REQUEST: Mitchsen wartime fic? I used to not be the worst at writing wartime stuff, but I probably got a whole bunch of stuff wrong, because let's face it, my research abilities aren't the best.

The scent of dirt was the first thing that hit Beca's senses. That and blood. It was such a distinct thing, it's metallic edge almost sweet as it overtook every inch of the small tent that she resided in. They said very plainly that blood could overtake any room and nothing about that statement had registered to the young doctor until now.

"Elevate the arm," She said gruffly, her voice nothing more than a sharp bark. "There's a tear in the brachial artery."

That very blood that was clouding her lungs was gushing past a nasty wound that wouldn't be easily handled. Nothing about this was easy- not the way they had taught her in a classroom instead of a sand-filled battlefield. This wasn't some random test anymore, this was the real deal and Beca had to act fast.

"Doctor Mitchell, what do you want us to do?" The young intern asked, crimson liquid soaking into her white tank-top as she panted herself, dirt close to matching her chocolate brown eyes. She had a look of determination on her face, one that made her look much older than she really was. She was searching for an answer, any answer.

"Legacy I need you to grab a pressure bandage and press it under the wound. If the blood flow doesn't taper than stick your fingers right below the artery, am I clear?"

"Doc,"

"Am I clear?"

There was a quick nod at the newer recruit did as she was told, a soldier squirming under her touch. The man was gritting his teeth in pain, being on the wrong side of an edge of shrapnel that was sent flying with a cloud of smoke. His breath was shaky, but he was composed.

"Is there an exit wound?" The smaller brunette asked as she began to tear fabric away from the area.

"No ma'am."

"So help me god, do not call me ma'am" A deep sigh escaped Beca as she quickly grasped the edge of her rubber glove and pulled it off sweat filled palms. She was struggling to get the attention of the fallen man, his eyes shaded and dark with pain as she placed her cool fingers under his chin, staring into olive green eyes. They were riddled with pain as she let out a breath.

"Alright, Cruz." She said, kneeling softly as she brushed the dirt coated hair from his eyes. "There's not much we can do for you on base, okay? We're going to airlift you to the nearest center but I need you to stay with me. Can you do that?"

He chuckled a soft sound that was weak and forced. "I've been through worse Shawshank. I think I can handle a little blood loss."

She nodded, struggling to smile as she stood, watching Emily stare down at her rusty fingers. They were shaking, her nerves getting the best of her. The wound had been patched up the best that they could, not even having basic morphine anywhere near the premises.

"Keep me posted, Legacy." Was all Beca said before she pushed past the deep burlap edges of the tent. The sun was almost as unforgiving as the barren nature of the desert that they had set up base in. A few tents and a little mess hall the only thing that shielded them from its unforgiving nature.

She squinted, lowering her aviator sunglasses down over midnight blue eyes. Her breath was short as combat boots molded against hot sand. She was used to it by now, but nothing about this job had ever been easy- not when her resolve was constantly being pulled in every separate direction.

The woman kept her head down and stance rigid as if not to be bothered before she pushed into her own tent, eyes not adjusting to the sudden change in brightness right away. The sound of a small osculating fan and warm push of air brought her back-back to a time when she would lounge on a front porch while letting the juices from a banana popsicle drip down her arm and off her elbow.

She looked around the tent, a bit of disappointment filling her to find that it was empty. The churning feeling in the pit of her stomach was growing by the second- mouth dry like the very ground she treaded on.

"you're cute when you worry, you know that right?"

The voice sent an icy chill down Beca's spine as she perked up, not wasting a second to the dry air as she turned around to face the blonde who kept her voice steady and chin lifted. Her hair was up in a tight bun, strands of golden color falling into grey eyes. She had stripped off her jacket, a white tank-top was dirtied with sweat and blood, a long gash at her waistline. It shouldn't worry Beca as much as it did, but she couldn't help the spike of anxiety.

"I'm not cute." She hissed, knowing that they carried this exchange wherever they went. It took everything in the shorter girl not to launch herself towards the older woman. To hold her and pull her close. If anything, the military had taught her self-control. "And you're bleeding."

"Ah, it comes with the territory." Aubrey waved her off, her dismissive nature not as concerning as it was before. "I assume you've seen the bulk of the damage."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, one that made Beca avert her gaze as Aubrey lowered herself onto their shared cot. They had pushed two of them together- laying out bedding to lessen the rod that split the mesh up the middle. It seemed to work for the two well.

"When I saw Smith, I assumed it was you." She cocked her head to the side, taking the gold-rimmed glasses from her gaze as she stuck them against the collar of her own green shirt, the dog tags that hung around her neck clanking near swollen metal. "Though I'm sorry to see her go."

"Did she-"

"Honorary discharge." Beca sat down next to the taller woman, letting out a muffled groan as her body protested at the sudden movement. She realized quickly she needed to choose her words carefully. "She'll be fine in a few months-time but that doesn't mean she won't be in pain."

Aubrey hummed softly, the two of them tuning out most of the noises that lay past a thin sheet of fabric. The older girl had her fingers wrapped around the inside of Beca's knee, squeezing it with the full intention of comfort. It worked in this case, the woman relaxing into the soothing gesture.

"I'm glad you're alright," Beca whispered, leaning her head on her girlfriend's shoulder, the exhaustion from the day of patching up fallen soldiers was fast approaching, her very own having braved the accident that had ruined so many lives on a given day.

"Me too," Aubrey whispered, pulling Beca closer to her. "Me too."