Chapter Text
Winter approach. It was undeniable — the dying trees, the scattered animals, the cold harsh wind flowing. The two men coughed as they trudged on, guns in hand. Their orders were simple and clear: Search. For supplies, for food, for people. Anything.
The war was harsh, and the cold weather didn’t make it any better. Animals began to hibernate, it was getting difficult to see them through the autumn colors. Still, the two searched — looking for anything that could prove useful to the Red Army.
“I don’t think the Red Leader quite planned everything out,” Paul half-joked as he took another puff of his cigar, moving it from his mouth and letting the wind carry his blown smoke. “Barely anything out here.”
The other — Pat — waved his hand off. “This isn’t the first time we’ve searched this town. We’re just looking for anything that got left — I’m sure others found more in their towns.”
Paul nodded lightly, sighing. He opened his mouth to speak, till he froze in place. Pat raised a brow, turning to him, but Paul’s eyes stared at the ground. He lifted a hand, signaling ‘wait’ as he listened. He raised it a bit higher, before pointing to the direction of a noise.
The two carefully made their way in the direction, guns in hand. Paul led, Pat not far behind. They got close to a yellow-colored house, the windows shattered and the door torn to pieces. Rustling came from inside.
Paul got ready to aim his gun as he entered, continuing to follow the noise. Pat watched, raising his gun once he saw Paul quickly lift his. “Freeze!”
Paul’s voice was powerful, his dutch accent showing through. Pat leaned a bit to peak, the two widening their eyes at what they saw.
A little girl, 3-5 years old if they had to guess. She was shaking, not a doubt it was because two grown stranger men were pointing weapons at her. Their guns lowered as the soldiers looked at each other.
“What should we do?” Paul let Pat make the call — he felt like it was his fault she was so scared; he’s the one who heard her. He’s the reason they were there.
Pat put a hand on the dutch’s shoulder, giving a silent communication for switch of power. He put his gun down and lowered himself to her level. His voice turned soft, along with his eyes. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”
The girl cowered against the wall, shaking. Fear filled her eyes. Pat stayed there, putting the back of his hand against Paul’s leg to signal him ‘step back’. Paul obeyed, stepping back and putting his gun down.
“Do you know your name, sweetheart?” Pat spoke kindly.
The girl paused, raising a hand and nibbling on it. Her head slowly shook.
Pat nodded slowly. “I’m Patryck, but you can call me Pat. This is my friend Paul. We aren’t going to hurt you.” He watched her eyes stare at them, so he continued. “Do you know where mommy and daddy are?”
She shook her head, her long tangled brown hair moving with her head. Paul looked at her — she was dirty, and overly skinny. She was likely separated from her parents.
“Why don’t you come with us? I bet you’re hungry. Do you want some food, kiddo?” He held out his hand, offering it towards her. He watched as she slowly made her way over to him, placing her hand onto his. He slowly stood, holding her hand. Paul moved out of the way as the two exited the building, grabbing their guns after.
“Soldiers of the Red Army!” He saluted the sea of soldiers, getting salutes in return. “Today, I will be appointing a new right hand man.” The leader’s voice was powerful and booming, his Norwegian accent complimenting it well. “I have thought long and hard, and now I make my decision — one I will not allow anyone to judge or question. Am I clear?!”
“Sir!” The crowd of soldiers spoke in sync, giving their blessing to their leader.
Tord scanned his eye throughout the crowd. His other was blown away when his old giant robot was exploded. Funnily enough, the man who blew it up was the very man Tord wanted to keep by his side. “Thomas Rainsford!”
“Sir.” Tom mumbled quietly, looking up at the man he despised and yet was forced to work for. His vision was lost due to war and cancer, he was helplessly found by Tord himself. He was taken in, given a visor for his eyes, and thrown into the pile of soldiers. He hated how much he needed the Red Leader’s mercy.
He stepped forward, his digital eyes focused on Tord’s dark eye. It was hard to tell their color — grey? Brown? Red? Tom never stared long enough to figure it out.
“This may sound controversial, —“
“All your actions do.” Tom commented bitterly.
Tord glared sharply, before continuing. “—but I’d like to keep you close by. We were raised together, we hated each other, and yet here we are. Serving the same army.”
