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Everything was so cold.
Your lips quivered as your head hung forward, limp from the beating you had just endured. The metal chair that your enemy had you handcuffed to had your fingers going numb. The room was too bright, blinding you any time you dared to raise your head.
The room was frigid and bare. Breathing out allowed you to see the puff of warm air that could have been used to warm up your hands.
They were pushing your limits. Psychological warfare.
When you did lift your head to look at the metal door, the white lights could have blinded you. They lit up the space as if it were day.
On the door was a small, square window. Each time you were able to look out of it, there had been enemy soldiers standing guard. Their backs were usually to you.
Sometimes, however, they would be staring. Staring through your rank. Through your position.
Through you.
It had been a month of this. Mission gone wrong. Of course, you remember thinking, it had to be me that slipped. Your squad was the last to clear out a supposed abandoned building. One terrifyingly hidden sniper had done you in, as you were at the tail end of the group. Had it not been for your yelp of surprise, you were sure no one would have even noticed you were hit.
Chaos had ensued. Open fire rang out throughout the "empty" building.
Your squad was gone, with nothing to show for them but you.
And hear you were. A captive. A prisoner of war.
Everything after that was a blur. You had no idea where this place was. They had blindfolded you, bagged your head, and tied it to your neck. By the time you were sitting in this room, you weren't even able to tell how long it had taken you to get here.
A nurse had treated your bullet wound. Thankfully, it had not been lethal, but a major thorn in your side.
The same nurse treated you after each beating. Over and over. Keeping you alive. She spoke directly to you only once.
"Just tell them what they want. They'll kill you and it'll be over. Your stubbornness is only prolonging this process."
You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it. The enemy was relentless. Death by mercy sounded so blissful. Your broken bones, stitches, bloody nose, and bruised face begged for it.
But you would not break.
You would not sell out your friend for mercy.
You would not let the enemy win for your own relief.
You would not disappoint your superiors.
You would live to see your friends again.
To see König again.
The two of you were not anything more than Colonel and Lieutenant. He was merely your superior. There was no special treatment between the two of you. He spoke to you the same as did everyone else.
But, God, you wanted that to be different.
He worked with you the same as the other Lieutenants. He was kind when it mattered, and abrasive when it did not. He kept to himself. You knew nothing of his hobbies, nor of his life outside work. You were unaware if he was married. Could he have had children? Pets? A wife, or maybe a husband?
You could not help but let out a small chuckle. The motion caused your chest to ache and your core to tighten. Blood dripped off your bottom lip as it curled into a broken smile. Fuck, you were in so much pain. Soon, though, you knew the nurse would be in here to help you tend to your wounds.
But they would come back and undo everything.
Every bandage. Nearly every closed wound. Reopened. Removed. Undone.
They had been gone for almost ten minutes. At least, you thought. You had not been able to leave this room since your capture. It could have been noon. Or midnight. But it would not have mattered.
They wanted information. Freezing you, waterboarding you, baking you alive–you knew what they wanted to know. And that's all it took.
After a few moments of prolonged silence, your ears perked as voices came from the opposite side of the door. The nurse entered slowly, holding her briefcase against her stomach as the door was closed behind her. You dare not look up at her.
She, as always, worked silently. Reapplying your bandages. She stitched up a cut on your lower left calf. Her hands held your chin with firmness as wiped off your face. It took everything in you not to look into her eyes as she worked on bettering your condition.
"Why stay silent?"
Your eyes locked for the first time. They were blue and cold. They looked familiar, in a way.
“What?” Your voice was weak. She could barely hear you.
“You’re not giving them anything,” she brought a bandage up to your face and placed it on your chin. “You’re prolonging your own suffering. For what? To save your friends? They’re not coming for you, so stalling won’t do you any good. You’re just wasting everyone's time.”
Her words stung, their icy sting causing your body to quiver. You were succumbing to the temperature of the room. Your ribcage felt as if it were convulsing with how much you began to shiver. As you opened your mouth, your teeth began to rattle.
“Ich bin nicht schwach." It hurts to speak, but you were not weak minded. You would make your resolve clear.
The nurse only scoffed. She had nothing more to say to you. It was like talking to a husk. You would only do what you wanted, as you thought it would entertain your best interest.
