Work Text:
After wiping away the sweat that slid down your forehead with the back of your hand and slightly dirtying it because of your scruffy gloves, you opted to step away from what you were doing to see it from another perspective. Your performance as a mechanic in the military was impeccable; you knew from head to toe every single machine and prop employed by the military and were able to repair most with utmost ease– many envied you when you graduated from military college with honors, and many envy you today for how fast, concise, and perfectionist you are at doing your job.
“You're frighteningly good at this.” one of your coworkers echoed behind your back.
You felt a weight add to your shoulders and your jaw clenched before you stuck your head back into your project, wanting to disregard whatever others said no matter how positive it was. Every day you were showered with praise, your room was radiant with gold as it was filled with medals and trophies, yet you labeled yourself as insufficient and rarely managed to exceed your own expectations: greedy, as high as a raging tide and as strong as a roaring storm.
It was a poison ivy that grew in your childhood garden and you never quite managed to cut it down. Proving to yourself that you were worth more than physical goods and mellifluous words was always a task that you set aside from your priorities linked to this very cause, and as time went by this harmful waltz that you danced hand in hand with your own thoughts began to become eternal. Having the purpose of aiming for the pinnacle of the best became a habit, born thanks to what you considered insufficiency. “I'm just doing what I can.” you adjusted a loose nut on the machine you were stuck in, a sour taste hugging your throat.
Your days were nothing more than a monotonous routine in which most of the time you found yourself face to face with a different gear, sunk between worn metals and copper– the workshop reeked of old oil, its interior remained cluttered and on the tables free space was scarce. It was a job that demanded full concentration and determination; you had become an extremely important token for the government and even several high-ranking military men came to you immediately when something went wrong with their equipment.
Of course, your service was desired by many and the vast majority of requests were rejected almost immediately as a result of your busy schedule; but you were highly regarded for taking on intricate and complex projects, imposing challenges on yourself to add to your belt of accomplishments. Being the ace up the sleeve of the U.S. government you could not afford to take simple positions which would not add much to your resume, for it was your intention to grow to reach the highest position available in your career.
“Good morning.” a voice would echo through the large room and immediately one and all assumed firm positions– including you. A special forces commander had begun to frequent the modest workshop: a man enigmatic, charismatic and imposing to several.
Stanley Snyder was no more than someone above you.
You didn't know him on a personal level, let alone consider him a friend, but you could highlight the questionable fact that every time he was present in the workshop where you worked you could feel his emerald eyes boring into you like needles, as sharp as a hawk's eye. Every time one of his requests to repair something were accepted, it was you who carried them out– you could even say you were in-charge of everything involving said military man's weapons, for it was you who gave the okay to every fix. “I need this done up by tonight.”
You would tilt your head as a Mk 14 EBR was handed to you, taking a close look at it before opening your mouth with the intention of asking what exactly was wrong with the weapon. Based on a quick visual assessment you were unable to determine any flaws in the design, figure and composition of the instrument. “I trust you will repair it properly.” bitter smoke would collide over the corner of your lips as soon as the blond would remove the cigarette from his mouth to address you, mere inches from your face as he was looking down.
You wouldn't be given a chance to respond beyond a simple “Yes, sir.” before the one surnamed Snyder would leave the scene, followed by cadets who were under his command, apparently.
As the starry sky began to paint itself with warm tones, you grunted at the sensation of oil sliding over your bare arms, hands under the thick gloves you wore while doing your job. You got out of the small space you had under the tank while you were repairing it and requested the help of one of your colleagues to weld a leak that the vehicle had; you were unable to reach the part you wanted to check due to your small size.
Your muscles and bold intelligence always helped you in your arduous workday, but there were things you couldn't do because of your physique– despite being one of the most important individuals in your line of work you assumed that simply because you were a woman you were at a disadvantage... in some areas, at least. You wiped a slightly damp towel over the bulging muscles of your arms to remove the dirt that had accumulated, as you took a seat while you supervised, corrected, and guided your partner to assist you in your work.
Stanley's gun was merely resting on a table next to your tools and miscellaneous belongings, lying perfectly repaired and you briefly wondered if you had been played a practical joke when you saw it out of the corner of your eye. You wouldn't question the requests and reasoning of someone above you, but fixing the item's failure took you no more than fifteen minutes. Often you would take a short break from the larger project you were taking on to check if that was genuinely all that was wrong with the weapon, as you didn't think you had been assigned something so easy to repair.