*Not by choice.* Tom attempted not to snap more than he already had.
“I want to bring your full potential. So, you are being promoted to my right hand man.”
“Yes, sir.” The brit slowly walked to Tord’s side, standing where the last had — the one who sacrificed their life for the army. *Such a foolish man.* He had no respect for anyone but Matt.
“Meet me in my office.” Tord muttered his directions to Tom before giving out announcements and directions to the soldiers.
Once dismissed, the two high powers made their way to Tord’s office. Tom scanned the crowd, exchanging greeting nods with Matt. Sooner or later, they arrived.
“Now, to discuss your duties,” the leader began as he sat down on his red and black swivel chair.
“Why did you promote me?” He didn’t care if the interruption or his tone were rude; he was irritated.
Tord innocently looked at the brit, smiling. “Just as I said. We have a history together, and I’d like to bring you to your full potential.” He tilted his head lightly, as if to act like an innocent puppy who was curious of Tom’s word choice.
Tom glared — he didn’t believe this lying bastard a single bit.
Tord took the silence as a topic-drop. “Now, back to your duties. You will be in charge of giving out my orders when I’m occupied, you will report all news to me—“ A knock at the door interrupted the leader, causing the Norwegian to become agitated. “What the hell do you want now?!”
Paul opened the door, moving out the way as Pat walked in holding a little girl’s hand. She held a small baggie filled with dried fruits. As soon as Pat shifted his hand onto her shoulder, she returned to munching on the fruits as she looked at the new two men, confused.
“What in the hell—?” Tord whispered to himself, looking up to his two trusted soldiers for an explanation.
“My leader,” Paul put his fist against his chest, the fabric if his uniform pressing against it. “We found this little girl while doing supply searches. She’s quite nonverbal, hasn’t said a word to us.”
“I wouldn’t wanna talk either if two grown men pointed their guns at me.” Tom stated bluntly as he eyed their guns. The duo ignored him, though he gained a glance from Tord.
Tord thought as he stared at her, frowning as he saw the fear in her eyes. His head rested on his robot hand, shamefully rubbing his burnt cheek gently with his robotic fingers. His gaze turned curious as he noticed her stare at his robotic arm - as if fascinated by it.
“R..Robot?” She quietly asked as she stared at the arm. Her accent was british, no doubt she was born near where they found her.
Tom stared at Tord, getting ready to interrupt any rude comment. But to the brit’s surprise, the leader humored the small girl. “Yeah, I’ve got a robot arm, isn’t that cool?” He stood, walking around his desk before sitting down on the floor.
The small girl hesitated, before making her way to Tord. She looked close at his arm, which had been raised for her convenience. Her small fingers fiddled with the parts, tracing alongside the cold, red metal. “That cool..” she whispered. She smiled wide as she continued messing with it, guiding the fingers to move — Tord casually followed her guides.
Tord’s eye widened as she plopped down onto his lap, as if she knew him. She inspected the arm of it, following the lines of the red casing.
Tord quickly chuckled, his gaze kind. The other three stared — they never seen the Red Leader this way.
“What would you like to do with her, sir?” Patryck’s polish accent interrupted the silence.
Tord kept his eye on the small girl, quietly thinking. “Me and Tom will raise her.” He finally decided.
“What?!” Tom stepped forward towards the two. “You can’t just drop this onto me — that’s a child! A living, breathing, child!” The brit became stressed, he had never taken care of a child a day in his life.
“Å, ro deg ned! (Oh, calm down!)” Tord scolded. “I said us two, not just you!”
Tom growled, he knew for a fact this was a responsibility Tord was bound to just dump onto him. However, he didn’t comment further. It was official — the red leader and his assistant would look after the small child.
“What should we name her?” Tord hummed as he held the girl on his lap, letting her scribble all over a blank piece of paper.
Tom didn’t respond — no, he refused to respond. He refused to humor this poor excuse of a leader and his stupidass decisions.
The Norwegian continued. “I was thinking Charlotte? You know, Lottie’s a really cute nickname.” He looked at Tom, who continued to give him the silent treatment. He looked down at the girl, turning her to face him. She looked up confused. “How do you feel about the name Charlotte, hm?” He smiled softly.
