Marcus heard the screaming and shouting come from down the hallway, and immediately knew what Mea's answer to it would be. His face was expressionless as she told him to get inside, and then turned and ran down the hallway itself. Now Marcus wasn't naturally insubordinate, he respected authority to a degree whenever they had proven that they deserved that respect, and he knew how to take orders, but when it came to the safety of his teammates however, he would disobey any order to assure their well-being, despite his condition.<br/><br/>So naturally he began to hobble after her as quickly as he could in his weakened condition. His ankle could barely hold any weight and caused him to have a severe limp as he moved along as best he could, trying to keep his arm from swinging too much as every miniscule movement sent pain rippling through his body. However he was making progress, slowly but surely.<br/><br/>Finally, after several moments he arrived to the entrance of the room, his eyes widening slightly as it looked like they'd just been attacked with another rocket-propelled-grenade, medical supplies scattered across the room, the reinforced bed had skitted to a cock-eyed angle, and sitting on the floor holding a scalpel was Yousef, with Mea crawling towards him in a cautious manner. A looked of puzzlement crossed his features before he saw the glaze that was apparent in Yousef's eyes, a glaze that he knew far too well.<br/><br/>Many soldiers, no matter how strong willed they were, when placed through one tramatic experience after another, often relived their experiences in times of weakness, whether it be physical or mental, and he could see that was happening now, as Yousef began gibbering in Yiddish, then abruptly switching to Italian, neither language Marcus could understand, but he knew the dialect well enough to place it, he then heard the words in English that followed and he felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.<br/><br/>No... there was no way Yousef could be paralyzed, the man was quite literally a Tank. Marcus had never met anybody that could take as much damage as he did and keep on coming, the attack that had paralyzed him would have killed any other man easily, and now... now he'd suffered the worst fate a soldier could endure... the loss of their mobility. "I'd offer to give you a piggy-back ride everywhere... but my back is messed up enough as it is..." He said in a light tone, knowing that Yousef didn't need sympathy or sorrow for his condition, he needed friends, he needed to keep his spirits high to keep the depression that would follow such a revelation at bay.<br/><br/>He leaned against the doorway to the room to take some of the pressure off of his ankle, his icy blue eyes watching Yousef and Mea, unable to hide the worried look in his irises, despite the playful smile that was forced onto his face.