But you were weak. So weak. You did not need your friends to save you. You would just be a loss to the team, a replaceable rank with many strong-minded applicants.
This was just an inconvenience to your team.
An inconvenience to König.
Despite literally being a prisoner, you were embarrassed. You felt so much shame for letting down your team. Your capture would be a setback. Your rank was important, and they would either need to find you, or move swiftly to replace you with someone with your skills.
As you thought about it, chest quaking, your eyes widened for a moment as a realization flooded through you.
KorTac would find you dead, or they wouldn't find you at all.
Your heart fell into the pit of your stomach.
This is the end. The thought made your already shivering lip quiver.
Tears burned your swollen eyes. They welled and fell off your eyelashes, dripping onto your cargo pants. They were warm on your frigid cheeks, a much needed sensation to bring you back to reality.
The tears slowly as you gave a smile. Your head raised to the nurse. She was still in the room, closing her briefcase and getting ready to leave.
"Warum ich?" Your voice was straining to even get above a whisper. The nurse only looked back at you with a scowl, uninterested in your words.
Your eyebrows knotted. "Warum ich?" Your voice was loud and angry. It hurt to yell. But you had to.
"Because," the nurse started. The door opened for her, two large men entering the room as she began to make her way out. "You were what would bring him here, Schatz."
Days had gone by. Agonizingly long days and nights had passed by all against your knowledge. You felt like you could have recalled it as being weeks since the nurse had last spoken to you. Time seemed to pass by too slowly for it to have been less than a week's time.
But it had only been six days.
The routine was the same. They would hurt you, and then the nurse would fix you right up. Each day you were also given something to eat. Nothing appetizing, just enough to keep you from starving to death. They would give you water as well, but, again, it was just barely enough.
Especially now. The room you were in was set at 38°C, and you could feel the lack of hydration rapidly becoming an issue. The room was humid, making everything feel sticky and moist. Sweat coated every inch of your skin as you practically baked in the bright lights that continued to shine down on your skin.
You felt like you were in an oven. Being baked alive like some sort of game animal after being caught in a sick hunter’s trap. Your body felt like it was going to melt.
Thankfully, however, your clothes kept most of the moisture stuck to you. Sweating like this was not exactly ideal, but you were thankful to not be losing water from your body any faster than you already were.
It had been only a day of this. You wanted them to stop. In fact, you would much rather the cold. In the heat, it was hard to breathe. Your wounds felt like they were being cooked, and blood felt like it was boiling. Your small cuts seemed to heal a little faster, but it did not make much of a difference. The enemy would not relent.
Their tactics became brutal. They did not want to give you too much time to catch your breath. They just wanted the answers they knew you had. Even if their questions were nonsense, they always expected an answer.
Your silence infuriated them.
And their mind games got worse.
After the nurse had spoken to you, they installed speakers in your room. They were large and seemed to always be at maximum volume. There was never really anything that was played that made much sense to you. Sometimes they played sounds you would hear at the beach, or on a walk through a quiet neighborhood.
Randomly throughout the peaceful–albeit loud–sounds, awful sounds would interrupt the serenity. Screams, gunshots, the sound of powertools, static, carnal animal sounds, German swearing, and even eerie music would play.
But the psychological warfare became terrible.
It became cruel.
Sitting and baking in the heat, you sat with your back leaning against the chair. Your head was tilted up towards the ceiling, eyes just cracked open to avoid taking in as much light as you possibly could. The sounds of rainfall played over the speakers. Though, at this volume, it sounded like radio static.
But then it stopped.
They had been playing continuously since they had been installed. This made you shift. Slowly, you blinked, keeping your eyes shut for seconds at a time. At one point, you opened them to find that the whole room had gone black.
Your heart rate quickened. They had never turned the lights off. Goosebumps crept up your spine and clawed their way up your neck, your hair raising and making your body feel cold despite the humidity in the room.
"Dove!" Someone yelled from beyond the door. Your chest almost burst. Your callsign. Could you have heard that right?
The small window was illuminated by what looked to be emergency lighting. The red glow made you feel nauseous as you stared through it, brows knotted. No, that surely wasn't what you heard.
