Chapter 12: The Return
The sun had begun to set, casting long, dancing shadows across the Wolfpack Barracks' entrance as Lyra paced back and forth, her boots clicking against the concrete path. She had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The mission had been a long one, and she had been on edge ever since she had been left out of the briefing.
Suddenly, the sound of boots echoed down the entrance, and Lyra's head snapped up as Aldere came into view, followed closely by Thomas. She let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping as she realized that her teammates had finally returned. But as she scanned their faces, her relief turned to concern. Aldere's usually cheerful expression was replaced by a grimace, and Thomas' eyes were filled with a mix of exhaustion and worry.
"Where's Rashford?" Lyra asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she searched their faces for any sign of their hulking teammate.
Aldere shook his head, his expression grave. "He's not with us," he said, his voice heavy with concern.
"He was injured during the mission. Captain James ordered him to the clinic."
As if on cue, Captain James came into view, his expression stern and unreadable. Lyra turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest. she asked, her voice steady despite the worry gnawing at her insides. Captain James' gaze met hers, his blue eyes piercing and intense.
"Bunny," he began, his voice steady and commanding, "Rashford was injured during the mission. He's being treated in the base's clinic."
Lyra's heart skipped a beat, her concern for Rashford's well-being momentarily overshadowing her frustration at being left out of the mission. "Is he... is he going to be okay?"
Captain James' expression softened slightly, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "He took some bullets. It's a clean wound, and the medics are taking good care of him. He'll be fine, but he'll be out of commission for a few weeks."
Lyra let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping as the tension in her body eased. "Thank goodness," she murmured, her eyes flicking to Aldere and Thomas, who stood nearby, their expressions still grave. "What about the mission?
Is it successful?" Lyra asked, her voice filled with concern as she looked up at Captain James.
Captain James' stern expression softened slightly as he nodded. "Yes, it was a success. We've secured the target and neutralized the threat. Rashford's injuries were sustained during the extraction phase, but we managed to bring him back safely." "That's good to hear," she murmured, her eyes flicking to Aldere and Thomas, who stood nearby, their expressions still grave.
"Now," Captain James continued, his voice taking on a more commanding tone. "We need to debrief and assess the situation. I want a full report from each of you." Captain James' voice was stern and commanding, his eyes scanning the faces of his team members. Lyra took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She knew that Captain James expected nothing less than perfection from his team, and she was determined to meet his high standards.
As Captain James began to walk away, Lyra's heart skipped a beat as she realized what he was about to say next. "Lyra," he called out, his voice sharp and commanding. "I want you to take care of Rashford in the base's clinic. Make sure he's comfortable and that his needs are met."
Lyra's eyes widened in surprise as she took in Captain James' words. She had never been ordered to take care of one of her teammates before, and she wasn't sure how to react. But she knew that she had to follow his orders, no matter what.
She couldn't let her teammates down, especially not Rashford. She nodded sharply, her expression determined. "Yes, sir," she acknowledged, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. She turned on her heel and rushed towards the clinic, her boots clicking against the concrete path. The clinic was a few buildings down from the barracks, but it felt like a world away as she hurried through the dimly lit corridors.
The scent of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights filled the air as she approached the nurse's station. She found Maria there, her hands busy with a clipboard, but her eyes looked up as Lyra entered.
"Lyra!" Maria exclaimed, her face lighting up with a smile. "What brings you here? Are you okay?"
Lyra took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "Captain James sent me to check on Rashford," she explained, her voice steady despite the worry gnawing at her insides. "He's been injured and is being treated here."
Maria's smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. "Oh, I see," she said, her voice softening. "Yes, he was brought in a little while ago. He's in room 302. I'll show you the way."
Lyra nodded, following Maria through the bustling clinic.
The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air as they walked down the corridor, the hum of fluorescent lights casting a cold glow on the stark white walls. They arrived at Rashford's room, and Maria paused outside the door, her expression grave.
"He's in bad shape," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He took six bullets. He's a monster to be survived through that."
Lyra's heart skipped a beat at Maria's words. Six bullets? That was a lot of damage to take. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to see. She pushed open the door, and her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.
Rashford lay on the bed, his massive frame barely contained within the narrow hospital bed. His chest was bandaged, and his left arm was in a sling, but it was his face that caught Lyra's attention.
It was pale and drawn, his usually fiery brown eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady. Maria's voice broke through her thoughts. "He's currently unconscious because of the sedative they gave him for the pain. It should wear off in a few hours." "Thank you, Maria," Lyra said, her voice barely above a whisper as she stepped into the room. She gave Maria a small smile before turning her attention back to Rashford.
"Thank you for showing me the way," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his still form. Maria nodded, her expression softening as she looked at Lyra. "Of course," she replied. "I'll leave you two alone. Just press the call button if you need anything." With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Lyra alone with Rashford.
Lyra dragged a chair from the corner of the room and placed it next to the bed. She sat down, her eyes never leaving Rashford's face. "Hey, big guy," she murmured softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "It's me, Bunny. I'm here now." She paused, her heart aching at the sight of him so vulnerable and still. "I know you're not awake right now, but I want you to know that I'm here for you.
I'm not going anywhere," Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible. She reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her touch, and she shivered at the sensation.
As she sat there, watching over him, she began to feel a strange sensation in her body. It was a mix of worry and something else, something more primal and intense. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him, to his strength and his vulnerability all at once.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she looked down at his chest.
The bandages were stark white against his tanned skin, and she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed slowly and steadily. She reached out, her fingers tracing the edge of the bandage, feeling the heat of his skin beneath.
