---"shadows and doubt"---

He's awake. He's awake. He’s awake. He's awakehesawakehesawake-

You never thought you would hear those few words spoken. When Alik had come down and interrupted your mini interrogation with the previously assumed dead ex-commander, you had been fully charged and ready to unleash ten months worth of verbal hell. Fury and vitriol and hate and- fuck! All of it. All of it. All of it. He deserved to hear all of it.

But now Viper was awake. He was awake. You had to see him. Had to make sure it was real. What if it had just been a ploy- what if Alik was just distracting you long enough for others to come in and swoop to Graves' rescue?

You almost turn around, almost pivot on your heel and stomp back to that damn room- just to make sure-

But

But

But what if they're telling the truth?

Your soldiers wouldn't lie to you.

Would they?

Wouldtheywouldtheywouldthey-

No. No? No. They wouldn't. Not after everything you've done for them. Apparently P-027 had been making great progress with the bunch of them. That had to mean something. It was a gift. They all should be grateful.

Grateful that they had such a great leader. One that didn't abandon them when shit went downhill. One who didn't lead them all to their deaths. One who wasn't a co war d.

A coward like Grav- Graves. Grave stone. Stone. Cold

Like him. Him. Him.

Him you weren't no no nonononono

Never

You weren't like him. You weren't different. You got them a gift. A shiny new toy. A new puppy to entertain the rascals.

So what if that puppy was another human being? One who came from questionable origins who who who who-

Viper can't know. He can't.

Black leaks into the edges of your vision; you push past it. Suck in a deep breath, the air moist beneath the fabric of your mask, hot, hot, hot and wet and- you let it ground you. Stomp out the shadows.

You need to see him

You need to

You need

Him. Him?

Yes. You

And you cannot do that if you're fraying at the edges

You can't save him if you're broken too.

Broken? No. No you're not. You're not broken. You're not different. You're the same. Same

Same . Same

Same as before

Yes? Same

No shadows. No fractures. To thread. No dogs. You're here. You're here and you're the same.

Venn is keeping pace beside you, Alik lagging just behind. She keeps peeking at you here and there, odd. Maybe she can see it- see what? There's nothing

There's nothing wrong with you, Phantom.

No onononono

That's no

That

That's not your name

Is it?

Yes. No. Yes?

You're the same. In order to be the same, you need to keep the name.

Phantom. Phantom. Phantom. Phanto-

The door pushes open, you skip past the receptionists at the front, making a turn here and there- ah. Right where you had left him.

Alive. Breathing. Awake.

Familiar bright eyes meet yours, still wide and open despite the clear exhaustion etched into the rest of Viper's features.

“Ph-” he tries, coughing lightly when the sound comes out rough. Brokenbrokenbrokenbroke- Which is no surprise at all given that Viper has been comatose for months now. The poor soul hasn't had to use his vocal cords in far too long. It probably hurts.

There's a nurse to Viper's left, intermittently commanding him to open his mouth while she dabs water on his tongue with a cotton swab. You read a few months back—back when you still held hope that he would wake—that until the patient was thoroughly checked and passed a swallow test, they couldn't eat or drink or anything.

You want to shove her out of the way and do it yourself. You don't.

“Viper.” You say, voice soft, so soft, a little breathless. Alik snaps his head to look at you, eyebrows drawn together slightly.

“Sir,” Viper grins, broad and toothy and it looks silly with the stick still poking out of his mouth. The nurse looked at him with annoyed fondness.

“You're awake.”

You're alive.

“I am.”

You can't contain yourself anymore, one foot in front of the other and you don't remember getting here but you're at Viper's side and you have a hand on his shoulder and- and he's still smiling at you. He's the only one who's done that in months. Almost a year. And there's no more breathing tubes, no more bandages, no more–

You blink away the wetness gathering at your waterline before it can spill over and yank the younger man into your arms. Hunched over the rail of the bed to do so- he's so thin. So small compared to the day you lost-

Didn't lose. No. No. He's here. You didn't lose him. You didn't lose—you don't lose.

Too many

names too many too ma

ny you lost you

lost-

you

lost you. lost

you can't no lost lost

lost lost lost

You didn't lose him. Viper is awake.

“Where's..” he begins when you release him, squinting a bit while he looks around the room. “Where's Graves?”

A loud silence fills the room. Do you tell him? You don't want him to know- you don't want Viper to find out what you did. He won't understand, you know it.

Viper's eyes widen, his body tenses up. “He's not.. is he..?”

It takes you a second to figure out what Viper is asking, and you rush to soothe him when it hits you.

“Oh no- no, no, Viper, no. He's not dead.” You look over at Venn and Alik just in time to see the former giving you a weird look. Her mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Oh,” Viper lets out a deep lungful of air, relief causing him to sag into the mattress below. “Oh.”

