[Infirmary: Holly/Frank]
Holly was awake, and he was ready to go home.
They'd cleaned up the gunshot wound to his bicep, and they'd stitched up the entrance wound. The exit wound was small enough that they just put a butterfly bandage and dressing on it, and he was currently sitting on a cot in the infirmary, wearing clean sweats, arm in a sling across his chest, and somewhat groggy from the pain medicines. He had, unfortunately, lost a lot of blood, and so he wasn't going anywhere until the IV bag on the stand beside him had finished pumping him full of Type A.
He'd asked a few times what had happened, but no one actually told him anything. Why would they? He was seriously low-ranking, and the people who liked old-dead-Holly didn't have clearance levels that were any more impressive than his own. All he did know was that something had attacked the place, and that whatever had done so had caused all the black smoke and explosions. The gunfire? Apparently was other military trying to take down the threat. Friendly fire, which Holly kinda thought was a stupid name for something that could've ended his life. Anyway, word was the explosion had occurred in some secretively unused floor of the base, and Holly had every finger crossed that said floor? Was the one containing his godforsaken portal. At the very least? He was going to get some time off, and he was willing to take anything he could get these days.
Any residual fear or anything? Was nowhere in sight as the man approached Holly's bed. Holly glanced at the bars and stripes, you know, to determine what rank we were talking about here, and then he wondered if this guy knew that he, Holly, was supposed to be dead. He knew that was kinda hush-hush, need-to-know, and generally speaking? The more silver bars on a uniform, then the more likely they were to know.
He blinked at the man. Rook, from his uniform. "I've been better, sir," he said, tone deadpan, expression blank and nothing given away. Holly was young, but he was good at giving nothing away, and he didn't know this guy yet. Military men? As a rule? Weren't people he trusted. You know, blame the fact that he had a tracker in his ankle.