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I sit on the couch, enjoying my tea in the late-night silence. I don’t bother turning the tv on as I didn’t want to wake the other house’s inhabitant before he was ready. After what had happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for days. I grab my book from the coffee table and open it to where my bookmark is, but my eyes just stare at the page without reading any of the words. My feet suddenly cold, I pull the blanket off the back of the couch. I toss it over my lower half, shivering at the chill that seems to sweep through the room.
My mind jumps back to yesterday. I had seen the men come in, sent out to God knows where in the middle of the Siberian mountains to do recon on a general that was becoming worrisome to the big-wigs. It had gone so horribly wrong.
‘Soap was injured in the fight.’ Ghost’s voice is still so loud in my head. I was one of the few who knew of their “secret” relationship since I had worked closely with 141 on previous missions back when I was still in the field. Before my injury. Ghost had always felt bad, like it was somehow his fault, despite my protests. Both me and Soap have tried to get him to move past it, but he tends to have a habit of holding onto the past.
‘How bad?’ He shakes his head a bit before moving past me, most likely going to the med tent. Gaz passes me next, followed by Price. Both are worse for wear, with cuts all over their faces and badly damaged gear. I’m almost positive one is missing part of his bulletproof vest.
I shield my eyes from the blinding sun and the wind whipping off the blades of the helicopter, trying to get a head count of everyone who had gone on the mission. I see König off in the distance as he steps out, and I can tell something is wrong in the way he walks. He’s favoring his ribs, but no one else seems to notice. Fine.
I march towards him, determined to at least help one person who went out, since Soap was already being taken care of by both the medics and Ghost. König sees me approach, I know he does, because his shoulders always droop a little more than usual whenever I’m around him. How no one else ever notices the subtle tells his body gives is beyond me.
‘What’s wrong?’ I shout to him over the rotors. He goes to put his hand on my shoulder, but the movement makes him wince. My eyes dart down to his chest, hidden under layers of fabric and padding. ‘How bad.’ Ghost didn’t answer that question when I had asked it about Soap, but König had always promised me honesty if he got the same in return.
‘Bad. Bruised, maybe broken.’ His familiar accent both soothes my worries and makes them worse, since he’s actively trying to suppress the pain present in his tone.
‘Medic, or home?’ I was trained in combat medicine. I could do just as good a job as the medics on base, and from a quick glance over, it didn’t seem like they were broken, but he had always been good at hiding physical injuries, even from me. With his anxiety – which only worsens when he’s hurt – any public areas were never a good idea if they could be avoided.
‘Home. Please.’ I give him a curt nod, going to support him on his non-injured side, not caring what the lingering soldiers thought or assumed. His arm now slung over my shoulder, we make our way away from the helicopter towards the house, a long and slow journey.
I’m pulled from my memories when I hear a rustle behind me. Despite his size, König had always been incredibly silent. I had trained myself over time to listen for the whisper of skin against fabric, one of the only ways to tell he was entering a room without having eyes on him. Sometimes you could hear the sounds of his gear, but even then, it was hard. One of the reasons the commanders liked having me be his keeper, despite both of us hating that term. I simply helped keep him alive when he wasn’t out on a mission, and also helped keep him sane.
I know what he wants. I close my book, finger held in to mark my place, and lift my arm over the back of the couch, my other one falling off the edge of the seat to brush the floor. He immediately settles on top of me, arms wrapped around my ribs, head resting on my chest. His legs are slightly too long in our current position for his feet to stay on, so they dangle slightly off the end. It’s one of the reasons why I had insisted on the house being outfitted for a longer sectional, even if it didn’t always work.
If he could purr, my entire body would be vibrating from it. I swap the book in my hands so I can rub his head, gently massaging and playing with the thick strands of blond hair. While he might’ve disliked me at first, I was one of the few who had never been scared of his height, nor had I ever mocked him for his social anxiety.
We were one and the same in that regard.
