Chapter Text
Walking slowly, one step at a time, down the crowded stairs of base, too lost in your own thoughts. Every one was getting to their rooms to get some rest after that long draining mission. Everything went well, even your commander, the one and only Vladimir Makarov, praised you and your team again, yet all you could think about was running away, peace, quiet, the sharpness of your blade running through your skin. All day you couldn’t get your mind off of it, no matter how much you laughed, how many people thanked you, how many lifes you took or saved, it was burned into your memory. The Konni was keeping you busy most of the time, yet it felt like hours of torture every break you had. So you just gave in, you let it become in bedded in your routine. After every mission, after every misunderstanding, after every family dinner.
You reached the bottom of the stairs, you only had one corridor left till you’ve reached the bathrooms on the far side of base, only a few minutes left. You started walking a bit faster, you knew that wing of base wasn’t off limits, yet you still felt the need to be careful when going there. Soon you reached the so called bathroom that hasn’t been touched in more time than you had been in school, stepping inside and letting the heavy door close behind you. You felt like you had some patience left so you opened the small window before going into one of the stalls, at least breath in some fresh air while doing one of the things that got most of your school friends admitted into psych wards. You struggled with the lock but soon managed to fix the issue, It’s always been like that, you wondered why your organization didn’t want to at least put new locks in the stalls. Was it a money problem or did they even care? While scratching your mind with questions you knew you couldn’t answer, you took out your pretty modeling knife. You’ve been using it from around a year now, it was pink with a ribbon, it made you smile every time, all the comforting memories flooding your mind.
You rolled up the sleeve of your uniform, putting the cold blade against the skin of your upper arm, you took a moment of consideration, but quickly went back to your senses, pressing down and dragging, creating a fine red line open on your skin. You watched as a few red drops met the ground, then more, and more, and more, your eyes met the knife, blood stained more than usual. Then the cold air hit you in the face, you cut in too deep, from the amount of the blood pool forming on the floor you’ve probably hit a laffy taffy. You’ve never cut that deep yourself, tho you’ve been stabbed on various missions, coming from yourself was a new feeling. Dropping the knife, you scrambled to find the bandages you swore you put in your pocket before going to the dinning hall. Nothing. There was nothing that could save you now.
You started losing the rhythm of your breaths, you left out a nervous laugh, wobbly pulling down your sleeve and pressing on your wound in a miserable attempt to stop the bleeding. “Что мне теперь делать, что мне теперь делать…“ (“What should I do now, what should I do now…“) Your gaze met the lock of the door, you reached out to it, trying to undo it, but it didn’t bulge. “Боже! Почему? Почему…?” (“God! Why? why…?”) you pulled and pushed, and prayed, and begged, seconds stacked while you were losing hope and most likely your sanity. Suddenly it opened, you exhaled the air you didn’t realize you were holding this whole time and ran a hand through your hair. Your mind was racing, where were you going to go? Your wound would probably get infected if you didn’t get it checked out. But they would ask you “What happened, why didn’t you come after the mission” and it clicked, you could blame it on the mission.
Taking a deep breath you ran to the big swinging door, you knew that you won’t be able to push it open so you launched at it, it flying open and you almost falling on the tile floor. You stumbled and hit the door which met with the wall with a loud bang, you found your balance and pushed yourself into standing, taking a few steps away from the door so it wouldn’t shove you back into the bathroom. Your vision was getting blurrier with every step, but you continued pushing through the pain. The stupid whiskey your commander gave you, you were blaming your inability to walk on it. You saw a figure on the far end of the corridor, your first instinct was to call out “medic”, but something in your gut told you to shut it. You gulped and composed yourself, trying to walk normally, not being able to focus on the person now walking toward you. You hear their voice distantly, It had a rough Russian accent, they were probably a man. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but you distinguished when talking became yelling.
“Что вы здесь делаете, лейтенант!?” (“What are you doing here, lieutenant!?”) ohh… Didn’t that pretty much sound like the commander? You stopped in your tracks, from all the people that could’ve seen you, did it have to be THE COMMANDER? Your non-injured hand ran through your hair, pulling at the ends as a miserable attempt to prove that this was all a dream. Yet you felt everything, squinting your eyes to try and dissociate. “Вы получили травму? Почему вы не сказали об этом раньше?” (“Are you injured, why didn’t you say before?”) You felt yourself losing your balance, and in a blink of an eye you were on the floor, hardly trying to keep your breaths regular. You couldn’t tell if the lights were flickering or you were about to pass out. “Как жаль, что вы не обратились за помощью к единственным людям, которые могут вам помочь, лейтенант!” (“Such a shame that you don’t rely on the only people who can help you, lieutenant!”) He reached you just in time to hiss those words into your face, crouching next to you and grabbing your left arm, his hand getting drenched in blood from your uniform. He pulled off his jacket, folded it and pressed it against your wound. He said something that sounded like “hold it tight”, you tried doing just that but for your surprise, your hand didn’t lift up at all. How much did you drink, no memory after the second cup, you just knew that you didn’t want to but still did.
You were helpless, humiliated and depended on the man who you should be looking after. Why didn’t I die on that mission? The thought entered your mind without permission, tho as time goes, you were really considering taking the opportunity. Your eyes followed his movements as he was getting you on your feet, Why is he even doing all that, yes, you were a part of the inner circle but you were just a lieutenant, nothing special. The walk to the infirmary was a blur, the only memorable thing being him yelling at the medic to “Открой дверь, пока я не проделал в тебе дырку!” (“open the door before I open a hole in you!”).
