Chapter Text
Carrie X Warwick
Carrie had been preparing dinner— he loved cooking food, especially the kind that Warwick liked, not that he would ever admit that— when his grip had slipped on the knife he was using and he sliced a thin cut into his left index finger.
"Goddamnit." He hissed and brought his injured finger closer to his face to inspect it. A thin string of blood had already formed. It was nothing, really, just a little cut. Carrie was moreso annoyed with himself for messing up on something as simple as cutting carrots.
Warwick, who had been sitting in the living room adjacent to the kitchen, watching the morning news, heard a short curse from Carrie. He paused the TV.
"Is everything alright, love?"
Carrie tore his attention away from the cut on his finger. Warwick didn't need to know, he was already protective enough as it was, and Carrie didn't want him to think he was stupid for making such a silly mistake.
""s fine. I'm fine. Just- dropped something is all." He huffed and started to open a few of the kitchen cabinets. Now where did Warwick keep the band-aid's?
Warwick sighed and grunted as he got up from his seat on the coach. "I can tell when ya are lyin' to me Carrie. You're a poor liar." He walked over to the kitchen to find Carrie searching through his cabinets. "What are you lookin' for?"
Carrie turned to face the shorter man, feeling cornered and agitated. "I just- don't worry bout' it, it's nothin' alright? Leave me be."
Warwick huffed incredulously and raised an eyebrow behind his black mask. "It's not nothin, that's for sure." He looked between the chopping board, a thin line of blood on its wood and the carrots and knife abandoned, and Carrie. It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened.
"Did ya cut yourself?"
Carrie cursed under his breath, he could never keep anything under Warwick's perseptive snout (nose, haha get it? because Warwick has a snout).
"Yah, 's stupid I know. Don't laugh, just-" He grunted, his grey, bandaged face flushing with embarrassment, his pride injured far more than his index finger. "Just- tell me where ya keep your band aid's."
Warwick huffed in gentle amusement. "Sure, top left cabinet. There should be some smaller ones for your finger."
Carrie bristled slightly as he opened the cabinet Warwick had named. "My fingers are mighty manly and large, thank you very much." He knew it was silly, and he knew Warwick didn't mean anything by mentioning the smaller band-aids, the cut itself was small after all.
Warwick chuckled lowly and took a few steps closer. "Settle down. You know that's not what I meant love."
Carrie sighed as he opened the band-aid box. "Sure, whatever."
Warwick tenderly took the box from Carrie's long, bony fingers, and Carrie complied, his ego already battered.
"Mind if I put it on for you?" Warwick softly requested as he pulled out one of the smaller band-aids.
Carrie grunted, embarrassed both of his carrot-cutting mistake and of just how much he loved being doted on by Warwick. He was supposed to be a tough, weathered soldier, goddamnit. Soldiers weren't supposed to fold so easily into softness.
Regardless, his heart soared higher and louder than a bomber plane as Warwick held Carrie's hand with both of his own so delicately, as if Carrie were made of glass. As if Carrie's skin was soft and his hands were clean of the sins of war.
Warwick didn't let go after he applied the band-aid. Instead, he continued to quietly cradle Carrie's left hand within both of his own.
"Feelin better now?"
Carrie let out something between a grunt and a tender cackle. "My finger never really hurt, but I suppose I do feel better."