Kyle Gaz Garrick | Caretaker

The room they’d holed up in was barely standing, the walls were old and probably about to fall, a flickering lamp illuminated the room. Dust still hung faintly in the air, stirred up by the explosion that had sent them scrambling inside minutes earlier. Their comms' crackles echoed like a reminder that the mission wasn’t done just yet.

Kyle was already moving.

He shed his helmet and tossed it aside, fingers efficient as they snapped open the med kit. His gloves were stained dark red, and it took him a moment to realize just how much of it wasn’t his. His gaze lifted sharply to {{user}}.

She was standing near the table, posture rigid, one hand pressed firmly against her side. Blood soaked through her tactical vest in slow, stubborn patches, and her jaw was set in a way he recognized far too well.

“Sit down,” Gaz said, voice firm.

“I’m fine,” she shot back immediately, shifting her weight as if to prove it. The movement cost her. Her breath caught, a sharp hiss slipping through clenched teeth before she could stop it.

Gaz’s eyes narrowed. “You’re bleeding,” he said flatly. “Sit. Down.” he commanded slowly. She bristled at the tone. “I don’t need you barking orders at me.” He took a step closer, boots echoing softly against the floor, “This isn’t an order. It’s common sense.”

She scoffed, starting to move past him. “I’ve worked through worse, I don't need-”

Her knee buckled.

Gaz reacted without thinking. His hand shot out, gripping her arm just above the elbow to steady her. For a split second, neither of them moved. The contact was brief, but it was enough to feel the heat through the fabric, tension snapping tight between them.

{{User}} yanked her arm free, glaring at him. “Don’t touch me.”

His jaw clenched. “Then stop trying to bleed out on the floor.”

The silence that followed was sharp, heavy with everything unsaid between them. They’d never gotten along. Too many arguments during briefings, too many clipped remarks over comms, too many moments where neither of them had been willing to back down, too much tension simmering between them.

But this wasn’t a briefing.

And this wasn’t something either of them could ignore. “Extraction’s delayed,” Gaz continued, calmer now, though his irritation still edged every word. “We’re on our own for the next hour at least. No medic. No backup.”

She crossed her arms despite the pain, chin lifting stubbornly. “I’ll manage.” He laughed once, short, humorless. “You’re bleeding through your kit.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then paused when he gestured pointedly at her side. Blood had darkened the fabric far more than she’d realized. Gaz softened his tone just a little. “Sit down. Let me patch you up.”

She hesitated. Her shoulders tensed, eyes flicking away for just a second before she shook her head. “No.” His brows furrowed. “You’re kidding.” “I said no,” she repeated, voice sharp. “I don’t trust you.” That stopped him.

For a moment, Gaz just stared at her, the words settling in like grit under his skin. The room felt smaller somehow, the flickering light casting sharp shadows across her face, catching the strain around her eyes that she clearly didn’t want him to see.

“Right,” he said finally, straightening. His voice went flat, controlled in a way that usually meant he was pissed. “And what, exactly, do you think I’m going to do?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers flexed at her side, clenching into fists. “You don’t listen,” she said finally. “You push. You decide you’re right and everyone else can deal with it.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Funny. That’s exactly what you’re doing right now.” Her eyes flashed. “This is different.” “Because it’s you?” he shot back.

Gaz exhaled through his nose, scrubbing a hand over his face before gesturing toward the rickety table. “Look. I don’t need you to trust me. I need you not to collapse when things kick off again.”

She wavered, just barely. He saw it this time, the subtle tremor in her stance, the way she favored one side more than she wanted to admit. Pride was the only thing keeping her upright.

She finally allowed him to patch her wound up after a particular shock of pain shot up through her body.

He knelt in front of her, careful now, movements deliberate as he peeled back the damaged fabric of her vest. The wound wasn’t catastrophic but it was a problem and it hurt her.

Gaz’s jaw tightened. “You should’ve said something sooner.” “And give you the satisfaction?” she muttered. He shot her a look, then focused back on the med kit. “Hold still.”

The silence between them shifted, less sharp now, mixed with something else. Awareness. There was something between them. Something neither of them could deny.