"Verdammte Hölle! Dove! Are you here?" The deep voice that shouted made your heart skip. A huge smile came to your face.
It sounded like König.
They came for you.
He came for you.
"Here!" You shout, adjusting yourself in your chair. Your wrists pulled against the handcuffs, the raw skin burning, sending pain shooting up your arm to your shoulder.
"I'm here! Please!" You cry out again.
A figure runs past the door. A tall figure. Your heart is in your throat as it does a double-take, looking through the small window. You could recognize the sniper hood.
König.
You were free.
He fidgets with the doorknob, pulling and pushing and shaking the handle. The metal barrier did not so much as budge. He took a step back, kicking at it once, then twice. Then a third time.
It burst open, and in walked the towering man. He was panting, seemingly exhausted. His facial covering swayed as he breathed. Your smile grew excitedly as he took a few more steps towards you.
"Colonel, thank God." Your voice was so weak as you spoke, your throat aching from just breathing in the hot air. "I'm cuffed, you'll have to undo the…"
Your voice trailed off as you looked back up at König. Your eyes looked him up and down. He just stood there, still panting as if he was catching his breath. For a moment, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.
He was not tall enough. His shoulders were not broad enough. His figure was too slim.
In the light, his eyes were too dark.His breathy sighs were too high.
This was not König.
"Oh, mein Dove…" The man cooed. "Aren't you relieved?"
His voice was too high and smooth. This was not your Colonel. It was not anyone from KorTac.
This was just their way of getting you to talk.
No silence had ever felt so loud before.
From the outside of the warehouse, the evergreens were still. The clouds did not even move in the sky. They covered the moon, making the night look terrifyingly dark. No wind was present to blow the fallen leaves from their spots on the ground. Taking in the scenery, it looked almost like a painting.
However, the soldiers beginning to file in through a side entrance brought much needed movement to the piece.
Twelve of them entered. It would only take twelve of them to clear out the warehouse. The mission was estimated to only take about seventy minutes. Sixty, if they were lucky. That would put them at 0200, most of them hoping to finish debriefing paperwork before 0400.
Their boots moved silently as they rounded the first corner. Guns raised, a single shot was fired. Silence ensued as the soldiers continued, completely undisturbed as they moved past the now dead man slumped against a wall.
At the front stood König, cold eyes moving over the corpse as if it were nothing but a piece of misplaced furniture.
It had been two months since your capture, and KorTac’s titan was finding it difficult to recall what had happened to all that time. He had spent countless hours in his office, sitting in his uncomfortably small chair, scouring over every bit of information he could find on the enemy and locations they may utilize. This had been the fourth warehouse he had brought his soldiers to. Each time he hoped he would be able to finally locate you. Each time he was so sure.
Each time he was wrong, and that cost you precious time.
People looking to grab your position had told him to move forward, that backtracking was unwise. Other soldiers insisted you were already dead. You were gone and there was nothing he could do about it. Every time he was pressured to refill your rank, he denied each request himself. He signed the paperwork himself and hand delivered each regret letter.
There was something that told König to keep looking. The enemy was still unaware of where they were located, and they had yet to have any missions since your capture compromised. If you were killed, they would be more aware of KorTac’s oncoming attacks. They would be more on edge.
A part of him was afraid that he was wrong about that, though. If you were dead, they would have no reason to stay on edge. They would not need to worry about having a prisoner to keep out of their grasp. They all seemed so nonchalant.
It infuriated him.
To König, you were just a Lieutenant. You were rather quiet and kept to yourself in meetings. When the team would go out to drink, you would always be the one that made sure everyone was enjoying themselves. Despite having transferred to this squad just over a year ago, you made yourself at home. Everyone adored you. You were always glowing with positivity and perseverance. You never quit. You pushed the rookies until they broke, just to show them up. You were so strong.
Because of that, he really wanted to believe you were alive. You were a stubborn one. No way would you ever give the enemy what they wanted. Even if it killed you.
That thought scared the Colonel. It shouldn’t have. But it did. You were supposed to just be his Lieutenant. You were a lower rank. He was just your superior.
He hated it.