“Okay- good. Good. Where..” he coughs again. “Where is he then..?” The “why isn't he here too?” is clearly left unsaid in the empty space following Viper's words, and it pains you to admit the truth.

So you don't give it. Liar.

“He was just caught up with some paperwork or another- you know how he is. Venn, Alik,” you give Venn a look, only satisfied when she gives a nearly imperceptible nod back. “Go fetch him, would you? Let him know our Viper is awake.”

“Ay,” Alik says. Closely followed by Venn’s exasperated, “yes, sir.”

Then they're off.

There's something else you must be certain of. Viper's loyalties must be to this cause and no other. If that is in question, well.. maybe Graves would like a buddy in his cage to keep him company.

Silence lingers between you too for a few prolonged moments, enough for you to attempt to soothe and reign in your scattered thoughts again. Shoving the creeping shadows away from the edges of your vision and plaster on a friendly smile that, though Viper can't see it, you hope is portrayed through your gaze.

“Soo..” you started, accidentally cutting Viper off who had just opened his own mouth, clamping it shut at the sound of your voice. Eyes wide and curious. “There's been some speculation for when you woke up, I was just..”

You frown, eyebrows pulling together, putting on your best impression of grief, of pity. The same puppy eyes that used to get Graves to bend to your will when you would playfully throw it his way.

“I was just.. uh, you know..” your bottom lip catches between your teeth, worrying it as you pretend to think, pretend to dance around the topic.

Viper, ever the observant one, catches onto your meaning with a nod and pained look in his eyes. “You mean my.. my memory, right?”

With a heavy sigh, as if it pains you to confirm it, you nod your head yes.

“I don't..” Viper hesitates, and you watch. You search out any of the familiar tells that would let you know if he was hiding something from you. Viper has never been an open book, like yourself, but over the years you had learned to read him enough that you two could communicate in the field with almost no verbal communication. You force yourself to forget that you could do the same with Graves, but with zero verbal cues.

“I remember..” his eyebrows draw together, eyes squinting and seeming to look into something that isn't there. Becoming foggy for a moment before Viper sucks in a sharp breath and flinches, bringing up both hands to press two fingers to each temple. “It's all so foggy, sir.. I think- I think I remember stepping onto something hard- something like.. like..”

You wait him out, letting Viper take his time lest you interrupt and accidentally either improve or worse his memory. The former wasn't what you wanted at all.

“I hopped off onto.. and then.. and then there were some faces there to greet me. But they're all fuzzy. I don't remember what they looked like or who they were.. and then..”

Viper's eyes are closed now, his face all scrunched up like it was painful to attempt a dig into his own memory. Good.

“And then we're in.. Mexico? Why are we in Mexico..? Uhhh.. there's open fire and it's loud. It's so loud, sir, and then the ground is shaking and, and, and-”

“Hey, now..” you soothe, coming closer to rest a hand on Viper's back, rubbing small circles into the paper thin gown. “It's okay, don't push yourself.”

“Sorry..” he grumbles, eyes blinking back open and searching out your gaze. Whatever he finds there must comfort him further as Viper visibly relaxed into your touch. “That's all I remember. I remember the- the explosion. And I remember the rubble. Before and after that.. is completely blurry.."

“It's okay,” you repeat. “We're all just happy to see you awake, Viper.”

The word burns on your tongue, something sharp and painful twisting in your chest. Memories of this same man cussing and demanding and yelling, telling you to never, never, call him by that again. Traitors didn't deserve that familiarity.

Viper doesn't remember, though. So.. so that means it's okay, right? What he didn't remember couldn't hurt him. Couldn't jeopardize what you all had here, this company, this family.

“Did we..” Viper speaks up again once you suspect the throbbing in his skull likely had subsided. “Did we win, sir?”

You freeze, taking a moment to force your body back into motion. To behave like everything was normal. Like nothing has changed; to keep Viper from realizing that something was off.

“We're alive, that's what matters.”

Viper lets out a deep breath, settling back into the bed and letting his gaze drift up to the ceiling.

“How long have I been out..?”

“Too long.”

That brings a weary smile to Viper's face, “missed me, did ya, sir?”

You snort a soft, barely there laugh, “I think we all did. Gets pretty boring around here without your.. mh.. spark.”

“Oh you little-” Viper is cut off by a coughing fit, small, dry heaves that leave the man panting when it's over. “You're lucky I'm too damn parched to argue. Nurses won't lemme drink anythin’, I can't even eat food yet. Gotta do a swallow test, then- then,”

Viper pauses, frowning. His eyes fog over briefly before refocusing. “Uh.. nevermind.”

Some of the staff had warned you that Viper would likely struggle with retaining memory long and short term, but you were just thankful he was still kicking.

“And then they'll start you on soft foods ‘n eventually lead up to full solids.” That voice. That damn voice.

