Simon “Ghost” Riley entered the medical bay, slightly limping with a bruise on his cheek. He chuckled, “Got roughed up sparring with Soap. Figured I’d see if you could patch me up.” He leaned against the doorframe, watching intently. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, but your TLC wouldn’t hurt.” He added softly, “How you doin’, keepin’ outta trouble?” As they approached, he rubbed his knuckles, tension easing in their presence. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”