He never gave you special treatment, but he wanted to. He never spoke softly to you, but he wanted to. He never touched you, never hugged you, never held you, never comforted you, gave you gifts, made you laugh, wrote you letters, got close to you, opened up to you, never kissed you.
But, by God, he wanted to. More than anything.
He admired you more than he admired anyone else. When the two of you had met, he, along with the rest of the squad, gave you a hard time. To the Colonel’s surprise, you took the harshness with stride and adapted. Your attitude would reflect those around you. He had always watched you from afar. Your absence made him realize just how much your mood would impact his own.
He had little to no control on his emotions now that you were gone.
He did not know how to feel without you around.
Standing in this warehouse, a memory sprung up from the back of his mind. It came out of nowhere. So much so that it almost knocked him out of reality.
You had been celebrating a year on the team. It wasn't necessarily a large celebration, but a small marking of your progress. You and a few recruits had gone out to drink, only for you to come back to base upset.You walked through the hallway to your room, storming past a few of your squad mates in the process.
"Ah, good evening, [F/n]," König had greeted, still in uniform. "If you have a second, could you review these documents? I need to make sure they–"
"Leave'm on my desk. I'll be in my office in 15."
He stopped as you strode past him. His eyes widened when you turned into your room and slammed the door. Eyebrows dropping, he frowned. You had never seemed to have an attitude like this. Never negative, never upset. He thought for a second how immature the door slam was. Like a child throwing a temper tantrum.
When exactly fifteen minutes had passed, you emerged from your room in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. A lazy outfit that had contradicted your jeans and button up you had worn out. With your head down, you made your way to your office. Your cheeks and nose were a little red, and your throat was beginning to feel sore.
Once to your working space, you pushed the door open. To your surprise, König was sitting in one of the two chairs sat across from your desk. His ginormous frame looked almost comical in the small chair.
"Colonel," you started, confused. "I can take a look at those documents, now, if you still need me to." You wiped your eyes as a precaution before rounding your desk, now in front of your superior.
His eyes met yours through his hood, almost instantly making your knees weak.
"I was a little, uh… worried, that I'd have to find someone else to get these done." His tone was light. Thank God. You thought for sure he was going to be upset with how you spoke to him.
You offered him a weak smile as the manilla folder in his hands was gently placed on your desk. As you sat, he leaned back in the chair and eyed you. It made you shift in your seat. König loved it.
"Was there a problem, earlier, [F/n]?" He asked as he made a small hand gesture at you. "You were practically fuming when you walked through the door. I thought you and a few others went out to celebrate?"
He watched as you looked up. God, that look in your eyes made him weak. You seemed so disappointed, but relieved.
To his surprise, you spoke about what had happened at the bar. Some random guy had made a disgustingly forward comment about you and almost insisted on buying you a drink. When you tried to confide in your squadmates, they encouraged the man and called you rude for ignoring his advances. Because the man listened to them, you were afraid to drink anything with him hovering, so you just left, your squad still at the bar.
After you had opened up, he had excused himself, saying to just leave the folder on his desk when you were finished and advised you to get some sleep.
That night, König had driven himself to the only bar in the area. He located the recruits and practically dragged them out after making them close their tabs. Unfortunately, the man that had been on your neck was gone, according to the bartender. When questioning his group, one of them defended themselves.
"We were just celebrating, sir."
The Colonel almost grabbed the man by the collar. "What are you celebrating? When [F/n] left, you weren't celebrating for them. You were just there to get drunk."
As König’s back pressed up against a wall, his gun fell into position. With his left hand, he ushered his men forward, sending three of them in front of the group. They followed his instructions flawlessly, clearing out rooms down a hallway the rest of them were meant to enter. Once clear, the squad’s leader gave the instructions to depart. They were each assigned an area. Once the area was clear, signal over the radio, and get out.
They have to be here. It was the only thought running through the man’s mind. This mission was important, but it would be pointless if they were not able to locate you again.
König made his way around a corner, weapon raised as he moved silently. His hood swayed as he moved, breathing shallow and body stiff. This area would have been the last to be combed through. It was his last hope. Three doors, and one of them had to have been you, or no one at all. His feet carried him mindlessly forward, heart in his throat.
“Oh, Dove. Bitte. Bitte seien Sie hier.” His whisper was hushed. “Please, Dove.”