Besides, this wasn't the first time something of this nature had happened to you involving the light-stranded commander. He had begun to leave you a small trail of weapons with minimal faults these last few days and it was only you who he deigned to talk to as soon as he entered the disheveled workshop– of course you were proud of such singularly special treatment from the high-ranking one, but it still felt strange given the distance between the two of you.
You continued with your work until it was you who remained in perpetual silence in a lonely workshop, illuminated by white bulbs while the sound of clashing metal became your only companion in the room.
You were on your back under a tank again, the vehicle covering your body almost up to your waist: you were putting the final touches to it before calling the project finished. You heard the door to the workshop being opened and the firm footsteps of someone you must have recognized by now, yet you continued with your work as if nothing had happened and played down the man's presence in the space. “Good evening.” Although most of the time you could hear his firm shouts and calls directed towards the young cadets, you noticed that his voice was rather soft this time, almost raspy because of his scratchy throat thanks to shouting so much, you supposed.
“Did you repair what I requested?” upon hearing that you slid on the ground until your upper body was out of the vehicle, with the sole intention of pointing to the table where his rifle rested with the tool in your hand. You would then return to your initial position to resume your work.
You heard a brief “Thank you.” followed by the sound of what sounded like him inspecting the weapon. “Did it take you long?”
“No, sir.” you replied tersely as you heard footsteps head in your direction, soon managing to watch as the man squatted down on one of your sides with nothing in his hands. He watched what you were doing carefully. “I thought this would be more serious damage, but its repair was brief and quick.” You began to feel nervous the moment you noticed that he never responded to what he had said and instead kept watching you like a cougar stalking its prey, in complete silence.
“Is there anything I can offer?” you asked with a tinge of shame in your voice, feeling thick hands grasp your waist to slide you out of the gears of the tank you were repairing. “Yes?”
“It's not often you see someone who's such a standout among engineers.” he commented as his bushy blonde lashes fluttered like butterfly wings briefly, his ethereal features completely focused on your face, which was beginning to take on a pink tinge from the intense stare. “Minus such a beautiful woman.” Perhaps it was a product of your endless insecurities, but to have that compliment dedicated to you by someone of his caliber caused your heart to skip a beat. Was he serious?
“Excuse me...?” your voice cracked slightly, now sinking in nerves and with your pulse gradually quickening.
His carmine painted lips curved into a cute smile, his hands moving away from your hips at the same time to light a cigarette and stick it in his mouth. “I hope we get along better from now on.” The smell of smoke would soon flood your nostrils, Stanley now rising to leave you perplexed on the floor. “I have high expectations for you, engineer.”
From then on, you began a symphony orchestrated by brief close calls between the two of you. As the days went by you found yourself listening to bits and pieces of his day to day life in those little spare moments you began to have together, and you felt how you began to grow closer to the military man; how he had stopped using excuses to address you and how he simply made himself present in the workshop around midnight– if he didn't have any work to do.
But something you wouldn't notice was the affectionate look the soldier began to give you after the passage of time; perhaps due to your inability to see or accept certain things, but it was a fact that the soldier was interested in you. Otherwise he would not have agreed to meet every night in your workshop, or to talk about subjects which he would not normally be interested in because they were out of his line of work.
With the veil of a starry night expanding over the sky, you would meet once again in a warm silence in that disheveled workshop where you dedicated yourself to work. The blond had a cigarette adorning his mouth as usual, watching you from afar as you repaired one last weapon for the day– he was leaning against a counter where multiple parts you had removed from the rifle in your hands were arranged. He watched your movements with complete attention, captivated by the precision and speed you had in changing, fitting and testing each part of the item without missing a beat.
And you were so focused that you wouldn't notice that intense stare from him, and how he would come up to stand behind you, watching your actions over your shoulders. “You do a good job.” At the comment you frowned with some embarrassment and pressed your lips together to form a thin line. You wanted to turn around and reply to him that it was no big deal, but a hand strolling down your back caused you to go blank for a few minutes. “Is this bothering you?”
His voice was so attractive that you felt your heart skip a beat or two.
What was his problem, why was he doing these things to you, your mind was struggling with the cascade of thoughts that lurked with flooding your head, and wouldn't you know it your cheeks would be adorned by a deep blush which would be noticeable even on the tips of your ears. Because of your insufficiency you had never experienced this closeness with another person as you felt that you were noxious to any kind of relationship and that it would deteriorate by your own actions and thoughts, so sensations like this were new and unexplored– even more so when you were someone fully dedicated to your work.
“No, it's okay.” with a shaky breath, you would answer his question. Silently his hand would spend time sinking over the ripples and cracks in your complexion over your uniform, appreciating each and every movement your muscles made to carry out your work.