Now lying on the hard bed your eyes followed the needle as the medic was stitching your wound from “the mission” as your commander explained to the poor man who was sweating like a hyperhidrotic under his intense gaze. You hated getting stitched, which was strange, you loved cutting yourself but not that. Maybe you hated it because it meant getting better, or because you couldn’t do it yourself. You watched the other cuts on your arm, some covered in plasters others healed, you knew that if they caught on the fact that they were self-harm and not wounds from missions you would be discharged and sent to the very place you were running away from your whole life. You sure didn’t realize you were making every expression of pain on your face as the thoughts kept getting louder, you but someone else did. “Будь осторожнее, ты, ничтожный отброс. Как я мог нанять такого некомпетентного человека?” (“Be careful, you worthless piece of trash. How could I hire such an incompetent person?”) He rubbed his temple in disappointment as he half yelled half mumbled those words. You felt medic tremble before composing himself and continuing on as careful as it gets. Your eyes found your commander exit his leaning position and slowly walk towards the two of you. If I were the medic I would’ve shat myself till now. Soon you realized he was almost done, only the knot left before you were free to go. “Я бы посоветовал вам отдохнуть в ближайшие несколько дней или браться за задания, не требующие участия в боях” (“I would advise you to take some rest for the next few days or take on missions that do not require combat.”) the medic spoke up, your commander nodded as his gaze moved from your arm to your face.
As he finished up Vladimir offered you a hand, which you accepted, getting up from the old bed. He picked up your arm with your now stitched wound and carefully observed the work, his hands were kind of rough at touch, you didn’t know what you expected from a man of war, yet he was somehow gentle. You felt your cheeks getting warmer, again blaming it on the stupid whiskey. He seemed content with the results so let go of you, gesturing towards the door. You thanked the medic, he probably hates you now, but you were still thankful for his efforts. When you tuned over to leave you saw that Vladimir was already outside, but he was waiting, Maybe he’s waiting for me to get out so he could tell me I’m getting discharged, replaced… or he has some other business…You pulled yourself from your thoughts and walked out the infirmary. You were debating on if you should go to clean the bathroom first, or go to your room and sneak out later. After a short second you decided on sneaking out later, taking a stand right in front of Makarov you work up the courage and speak up “Большое спасибо, командир, больше такого не повторится. Я сейчас отправляюсь в казармы. Желаю вам спокойной ночи.” (“Thank you very much, Commander, it won’t happen again. I’m heading to the barracks now. I wish you a good night.”).
You looked down then you turned around and began walking away towards the third wing, of course you had to be in the furthest part of the building. It’s a tradition from quite few years, from high school, to college, to now. For a second you thought you saw someone from the corner of your eye, after that initial second you knew that there was someone. Your commander walking beside you. “В каких казармах вы проживаете?” (“In which barracks are you staying?”) his voice broke the silence, echoing in the corridor. “Третьи, верхний этаж, номер 627” (“Third, top floor, number 627”). As far as you were aware, all of the high ranking officials were in the first building, which was separate, on the map of base it was marked off limits, it was wing 0, on the complete opposite direction, so there was no point of him walking with you if he has to walk the whole base twice. He didn’t react, so you decided not to press the issue and just continue walking further. After two minutes or so of walking, he suddenly stopped, you took a few more steps and turned around towards him. “Лейтенант, вы каждый день прогуливаете такое расстояние?” (“Lieutenant, do you walk all that distance every single day?”). You shrugged, you’ve been used to it, so you didn’t really pay attention to it. “да” (”yes”). He paused for a second, from his expression and furrowed brows you would say that he is probably trying to remember something, then he rested his brows and continued. “В первом здании есть свободная отдельная комната, мы можем переселить вас туда прямо сейчас” (“There is a free private room in the first building, we can move you there now”). What, he’s offering me a room in the building with the important people now? You knew how much your quality of life would change if you moved into that room, and you’ve heard that they have private bathrooms, the building had its own infirmary… history won’t have to repeat itself. “С удовольствием, командир.” (“With pleasure, commander.”)
One hour later
Sitting on the most comfortable bed you’ve ever had the chance to use, you were folding your uniform to take to the laundry tomorrow. You changed into your blouse and pants for sleep, and crawled into your bed, it was bigger than you expected, hell the whole thing was bigger than you could ever imagine. You waited till you stopped hearing the voices of Vladimir and whoever else was outside with him, then you carefully went out of your room. You didn’t push yourself to hurry while walking to the unfortunate bathroom at the working facilities, which were counted as the 1 wing of the complex. You went through the passage that connected the two buildings and walked up those same stairs, this same corridor, now standing in front of the swinging door.
“Медведь — страх, я — нет” (“The bear is scared, I am not” (yes, if you did recognize that, I am Bulgarian)). You pushed the door and went inside, heading over to the stall, the window was still open, which made the bathroom freezing cold, but that also meant no one came here during the time being. Strangely tho you didn’t see any blood out of the stall, which you were sure there had to be, at least a footstep, a drop, no. You opened the stall…there was nothing, it was clean, not even the modeling knife, no, empty… You checked the other stalls, they were as dirty as you found them before. But you remember that when you came in, the door was still bloodstained, so you aren’t in the wrong bathroom. That means, someone probably came back and cleaned it enough to not look like anything happened. Not the cleaners, they would’ve cleaned the whole bathroom if they were here…someone who knew a little more, someone who saw a little more than necessary.