His mask peered through one of the doors. It was an empty looking room, filled with nothing more than a chair with handcuffs sitting on the seat. The lights inside were blinding. His mind became foggy as he pressed on. The next room was dark, so he remained cautious as he looked in.
A singular bulb was flickering in the center of the ceiling. The light it produced was just enough to illuminate a standing figure beneath it. His eyes widened as he waited for the light to flicker once more. He needed to see it better. After a few seconds, he got what he wanted.
A pair of eyes stared back at him from underneath the light. Large and terrified, they met his gaze.
It was you.
“Free bird,” König spoke hurriedly into his radio, his accent heavy. “I repeat. Free bird.” The signal.
His hand reached for the doorknob. Locked. Worriedly, he looked back up to you and then back down the hall. It was clear. He took a few steps back, preparing himself before driving his massive boot down against the door. Unsurprisingly to him, it burst open on the first try.
The room was sweltering. The second he broke through the doorway, he could feel the heat seeping through his uniform. Sweat immediately beaded on his forehead and began to dampen the layers covering his skin. The sudden temperature change made him nauseous and hard to breathe.
Though, it did not matter how the heat made him feel. You were in front of him.
The real him.
“[F/n]?” He whispered as he approached. “Speak to me, Dove.” He could not hold back the concern in his tone.
You were silent. Looking down into your eyes, it was hard to keep contact with them. They were constantly shifting. He took a look around the room. A part of him expected there to be people awaiting his arrival, ready to ambush him. But it was just you.
He wasted no more time in freeing you. Your arms had been tied above your head to a hook in the ceiling, and your ankles shackled apart. In the dark, it was hard to see, but he knew you were injured. His hands moved quickly in freeing you. The binding around your ankles took longer than he would have liked them to, but, after just a few moments, you were no longer restrained.
You were free.
You stood there, silent. Your mouth twitched open occasionally, as if you wished to speak but were physically unable to. When you went to take a step forward, your legs shook and your knees buckled.
Wordlessly, König grabbed your shoulders to steady you. You stiffened, causing him to flinch. Your body was shaking and your skin was slick with sweat. But he did not care. In a swift motion, he lifted you into his arms and made his way out of the suffocatingly hot room.
“Just breathe, Leibling,” his rough voice tried so hard to speak softly. The pet name was sudden, out of the blue, but almost instinctual. “We’re getting you out of here.”
As his boots collided with the concrete, he felt your shivering body relax just a bit. Your arm wrapped around his shoulder as you gripped onto him. He felt his throat tighten.
“I’m going to get you home.”
You laid quietly in the recovery room. You had been asleep for such a long time, but no one dared to disturb you. You had been looked after all night. The nurses were relieved you were alive, but shocked at your condition.
Thankfully, it did not appear that you needed any sort of surgery. Your wounds needed to be tended to, stitches given, medication administered, and your condition monitored. The men and women on the medical team watched over you throughout the night, making sure your vitals remained stable and you seemed comfortable.
A few times you would stir. Each time, those keeping an eye on you would get worried you were going to wake with a start, but you never did.
König stood watch over you through all of it.
He stood at your bedside through everything, even if you were not awake to acknowledge him.
He sat on a chair next to your bed and made small talk with all the nurses that came and went. It had only been one night since you arrived back, but it felt like you had been asleep for a week. He wanted you to wake, wanted to talk to you and ensure that you were okay.
His eyes carefully watched your breathing. They trailed over you, noting how slowly your chest moved up and down. Relief flooded through him as you rested.
He was just so happy to have you back.
Late that night, at around 2300, you shifted. Your eyes squinted open, hand coming up to wipe the sleep off your face. Your body felt like it was stuck to the bed. Everything felt so heavy and sore. Your heart ached and so did your head.
Suddenly, all your needs screamed at you all at the same time. You were starving. You were so thirsty.
And holy shit, you had to use the bathroom.
It felt like you had slept for days. As you sat up, your chest ached. Your legs felt so tight, calves flexing uncomfortably as you moved to swing them off the bed. Your body was now covered by a pair of medical scrubs you had been changed into.