Charlotte smiled wide. “Charlotte!” she repeated, though it sounded more like shark-lot. Still, it meant she liked it.
Tord lifted her happily in the air. “Charlotte it is!” he chuckled as the little brit’s excitement.
The Red Leader glanced to his right hand man, an innocent smile on his face. “Go feed her, keep her busy too. I’ve got work to do.”
Tom slowly nodded, walking over and lifting Charlotte into the his arms. She began messing with his visor, causing the brit to pull his head away. The two walked away, Tord’s eyes watching till the door shut.
He sighed once he was alone, his eyes turning cold. He hummed quietly, looking at the scribbled-on paper. He swiveled his chair to the bulletin board, which displayed many papers. Reminders, plans, orders, duties. He lifted up one of the empty thumbtacks, pressing it down once the top of Charlotte’s paper was under it. He stared at the paper. It was just a bunch of scribbles, no significance. No meaning. However, in his eyes it was important. The first mark Charlotte has in his office.
Tom hummed quietly as he organized the small area on his bed. It was secure on both sides, which was his goal. He kept enough room for himself, but there was no way Tom was entrusting Tord with where Charlotte slept. He decided himself she’d sleep by his side — separated of course. He didn’t want to squish her. Tom looked over to the girl, who was practically drowning in his old t-shirt. Still, she wore a big smile. He had fed her and given her a bath; though she didn’t eat much and it was a difficulty getting through her hair. Once brushed out, her brunette hair seemed longer than previously. It went down to her waist.
He carefully lifted her up and laid her down in her small area of the bed. “This is where you’ll sleep, I’ll be right next to you, okay?”
Charlotte buried her face in the clean blankets; Tom prided himself in keeping his space clean. It gave him a feeling of control. She almost instantly fell asleep. *Long day, huh? Yeah, me too, kid.* Tom sighed, his head turning towards the door as he heard it open. He frowned as the leader entered, raising a brow at the shape on his bed.
“If you get to make sudden decisions, so do I, and my decision is that she’s sleeping in here.”
Tord put his hands up, as if surrendering whilst entering the room. He looked at Charlotte, noticing how big Tom’s white t-shirt was on her. He thought for a moment, before looking at Tom. “Fine then. I don’t mind — I stay up too late with work anyways.”
Tom nodded, feeling a sense of pride that Tord accepted without question. Their communication was limited before Tord exited the room, the brit watching his every move.
Once at his desk, his fingers pressed a button on his work telephone. A button lit up, indicating he could go ahead and speak. “Paul, Patryck, I’d like to see you in my office. I have a new task for you.” He heard his voice echoed the halls from the intercom speakers. Minutes later, the dutch and polish duo entered the leader’s office.
“Sir.” They spoke in sync as they rested their fists on their chests.
“You’re doing another searching mission — but this time I want you to find clothing and toys. For Charlotte. If you find anything else useful, bring it back too. Do not return empty handed, forstår du? (do you understand?)”
“Sir!” the two repeated, exiting as Tord dismissed them with a wave of a hand.
Birds chirped as the sun began to rise into the sky, the air blowing winter wind. Tord laid his head on his desk, drifting to sleep. His eye began to close tiredly, until he was interrupted with a loud knock. He sat up abruptly, a small ‘ow’ as his head ached from the fast movement. “Come in.”
Patryck opened the door, moving out of the way as Paul carried in a cardboard box. The dutch man approached his leader’s desk, setting it down. “Clothes, toys and books. We found more food for the army too; we went ahead and gave them to the kitchen.”
“Good.” Tord stood as he began opening the cardboard box.
“One small problem, sir, most of the clothing was torn. Most are small, but there are massive tears too.” Patryck looked at the Norwegian, nervous that Tord would bark off their heads.
Tord thought quietly, before raising one of the shirts. It was a baby blue, a large tear across the torso of it. He dismissed the two with another wave of his hand before he began dialing a number in his office phone. He raised the phone to his ear, waiting till he heard the solider’s number.
“You have a sewing kit for the uniforms, correct? I need to borrow it. Bring it to my office as soon as you can.”