’re still learning all their quirks and personalities, but you’ve got a pretty good grasp on it as is, and none of them seem outright against your intrusion in their well-established group.
The only thing you’re confused about is the lack of a horde. Now, maybe they all have their own hordes in their rooms, the only area in the hangar that you haven’t been inside. That would certainly explain Ghost’s collection of knives - you have yet to see him repeat a knife. But still, part of you had been hoping to see some grand pile of gold and jewels, big enough to you could swim in it if you wanted.
As curious as you are, you don’t ask. There’s still plenty to learn about dragon etiquette, and you’ve had pretty good luck thus far about not doing anything accidentally insulting. A lucky streak you’d like to keep, going into this upcoming mission.