The sound of light snoring brought your attention to a chair towards the corner of the room. It took you a moment to focus your vision, as the figure leaned back in the dark.
Your heart jumped to your throat.
König.
Was it really him?
Or was this a trick?
You blinked a few times. Slowly, the memories of earlier flooded back to you. He had rescued you. KorTac had actually managed to find your location and save you.
Thinking about it, you did not remember the drive back. You remember holding onto your superior and him jumping into a vehicle. From what you remember, he never even set you down.
Your cheeks flushed. What a childish reaction, you thought as a weak smile came to your face. Just rescued from enemy territory after two months and I'm blushing over a little physical touch.
Your feet touched the linoleum of the recovery room. Pain shot up your calves, to your hamstrings and up your spine as you tried to straighten your posture. Your neck felt like it was trying to balance a bowling ball. When you brought up a hand to rub it, pain shot through your shoulder. It made you gasp, cursing in German. It had been a habit you picked up from the Colonel himself.
"Dove?" The voice of König made you look up. His voice was gravelly, more so than usual, and low.
König, you went to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, your throat burned. It was so dry.
König hushed you, immediately hopping up from his seat and reaching for a metal water bottle. It was his, one that he always carried around the office. He handed it to you hurriedly, insisting you drink.
You did as you were told. The cool water felt liberating. As you drank, your eyes squeezed shut. It was just water, but having been denied a basic human need made the large gulps you took taste like freedom.
"Slow down, mein Soldat," he held a hand beneath your chin, water dripping down onto his gloved palm.
When you pulled the bottle away from your chin, you took a breath of much needed fresh–room temperature–air.
"Thank you," you nodded happily. Your voice seemed to be back, albeit a little shaky. "I needed that."
Through his hood, his eyes squinted as his cheeks rose slightly. A smile. A genuine, peaceful, and loving smile.
"Of course, [F/n]." The use of your name made your heart skip. "Now, what are you doing getting out of bed?"
"Bathroom, sir," you pointed to the door at the far end of the room, a small smile gracing your features yet again.
He held an arm out, offering for you to latch on and make your way to the room. You tried to do so without being completely dependent on him. He led you to the room, you did your business quickly, and he led you back to the bed. His hand fell down the small of your back, fingers just gently pressing to guide you forward.
As you sat back down, you leaned forward and rested your head in your hands. The lighthearted mood felt so thin, so fake.
"I didn't tell them anything, Sir." Your voice broke. He pulled his chair forward, sitting closer to you now. Because of how you were sitting, your legs fell between his knees.
"Hush, Liebling," he hummed, pressing his knees against your legs lightly. "We can discuss these things later. You just woke up."
You raised your head from your hands. Your face was about a foot from König’s. Through his mask, you could see his blue eyes. Despite their cool color, they held so much warmth. His body seemed to glow with the feeling of care and worry.
You wanted to open up your arms and embrace him. Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the weight of the situation fall from your shoulders. You needed comfort.
König felt the same. He wanted to hold you. He wanted to tell you how much it meant to have you back. He longed for your arms around him, for his around you.
"I… uh," he started. Despite his enormous stature and a presence with the inability to ignore, he still amazed people with how awkward and polite he could be. "Would you feel comfortable, uhm," he trailed off. You watched as he opened his arms.
"Hätten Sie Lust auf eine Umarmung?"
A hug.
You almost crashed into him. You almost were too eager to accept his offer. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your back arched to keep yourself still seated on the edge of the bed.
His eyes squeezed shut as you held tightly onto him. His arms reciprocated, holding your smaller frame with caution.
That was, until he stood. His arms wrapped around you tighter, bringing you up and into his arms. You gasped as he grabbed the back of your legs for support. Instinctively, you rested them on his hips, holding onto him like he was your last breath.
He reached one of his hands up to hold the back of your head. He held you just as tight, almost like you would shatter if his grip failed.
"I was so scared I was never going to see you again," you whisper, trying your damnedest not to burst into tears. König held you firmly.
"I feared that too, [F/n]." He paused. "I've missed you so much, Schatz."
Throughout the weeks, your condition improved faster than originally predicted. The only problem the nurses suspected would be any sort of long term would be the mental trauma inflicted on you. You had been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder, and was told to stay away from anything that might stress you out. Minor things included.
