Work Text:
As the head of requisitions and the lead quatermaster for Kortac you interacted with the operators regularly. Making sure they got clothes, armor, toiletries, weapons and anything else they needed for daily life and the field.
You had gained an easy comradere with many of the members.
The one who's company you enjoyed most as were honestly surprised to have was Nikto.
It had started with you noticing he rarely took himself to medical, you had asked other operators if he had taken any hits and they would confirm if he had or not.
One evening when he was returning his gear for you to catalog you noticed swelling and redness around his left eye. His eternal eye black doing little to hide any of it.
Clearing your throat you asked if you could talk to him privately.
He bristled at your request, agreeing but clearly uncomfortable.
Once in your office you asked him why he has not gone to medical for the injury he is failing to hide.
"we do not like them, they stare too long and judge us" he ground toeing at a stain on the carpet, keeping his eyes on said spot.
"what about letting me look at it? I've already taken measurements for your masks and other tac gear. I promise not to look more than needed" you offered.
Nikto met your eyes, you weren't sure if he meant to stare you down but for a moment you felt pinned, like you were a predator being sized up by another predator. Like he was seeing if he could take you down.
But, his gaze softened and he agreed.
After that day after every mission Nikto would come to you and have you see any injuries he had. Any he could tend himself he would but those he shouldn't he would let you see to.
During one painful wound stitching on brow, the fool did not want numbing, he had grabbed onto your hips firmly to ground himself. Even once you had finished he kept his grip on you. Unsure what to do you stroked his shoulders offering soothing words.
From that moment on, he would seek you out during normal work days. You would be going over a new shipment of gear and he would be there to help you move heavy things even if you had people for that job.
During down time when you would be relaxing somewhere quiet reading he would come sit by you and read too
You truly enjoyed his quiet company. You had begun to be able to decern what alter was what judging by the tone in which they spoke.
One day he returned from a mission and went about returning his gear but you were not there. One of your assistants answered his unspoken question, telling him you were in the infirmary after some heavy shelving fell on you.
He deposited his gear swiftly and all but ran to the infirmary to see you in one of the beds with one of your legs in a cast up to the thigh. When you saw him in the doorway you gave him a dopey grin having been given some morphine. He came to your bedside, even with his balaclava on you could see the furrow of his brow as he look in your very broken leg.
"I'm okay" you slurred as you smiled up at him.
"you are not. we should have been here sooner" he lamented as he reached out and stroked your face.
Later you would bame the morphine for killing your inhibitions, you leaned into his hand, holding it to your cheek with your own hand with a contented hum coming from you.
You didn't see how his eyes widened in shock at your actions nor did you when you pulled him by the arm so he was close enough to throw your arms around his neck and place a kiss to his masked cheek telling him how you are glad he's here.
His mind was a buzz. You had no idea what you're doing to him. What you've always done to him since you first took his measurements for his gear the first time you met.
So he did what felt natural. He embraced you in return. Holding you close to him as he buried his face in your neck.