Stanley Snyder was certainly someone observant, and he could notice that faint wobble in your figure each time his hand rested on your lower back; the reddish color in your face when he managed to catch a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye, and how you turned just to verify that he was still in place. It could be labeled as a feline playing with its prey, claws grazing the naked complexion of its next meal as it delighted in the desperate actions the smaller one took.
And from that night on his hands began to roam your body whenever he could, and he even felt confident enough to rest his head on one of your shoulders as you worked diligently. He always asked before coming closer to you, asked permission for everything and maintained his cordiality at all times, but the smoke from his cigarette clouded your vision and the smell caused you to sneeze a couple of times– which he would soon notice and refrain from smoking so close to your face.
Having his lips free, he would soon do something you never imagined, which is that one night he would leave a kiss on your exposed neck without warning, letting his head rest on one of your shoulders next as usual.
Your body would freeze and you would let the tools in your hands fall on the table causing a thud, a wobble in your jaw making its presence known soon after. “Sir...?” you would mumble with some fear, almost as if it was forbidden to raise your voice in the space where you were standing. In response Stanley would emit a sound in signal for you to continue. “Isn't this a little...improper?”
“Don't ya want it?” his voice would have soft disappointment laced into it.
“It's not that...it's just that I find it improper for someone as important as you to be doing this sort of thing with a mere engineer.” you would watch your hands clench with the most obvious sorrow, these resting on the counter where you should be working.
He would grab you by the hip to turn you around, intending for you to look him in the eye. “You're the most amazing engineer I've ever been able to meet. Your skills are unique, highly valued by any and all soldiers of high ranks.” his body was leaning towards you, standing at your height to get a better look at you. “It was my intention to make you into someone who would work only for me, but knowing you, that would be a waste of your skills. Nevertheless, I still wish I had you all to myself.”
The sudden confession would cause a lump to form in your throat; a maelstrom of feelings would mortify your reasoning and your lips would quiver before uttering a small stammer. “I'm sorry.” you were unable to meet his gaze and felt the imminent need to run away from there, but you would stay in place as you felt one of the taller man's hands cup one of your cheeks gently, almost as if you would break if he used more force than he should.
“Why?”
“I am a mere engineer, sir. I can only do so much and my work lacks perfection most of the time.” your eyes would be fixed on a null point, feeling Stanley's breath mingle with yours gradually. “It would be a waste of time for someone like you to be fond of me.” It was almost as if you were trying to prove to yourself that you didn't deserve the gentle treatment the blond had been gifting you with, that you weren't worthy of someone as important as him taking the time to like you beyond a simple work relationship.
“No one sees you as inferior.” the man would grab you by your waist to lift you up and sit you on the table, with seemingly no effort at all. “You're so much more than just an engineer and I have a hard time understanding why you don't assimilate that.” the corner of his lips would brush against yours before the two of you sank into a soft, almost ephemeral kiss.
You glued your back against the wall, eyes crystallized under a layer of pearly tears as you denied in response to what had happened. You insisted: you didn't deserve this treatment, much less by someone of such overwhelming presence as the soldier who looked at you so lovingly– soothing and sweet, giving you a sense of warmth of which you were not worthy. It was when his fingers were gently entwined between yours that your whole figure trembled with anxiety. “Excuse me, really, you have the wrong woman.”
“I don't.” Stanley persisted, his timbre low and delivering his words almost in whispers. “You're the woman I want.”
And you felt the imminent need to hide, to run away, to get away from something that might make you think you might be someone good enough for him. Such a brilliant man couldn't be eclipsed by someone worth only trophies, awards that lay covered by a thin layer of dust in a corner– you imagined his disappointment at learning you were only a weak woman who lacked acceptance of herself, and it caused you a frightening dread. “I'm so sorry.” you mumbled a couple of times, each word accompanied by a small tear that wandered down your cheeks.
You had fallen so low that you dared to cry, to show yourself so small in front of a man like him.
But you didn't think he would wrap his arms around you, positioning his head on one of your shoulders, as usual. You didn't expect him to show you such sympathy, and that he would let you pour your heart out as he embraced you so affectionately– he would run his hands gently over your back, remaining briefly silent as your tears dampened his clothes. “Good girl.” one of his hands would go up to your hair, playing with it gently.
You would be absent from work the next day for the first time in your career, at Snyder's request. He wanted you to get proper rest.
The night was long, plagued in sweet words and faint sobs.
Soon the cadets would hear that their commanding officer had a relationship with the best engineer in the military. That when you were alone with him, he dedicated himself to kissing your face until you understood that you deserved every single one of them and more. That you are his most valuable treasure.