At this moment, your body was still weak. You were technically supposed to be on bedrest for at least another few days. You still had things healing, and were scolded each and every time you were caught doing something that requires too much work.
But you hated it. You had a week of bed rest under your belt. Another week felt like it would be pointless. All it would do would make you go soft. It would be hard enough as it was to catch up to your peers.
For the time being, however, the Colonel had you on desk duties. To keep you in the loop, he suggested you stay on top of the paperwork. Not every little detail, but most of it. The change was nice. It was upsetting that you could not even do any field training or any sort of combat training, however. Despite that, you kept your head up and did your absolute best on what you could do.
Your team was welcoming and excited to see you back and in good spirits. They visited you occasionally, some popping in just to say hello. Others were too busy, but you never held it against them. You received a gift basket from the medical team. It included your favorite candies and your favorite drinks. The kind gesture had brought you to tears.
A few cards sprinkled in here and there. They all made you smile. They were mostly from brother and sister squads, happy to hear of your reunion with your team and wishing you well. They became repetitive, but you were appreciative, nonetheless.
On the tenth day of your recovery, you lay in your bed while reading a book. You had been slowly counting down the minutes while restlessly awaiting the dinner bell, and cracking open a new book seemed to be the best way to pass the time.
Because of the endeavor you had gone through, it was hard for you to relax like this often. Every time anyone would walk past your door, your ears would twitch. Goosebumps always rise on your skin just at the sound of voices past the wooden barrier.
Thankfully, this book seemed to relieve you, your nerves finally getting the break they deserved.
It was because of your immersion that you didn't even notice the shadow of boots on the other side of your door.
König stood outside your personal quarters. He had just come from combat training. During said training, a new recruit had received an injury, and a record had to be filed. It was you who usually did this sort of paperwork now, and he figured he would come and hand-deliver it to you before dinner.
The professional part of him should have placed the manilla folder on your desk and let you know it was there during dinner. This same part of him should not have been standing on the other side of your bedroom door like a nervous boy.
Though, the unprofessional part of him wanted to knock on the door and embrace you the second you opened it.
König had not visited you after the first night you awoke. He only stopped by to deliver and retrieve documents from your office. After that night, he figured it would be best to distance and recollect himself.
Leibling? Und Schatz? He remembers scolding himself the second he left. He was your superior. He was not meant to pick favorites. Now that you were back, however, he felt like that's all he had been doing. Each mission since your capture had been centered around you. Even if it had nothing to do with your rescue, he would find a way to think of the benefits that it might have brought for you.
A part of him knew that this was wrong. He wanted to leave your doorstep and never look in your direction again. Things could go back to normal if he were to do so. He would be nothing but your Colonel. Though, he knew ignoring you was not going to solve anything either. He had never ignored you. Never turned up his nose to conversation. Now, he felt he had to.
But he truly could not bear the thought.
He looked at your door and let out a slow sigh. König had never felt this way about a person before. For a moment, he wished that these feelings were for someone more out of reach. A recruit would have been much easier to dismiss. Things would be easier.
Slowly, he brought a hand up to your door and knocked three times. When he was done, he gripped the manilla folder with both hands, as if it would fly away if his grip loosened.
You set the book down and made your way over to the door, opening it with a puzzled look on your face. Looking up at your superior standing outside of your bedroom made you feel a little uneasy.
“Evening, sir,” you greeted with a small smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
There was a slight hesitance in König’s actions as he held out the folder for you to take.
“Micheal injured his wrist in training today,” he said sternly. “I just need you to put these in the system for me.”
You obliged by taking the folder and nodding. You could tell it was a full stack, as the center was about a centimeter thick. It felt odd for there to be so much paper for just a trainee injury.
Despite that, you ignore the oddity and give your superior a smile. Even if he was just delivering work, it meant you got to at least see him. You met his gaze through his hood.
“How have you been recovering?” The question came suddenly from him, catching you off guard. It took you a second to respond in a lighthearted tone.
“Fine, or, great, actually,” you shrugged. “Nurses predict I should feel better than ever by Friday.”
König beamed. “That's good. I'm worried all this bedrest is making you go soft, Lieutenant.”