We lay in silence for a bit, the crackling of the wood fireplace the only sound in the room apart from our breathing. His eyes are closed, definitely enjoying the head massage. It was rare to see him without the mask or the balaclava, something he preferred to wear even around the house. He always said it was due to the fear that someone might be watching, and the less people who could easily identify him, the better. I had been trying to help him get over this fear, at least in the house, since we were well-protected on the base, and everyone who would come knocking knows to not come unannounced. Especially after the last time, when I had drawn a firearm and König had already broken the man’s arm. A sad reminder of his days as a human battering ram, one the commanders would always exploit.
“What’s wrong, Bärchen?” The nickname – little bear in German – had been one of the first things I had looked up when I had been assigned to König. He hates anything that even closely resembles a compliment or a term of endearment, but his huffing and puffing had only encouraged me. This was one of the ones he chose, after I had called him Knuddelkätzchen in a horrible accent.
He really was a cuddle cat, though, if his current state was any proof.
His cheeks redden at the word. “Nothing.” He snuggles in deeper, curling his head down so I can rub at the knots in his neck. “I just needed human contact.”
This was also something I had been trying to work with him on. Voicing his feelings and emotions. It’s a struggle most soldiers I’ve encountered had at some point during their service, and oftentimes one that carries into their normal civilian lives. König had been mocked for his emotions as a kid, so one of my personal duties was to show him that people do care about him, and that he has every right to express his feelings.
I drop my book, reading long forgotten. Now free, my other hand wraps around his shoulders so I can gently rub his back. I can feel some of the thicker scars through the thin fabric of the t-shirt, and every time I run over one, I can feel him lightly wince. Not out of pain, but something more akin to embarrassment. I slow the movement, leaving my hand on his back so he has a steady weight to bring him comfort. “How are your ribs? Better, same, or worse?”
He grunts, shifting slightly. “Same.” I heave a sigh of relief, leaning my head back against the arm of the couch. It’s hard to tell the difference between bruised and broken ribs, especially since we didn’t go to the medics, but one of the biggest signs the bones are broken is that the pain gets worse over time. Or you start coughing up blood due to a punctured lung.
My eyes start to droop, mostly due to the combination of the fireplace and the human space heater half on top of me. König has also started rubbing my side with his thumb in a gentle circular motion, further lulling me to sleep. Before I can drift off, however, a knock on the door jerks me back awake. König moves to get up but groans at the sudden shift. I slide off the couch, gesturing for him to stay put and giving him a death glare when he attempts to stand anyways. He sits back, crossing him arms and pouting.
I whip open the door, blasting my front with a wave of cold air that sends shivers down my spine as it cuts through the holes of my sweater. I blink. “Lieutenant Danvers.”
He nods. “Foster. I came to inquire about König.” I don’t like the way he says that name. Spitting it out like it’s some sort of poison. My eye twitches with the barely suppressed urge to rip out his tongue and make him swallow it.
Apparently, I have anger management issues. Whoops.
“He’s unavailable for the next few days.” One of the only things I had asked for when I got assigned to König was to be able to decide when he was able to participate in missions, within reason. The commanders hadn’t been happy, but since no one else was willing to work with him, they accepted my conditions. His injuries would make him out of commission for several days, if not a week, depending on how long he would be able to remain indoors without feeling like he’s lazy.
The lieutenant frowns. I want to punch his rotten little mouth in. “Such a shame. We were hoping to use his special . . . abilities for a mission coming up.” I pray König stays sitting and doesn’t make his presence known. It’s better if I handle these situations, since most people don’t take kindly to a 6’10 man simply existing – too intimidating. Sometimes that level of scary can be helpful, but I fear in this case it would make things worse, and only encourage the commanders to loan him out for more dangerous missions.
My lips spread in a smile I know makes me look a little crazy. It’s one I perfected ages ago. “No offense, Danvers, but König isn’t in your squad, let alone your unit. He worked with you for one mission, which has been deemed a failure since most members came back injured. As far as I’m concerned, he will no longer work with you. Take it up with the general if you have issues.” I shut the door in his face and lock it, listening for the footsteps to take the lieutenant far away from the stoop, and far away from König.
As soon as he leaves, I go sit on the couch next to König, who wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. “Thank you, Alex.” The use of my first name surprises me. He rarely uses it, preferring either a nickname or my last name.
I look up at him. “Of course, Bärchen.”