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“Not sure I know what to do without a bit of chaos,” Oscar admitted.

“You’ll find plenty. As much as we in the military like to make a big fuss about regimen and order, we’re still people, and chaos follows in our wake. Perhaps by working at the center of it, you’ll have a better idea of what you’ll need to do once I can put you in your proper chair.”

Oscar let out a low, drawn-out breath and nodded. “Yes, sir. When do I begin?”

“You can start in a few days. Give yourself a chance to look around first and rest after moving across the country.”

“Yes, sir,” Oscar said, sensing the end of the meeting.

“Ah, right, and just as a formality, do me a favor and report to the clinic on base. I require all newcomers to go in for a check-up, no matter how recent their last examination was.”

“Yes, sir.”

TROY

Troy hummed, spinning his keys around one finger. He peered over the checklist on the desk, pausing his spinning long enough to mark another item as done. Lists weren’t Troy’s thing, but if he didn’t keep it up to date, he’d hear about it. Then again, after a few months working in the clinic, he’d grown more fond of lists, even though he mocked the military for their obsession with the things.

Still, the clinic had become his home more than his apartment. Troy had only been at Fort Dale a few months, and most of that time, he’d been working in the usually quiet clinic. It beat working out of a camp in the middle of nowhere, where working conditions involved a canvas tent and whatever supplies were sent your way. Troy would take having to sweep the clean tiles and keep inventory over scraping by with what little there was to go around any day.

The walls around him creaked, and he heard the curtains separating the examination rooms swish, signifying a pressure shift. Troy grunted, pushing himself back from the desk and standing up.

“Hello?” came a voice, calling down the hallway to the office where Troy stood.

“One minute,” Troy called.

He grabbed the tablet he used for almost everything in the clinic. Most of the day-to-day work ran through a database Troy could connect to with the touch of his fingers on the tablet. It made his job so much easier when he could pull up someone’s files and take notes using the stylus, which the tablet transcribed into text and sent to the system. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but damn, he loved it.

Out of habit, he checked the reflection of his closely cut hair in the dark screen, which dimmed the bright blond. It had the same effect on his blue eyes, which looked darker than they were. They were gifts from his late mother, with his sharp jawline, thin and high eyebrows, and lips that curled upward naturally as though prepared to smile at a moment’s notice. The crooked nose was not from her but rather from a drunken brawl several years back, but he thought it added charm.

Content that he did not look as though he hadn’t slept, Troy stepped out of the office and into the hallway. Waiting at the end stood a young man. Troy raised his tablet in greeting as he marched down the length of the hallway, stopping in front of him.

“Morning,” Troy said brightly.

“Uh, hi. I needed to come in for something real quick,” the man said quietly, looking around furtively.

Troy raised a brow. It wasn’t often someone came in acting nervously. Most soldiers were over being nervous about medical issues, as open about them as they were with their naked bodies. This one had to be relatively new.

Troy nodded. “Alright, well, give me your name and rank.”

“Private John Simmons.”

Troy opened the tablet, typed in the information, and waited until it appeared on the screen. “Alright, Private Simmons, it looks like you’re not due for your check-up for another couple ofweeks, and your last one came through clear. So, why don’t you tell me what you’re here for?”

The private opened his mouth and stopped at the bang of the clinic’s double doors being flung open. He and Troy jumped at the sudden noise as in blazed Troy’s fellow clinic worker and more experienced medic. Troy watched Dean barrel forward, an aura of fury and frustration billowing around the shorter man.

“Uh, morning?” Troy said carefully.

“Morning,” came Dean’s tight reply.

Dean’s eyes flipped to Simmons standing beside Troy, jerking a brow up. “What?”

“Uh, nothing?” John replied warily.

Dean turned his gaze to Troy. “He have an appointment?”

Troy wasn’t going to pretend Dean’s attitude was a surprise. Normally, Dean was a pleasure to be around, and Troy had enjoyed the last few months working alongside him. Dean was smart, with a lot of experience, and while he was generally a kind and attentive person, he had no problem knocking a smart ass or difficult soldier down a few pegs to make them behave. And, for the past week or so, Troy’s friend had been downright foul-tempered.

Troy tried to smile benignly. “People can come in here without an appointment, Dean. That’s kind of how this works.”