You felt your heart twitch with disappointment.
“I'm excited to not have to be stuck in an office all day, Colonel.” Your response sounded dry. Though, König didn't seem to notice. Instead, he brought a hand up and placed it on your shoulder. He gave it a light squeeze.
“It's so good to have you back, Dove.”
After he had left, you set the documents down on your bed and laid with your face in your pillow. You could still feel his hand on your shoulder, feel the gentle squeeze he gave you before walking away.
You were to have the folder on his desk before dinner. He estimated that it would be ready within the hour, so you had plenty of time to review the papers.
Rolling over onto your side, you grab the folder and open it. It was just normal paperwork. The boring, mundane stuff. As you sat up, you read carefully through the report of what had happened. Apparently the Colonel had been the one to instigate the situation where Hound’s, Michael’s call sign, wrist was broken.
Hound was heard making offensive comments during training, the notes read. When König asked for him to explain himself, the recruit caught an attitude, continuing his offensive remarks and challenging authority.
König then asked for a little one-on-one combat training. Hound was thrown over the Colonel’s shoulder. When dropped down onto the ground, he landed on his hand, and it was later determined to be a fractured wrist.
You gasped as you read the notes. Of course, there was more detail, but that was the short of it. You knew that your superior did not take kindly to disrespect, but to break another man’s wrist? Even by accident?
You actually chuckled a little bit as you flipped through some of the necessary medical paperwork. When opening up a packet of Hound’s prior medical history, a white envelope fell out onto your lap. You assumed it was just filled with more papers on your squadmate, until you looked at the singular word on the front.
Dove.
Your eyebrows raise as you slide your finger through the top of the flawlessly-sealed envelope. Inside it seemed to be a piece of trifolded college-ruled notebook paper. Flipping it open once, you were able to take note that the entire letter was in German.
Your heart fluttered in your chest as you read it. It took you a few moments to get through its entirety, as German was not your native tongue.
In the letter, he apologized for seeming distant upon your arrival. He apologized for his behavior towards you during your weakest moments. He apologized for his unprofessional attitude and hoped that you could find it in your large heart to forgive him.
One line towards the middle of the letter stuck out to you.
Es tut mir nicht leid, wie ich mich fühle.
I am not sorry for how I feel.
You read the rest with a hand over your mouth. Your face became red at how he described the feelings he was not sorry for. How he described you. Nothing wild, but they had been things no one has ever said to you. Your heart was practically glowing.
Having you back around has made me realize that I am barely myself when you are gone. Two months of missing you was agony. I wish to never be out of arm's reach, but our jobs demand it.
Forgive my unprofessionalism. If you wish for things to remain how they are, leave the documents on my desk with the envelope resting on top. Things will go back to the way they were. You are my Lieutenant. KorTac’s Dove. I would hate to ruin our work relationship with petty feelings.
You shared those petty feelings. It was those petty feelings that caused you to spring up from your bed and out into the hallway. These petty feelings marched you down to your Colonel’s office and placed your hand on the knob. The closed door indicated he was inside.
You did not hesitate in opening the door. Now, you stood in front of a confused König. He tipped the screen of his laptop down, almost startled that you had made such a surprise entry so suddenly.
“Uh, [L/n],” he started, pushing out his chair. “You finished those a lot quicker than–”
“Do you mean it?” You interrupted him.
He stared for a second. “What?”
“The letter,” you held up the envelope with a small smile forming on your lips. “Did you mean what you said?”
König shifted, nervous. The smile on your face eased a lot of his original worries, but he couldn't help but stress over your reaction.
“Every word.” He nodded, standing up from his chair. “These feelings are juvenile, writing letters like that is unprofessional, I understand. But I just,” he looked down at you, though avoided your eyes, “I just needed you to know.
“And I understand,” he continued, turning his head up as his professional tone began to fill his voice, “if you choose to deny my advances. I am your Colonel. Do not let that affect your decision.”
When he finally met your eyes, his own widened with surprise. You were beaming. Your smile was practically glowing.
“You mean it?” You repeated.
Relief flooded through König’s chest at your reaction. He almost felt dizzy.
“Nautürlich,” he smiled. “Every word."