The night had been late, but he was still not waking up. She felt her own eyelids growing heavy, her body aching from the long day and the tension of the past few hours. She leaned forth, resting her head gently on the edge of the bed, her eyes fluttering closed.
The rhythmic hum of the clinic and the soft beep of the machines lulled her into a peaceful slumber. The last thing she remembered was the gentle rustle of the curtains as they swayed in the breeze from the open window.
She fell asleep, her body relaxing into the chair, her breaths coming in soft, steady waves. The night was long and quiet, the only sound the distant murmur of the city waking up.
Then she could feel a hand stroking her hair, gentle and warm. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find the hand belonged to Rashford. His eyes were open now, a soft brown gaze meeting hers. The dawn had come, casting a warm glow through the window, illuminating his face.
"Bunny," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and pain. "You're here."
She smiled softly, her heart warming at the sight of him awake.
"Sir Rashford," she began, her voice filled with concern as she sat up straight in her chair. "You're awake.
Sir Rashford, are you okay?" Lyra asked, her voice filled with concern as she leaned forward in her chair. "How are you feeling?"
Rashford managed a weak smile, his eyes still heavy with sleep and pain. "I've been better, Bunny," he admitted, his voice rough.
"But I'm glad you're here." Lyra felt a warmth spread through her at his words, a mix of relief and something more intense. She reached out, her hand resting gently on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.
"You're going to be okay," she assured him, her voice soft. "The medics will take care of you." She leaned in closer, her eyes never leaving his. "In the meantime, I'm here for you. Whatever you need."
Rashford's eyes flickered with a sudden intensity, and he reached up, his hand cupping her cheek.
"Bunny," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need you." Just then, the door to the room creaked open, and Maria stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room with a professional air. "Lyra," she said, her voice calm and steady.
"How is he doing?" Lyra stepped forward, her eyes never leaving Rashford's face as she replied. "He's awake now, Maria. He seems to be doing better." Maria nodded, her expression serious as she approached the bed. She checked Rashford's vitals, her hands moving with practiced ease over his body. "His heart rate is steady, and his breathing is strong," she reported, her voice filled with professional detachment. "The sedatives are wearing off, and he's showing signs of rapid recovery." Lyra let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping as she watched Maria work. "That's good to hear," she murmured, her eyes flicking to Rashford's face. He was looking at her now, his brown eyes filled with a mix of pain and something else, something more intense. She felt a warmth spread through her at his gaze, a mix of relief and something more primal and intense.
Just then, the door to the room creaked open, and a nurse pushed in a trolley laden with buckets of water and various cleaning supplies. Maria turned to Lyra, her expression serious. "We need to clean Rashford's body. He's been through a lot and needs to be comfortable."
Lyra nodded, understanding the importance of cleanliness in a healing environment. She stepped aside as Maria began to prepare the supplies, her hands moving with practiced ease.
Lyra watched, her heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and determination. She had never done this before—had never even considered it—but she knew she had to try. She had to show Rashford that she was the "Barrack's Bunny." She had to prove that she could take care of him, that she could be his rock in this time of vulnerability.
"Maria," she said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "I want to do this myself. I want to clean him up."
Maria looked up, surprise flickering across her face. "Lyra, are you sure? It's a big responsibility." Maria looked at Lyra, her eyes filled with concern. "Lyra, do you know how to do this?" she asked, her voice gentle yet firm.
Lyra took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. With a nervous smile, she said, "I've learned basic medical care at the academy. I think I can handle this." She turned to Rashford, her expression determined. "I'll take good care of you, Sir Rashford." Lyra's voice was soft yet firm, her eyes locked onto his. Maria looked between the two, then nodded. "Alright, Lyra. I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, just call me. I'll be at the medic station." With that, she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Lyra's heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short bursts as she rushed to the door and locked it. The click of the lock echoed through the room, and she leaned against the door, her eyes never leaving Rashford's face. He was watching her, his gaze intense and filled with a mix of pain and something else, something more primal and intense. Lyra could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them.
She pushed the trolley of water buckets closer to Rashford's bed, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what to do next. She had never cleaned a man before, let alone one as injured and vulnerable as Rashford.
But she knew she had to try. She couldn't let him down. She took a deep breath and turned to Rashford, her eyes meeting his intense gaze. "Sir Rashford," she began, her voice steady despite the nerves churning in her stomach. "I need to clean you up. Would that be okay with you?" She waited, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched his face for any sign of discomfort or refusal.
Rashford's expression softened slightly, and he gave her a small nod. "Yes, Bunny," he murmured, his voice rough with pain but filled with a quiet acceptance. "I trust you." Lyra felt a wave of relief wash over her at his words. She took a deep breath and began to prepare the supplies, her hands moving with practiced ease as she filled a basin with warm water and added a generous amount of soap.
She turned back to Rashford, her eyes meeting his once more.
"I'll start by removing your patient gown," she said softly, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She reached out, her fingers gently grasping the neckline of the gown.
As she slowly pulled it down, she could see the scars on his body, each one a testament to his past battles. There were old scars, faded and silver, crisscrossing his chest and arms, and then there were the fresh ones, angry and red, from the bullets that had struck him during their last mission. She could see the exit wounds on his back, raw and inflamed, and her heart ached at the sight. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She had to be strong for him, to show him that she could handle this, that she could take care of him. She continued to pull the gown down, her eyes never leaving his body, until it was completely off, leaving him bare and vulnerable before her.
Her eyes involuntarily glanced to his cock, which was huge in parallel with his huge posture. She had seen his naked body before in the Wolfpack's barrack communal shower, but now, she could see it clearly, even in its semi-flaccid state. It was massive, thick, and long, resting heavily on his thigh. She felt a warmth spread through her at the sight, a mix of surprise and something more primal and intense.