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Nikto was hardly a man. Hardly a person. Hardly alive. He was just a shape. Just a thing. All he did was kill who he was told to. But, you didn’t think that. You didn’t believe that. He was a person to you. And you treated him as one.
You didn’t force anything. You didn’t push, pull, twist. You let him do what he wanted. He wasn't sure why. For as long as he could remember, where the memories of childhood - memories before him - become fuzzy, he was never treated like that. No one asked his opinion. Even if it was for something simple, like what was for dinner.
You were always so gentle with him. It was almost nauseating. With you, it was always “Aw, hey, Nikto! How are you?” or “What's the word for that in Russian?” He didn't understand it. You were not friends. He did not reciprocate your politeness. Maybe that was just normal where you're from. But, his current running theory was that you must have some form of brain damage. Perhaps you were dropped as a baby.
He stood in the doorway of the armory, head slowly leaning to the side as he studied you. His bright blue eyes broke through the dim lighting as if they were backlit by two LED bulbs in his skull.
You sigh. You really weren't in the mood for it at the moment. You've had a really sucky day and were just trying to clean your gun before you put it up for the night. His gaze burning through your skin as he studies you like a zoo animal is not what you need at the moment. But, you know him enough. You’ve learned a few things from your interactions with him. You know asking nicely, or even demanding won't do much for him in this state. He doesn't mean anything by it - at least you're pretty sure it's just harmless curiosity. Still, you just aren't in the headspace for it. So you have to shoo him off. And luckily, you know just how. You place your gun on the table, rising up.
He doesn't back away as you approach, instead turning his head more. Slowly, you reach out. He’ll snap out of it if you move to touch him. He'll jump back, then growl and stalk off. You're sure of it, that's how it is anytime anyone tries to touch him.
So when the tips of your fingers meet his chest plate, you're the one to flinch. His eyes look wider from under the mask, but he doesn't move or even open his mouth to speak. He simply blinks at you, one eye closing and then the other. Like a frog.
Okay, he's staying when you touch him. That is completely out of the ordinary. Maybe you could weird him out enough for him to leave you be..? You raise your eyes to meet his, and something about the way they shine down on you is… unusual. You can't tell if he's staring at you affectionately, or with the look of a girl in a horror movie that stumbled upon a dead body. Or perhaps both.
Still, you swallow down your confusion, any reservations you have, and shame. Slowly, while maintaining as intense eye contact as you can, you drag two fingers down his chest, like petting a stingray at an aquarium. Before you go lower than his peck, you pick your fingers up and place them back at the top - where his chestplate covers his neck.
He blinks again, looming over you, his shoulders are squared. He's clearly tense. He'll back away soon. You repeat the action several times over, becoming more confused and frustrated the more he doesn't back away. Eventually, his hand raises, and he places two of his fingers on the squishy part of your neck, where it meets your chest. Your breath hitches, fear creeping into the back of your mind that he was trying to kill you.
Slowly, and with a lot more pressure than you were doing on him, he drags his fingers down your chest. He was mimicking you. You tense up, watching as he drags his finger down your chest before circling back to start at the top of your neck again. His hand is almost suffocating, even if he’s only putting two fingers on your neck. And you’re sure he could put so much more weight into it. He could snap your neck, pin you to the wall and strangle you. He’d probably cock his head to the side as he did it. Like fucking Micheal Meyers.
You shiver, closing your eyes. But the violence never comes. He’s very gentle with you, as gentle as a man of his… caliber in his profession can be. He does take his other hand to yours, dragging your hand down and circling back up. He was trying to get you to do it again. You crack your eye open, meeting his piercing blue stare, like hot water down the back of your shirt.
Slowly, you start to move your hand again. You stand there for a moment, your fingers starting at the peak of his neck guard and sliding down his chest as he mimics you. You look at his eyes, as he looks at yours. It was a strange, somber moment between the two of you. You watch his shoulders fall, relaxing under your touch and gaze. He's breathing heavily, like someone hyperventilating after being jumped out at. Your own hands are shaking, still unsure if this is a vulnerable moment or a trap. And his hand is going to flatten against your neck. And then it was going to be lights out. You swallow thickly, but you don't move your eyes from his. His pupils keep dilating and constricting, which you're not too sure is healthy. You hope this doesn't kill him
All at once, he pulls away. His hand from his neck, his neck from your hand. His eyes narrow at you. He holds his hand at his chest as if it were covered in some form of filth. He looks down at it like it betrayed him before his eyes turn back to you.
“Спасибо,” He growls out before his dark form melts into the shadows of KorTac base after dark. Once more just a shape, he stalks off, leaving you standing in the doorway of the armory, shock running through your body. His footsteps fade into nothing as he leaves you all alone, frozen in shock.
You just touched him. He just touched you. And then he thanked you? You stare off into the dark, now bare walls. They are an uncomforting grey. You look down at your own hand, turning it over in your sight. You... pet Nikto. On the chest. With two fingers. Like a stingray, in the pet pool at the fucking Aquarium of the Pacific.
…How do you even process the moment you just had? Would you ever have another one? Was that a one-time thing, or would he creep to you at night like this, for the most barebones form of touch like that? You close your fingers, rubbing them against each other, before you turned around, slipping back into the armory to put your gun up. Still in some odd trance, eyes distant and foggy as you focus on the various thoughts floating through your head. You don't know if you can call it a fantasy.
But, that doesn't mean the thoughts are unpleasant.