i am Poorly™️ and now my brain (what functioning bits are left from this MIGRAINE) can’t stop thinking about the boys of tf141 reacting to reader unconscious in medbay after an op.
capt. john price - silent guard dog. obviously, as the captain of the taskforce, he doesn’t get the luxury of dropping everything right off the helo to run to your side, no matter how much he wants to. but, he is restless and short-tempered as he rushes through the post-op debriefs, snapping at anyone or anything who wastes his time or gets in his way. but once he’s in medbay, your unconscious body finally in his sights, the violent, rough edges of his agitation soften. the protective streak of the captain is no less sharp, however, as the older man keeps a watchful eye on everything as his hands run through his mutton chops, mustache, hair, over his clothes, anything to distract him from the fact that you’re hurt. he won’t touch you - doesn’t quite trust himself to not break down and beg for your beautiful eyes and warm smile to grace his presence again if he does. no, he stands vigil in the room, watching over you and protecting you until he hears you start to wake. then, your beloved captain gets down on his knees beside your bed, his face pressed into your hand that lays on the sterile, scratchy white sheets as he mutters kiss-littered reassurances into your skin as his hands brush softly over your hips and stomach in a gentle, comforting manner. if there’s one thing that breaks his stoic, mountain man exterior, it’s you.
lt. simon “ghost” riley - the other side of the captain’s coin. where do you think he learned it from? where the captain attempts to keep some semblance of composure, simon is incapable of the same. he’s all bristled hackles and barking commands as he jumps off the helo before it even fully touches down, ignoring the protesting ache in his joints as he sprints towards the med bay just to get to you as quickly as he can. he’s tormented, replaying the last moments before you were injured in his mind. he’s angry; at the enemy, at the injury, at the world, at you. he has half a mind to throttle you himself as soon as he bursts through the medbay door, to scream at you until he’s hoarse about how stupid you were to get yourself injured. but that anger is a thin shell covering the aching fear of losing you, and as soon as you’re in his sights, he is at your side, his hand finding yours. he runs his thumb over the back of your hand as his other hand comes up to brush a loose lock of your blood-matted hair out of your face. it doesn’t quite quell the anger bubbling through his veins, but you’re still alive. where the captain keeps a silent vigil, simon is right by your side. he pulls a chair as close to the bed as he possibly can, keeping a watchful, terrifying eye on anyone and everything that comes into the room. but, when he’s alone with you, his demeanor falters; whatever thoughts crossing his mind spilling from his shaking lips as his touch brushes over every part of you that he can reach. he’s a complicated man with a very poor grasp on his own emotions and reactions, but you are the only thing that keeps him grounded, and he can’t lose you.
sgt. john “soap” mctavish - johnny isn’t angry. no, he knows his emotions well enough to call it what it is: he’s terrified. much like simon, he rushes off the helo, but unlike both his lieutenant and his captain, he doesn’t even glance at anyone else. his mind is laser focused on getting to you, completely avoiding and ignoring everything that is between you and him. however, as he gets closer and closer to the medbay, the terror builds. restless, panicked energy floods his veins, his adrenaline shooting through the roof. what if it’s worse than he was told? what if this is it? does he really want his last memories of you to be the sight of you hooked up to god knows how many machines? he’s in touch with his emotions, certainly much more than the rest of his team, but that also makes it that much easier for him to start spiraling to the worst case scenario, especially when it comes to you. he’s caught between the desire to rush to your side and the panic freezing his momentum, resulting in him pacing outside of your room, his fingers alternating between tugging at the longer strands of his mohawk and at the elastic of the com mic around his throat. and that’s how he stays, stuck in this perpetual loop that is slowly ripping him apart. it’s not until he hears that your awake that he finally peeks in, stepping in slowly as to not frighten you. however, once your gaze meets his, all bets are off. he rushes to your side, his hands grabbing onto you as he presses his forehead against yours as tightly as he can. muttered apologies for not being here for you fall past his lips between the kisses he presses gently to your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, your chin, as his hands gently run across your sides. the apologies quickly turn into reassurances, but he doesn’t leave your side. he stays standing over you, covering you with his touch and his soft kisses. if there’s one thing he believes in more than the golden cross that hangs next to his dog tags, it’s you.
sgt. kyle “gaz” garrick - he’s better at compartmentalizing than the rest - has to be, after everything that he has done and seen. he keeps a tight lid on his emotions through the entire helo ride back to base, the vacant stare into nothing ahead of him and the way his knee bounces ever so slightly the only signs that anything is wrong. where the rest of the boys are basically foaming at the mouth when their bird is injured, kyle knows that he can’t. that’s not to say that he doesn’t care about you - doesn’t love you - he just knows that if he gives into the fear, it will be impossible for him to pick himself back up. and he needs to be strong for you, for his team. he feels like the entire world rests on his shoulders, and if he falters, even for you, everything will crumble around him. he goes through the post-op motions robotically. anything anyone says to him is met with a monosyllabic reply. it’s only after he’s finished his duties that he’ll find himself in med bay. he pulls a chair to the side of your bed, one of his hands wrapping around yours as his other comes up to his mouth. he has a horrid habit of biting at his cuticles when his emotions are high, and, well, you’re not here to slap his hand away. he holds onto you, his thumb running over the ridges on the back of your hand as he mutters prayers to whatever could possibly be listening to bring you back to him. he is much more outwardly relaxed than simon or johnny, but inwardly, his mind is racing with the same terror. and when you finally wake, his soft voice is there, coaxing you back as his touch brushes gently over your cheek. while he feels like the fate of the entire world rests on his shoulders, that weight feels a lot more manageable when he remembers that you are his world.
(lol oops this turned into so much more writing than i was planning but whatever. i love playing angst barbies with these boys and exploring the differences and similarities between them. as always, i hope you enjoy, and i would love to hear what you think! thank you thank you thank you for all the support mwah mwah)