“Commander!” Viper brightens up, a toothy grin lighting up his features.

“Hey, kiddo,” Graves saunters in, that cocky, self assured smirk on his face as usual. A sight that has your jaw clenching, teeth grinding together, ice prickles up your spine the closer he approaches. Side stepping you to get to Viper but it still has your metaphorical hackles raised, doing you best not to glare a burning hole into the side of the man's head as he leans down to pull Viper into an affectionate hug. One that was almost fatherly and it makes you want to spill your guts up out of your throat and all over the floor.

“Doc has informed me that, if all goes well, you should be outta here by the end of the week.” Graves flicks his gaze to you, something in there that you can't quite decipher, then back down to Viper, standing back up to his full height. “We've missed you ‘round here, it just ain't the same without our resident firecracker. Soon you'll be back in your old bunk and all’ll be swell again, ain't that right, Phantom?”

The attention is on you again and your movements are mechanical as you force your head up and down, stiff and it would be so, so much better if you could just pretend Graves wasn't here.

That the way he hugged Viper didn't set you on edge for all the wrong reasons- because it was familiar. Graves was a touchy man. Always had been. And seeing him interact with your soldiers again in such a way was so deeply nostalgic that it hurt.

Something mean and cruel and vile gripped your lungs and squeezed all of the oxygen out, leaving you to struggle to get a full breath in. Shallow, not enough, and you're suffocating. But you can't leave, that would be suspicious. It didn't matter how much you wanted to hide-

“That's right.” You grit out. “It's just as you left it.”

“See? It'll be like nothin' ever happened,” Graves ruffled the top of Viper's head, pouring all sorts of reassurance into the young man's direction and it made you sick.

You need to get out, you need to leave, you need-

Fuck. This wasn't how anything was supposed to happen.

It would look weird if you suddenly took your leave. Graves and Viper chatting away, Venn having joined in and Alik had not even come back to the room at all- you can't leave. You can't. Can't.

“Alright, that's enough for today,” a nurse comes pattering in and you count your lucky stars that she had decided now to intervene. You didn't have to run away like a coward.

“Our boy has to rest, and he can't do that with you three hovering around him, shoo,” Graves and Venn murmur some playful disappointment, but reassure Viper that they would be back.

You're the first one gone. You don't stick around to be cornered by Graves again, don't spare Venn a glance when she tries to catch up. Eventually just leaving her behind altogether.

You need to be alone, you need-

“Sir?”

A cool, robotic voice intercepts your train of thought. Snapping your head to the right reveals 27 following closely. Right on your heels and that unnerving, unrelenting stare boring straight into your soul.

“27.” You greet him in turn. Fuck. You had completely forgotten about him, and now- now Graves was out.

You couldn't. You couldn't let him see. He can't see. He can't. He already knew you had failed. You couldn't let him see the evidence of your shortcomings as well.

And then there was Viper. He couldn't know. He couldn't find out that things had- had changed.

“Follow me.” The command comes out a million times stronger than you feel. Kicking up the pace and swiftly making your way up to your office, the damning evidence that you so desperately needed to hide trailing along without a hitch.

27 is the picture perfect example of an ideal, top shape soldier standing there in your office. He could be great, would be.. if only you were able to keep him. You needed him gone.

And you had one specific job for him, one you knew for certain the mysterious super soldier could accomplish.

Sliding around behind your desk, your fingers dance across the different files and stacks of paper scattered over the surface. A tremble to them as you scoop up a pen and scribble some numbers you had memorized onto a piece of paper. Ripping it off the notepad once you had marked the last digit and folding it up, trapping the information inside.

“Take this, pack up and hand it over to Daniel in the hanger. You'll be on recon, I need all the information you can gather on four subjects.” Four photos are slipped out of a folder, tucked between the folds of the paper you'd written on. “You are not attacking. You are not executing. I simply need you to infiltrate, gather intel, then get back here when I call for you, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” It's eerie, how unexpressive the man was, and if you had the wherewithal to care at the moment—if the shadows weren't creeping back in, if you couldn't feel the burn, the aching need—you would be concerned. That being said.. you couldn't be. Not right now. Not with this.

“I don't want them to even know you were there. I need you to be a ghost,” ha. “Tell the pilot that I want you both up in the sky as soon as possible, no exceptions, alright?”

A nod this time, but fuck it. You needed to get him out of here.

“Go.” You command, handing him over the paper along with the photos tucked inside. Watching him leave, hearing the door click shut.

Coordinates. Coordinates She had given you.

It's a bit ironic, painfully so, that you were haunted by shadows. Ones that flickered at the edges of your vision on the best of days.

Ones that nearly blinded you on the worst. Days like this. Days you can feel yourself crumbling apart at the seams.

Fingers slipping against the door, finding the knob, the lock, and hastily flipping it. That resounding thunk of the metal sliding into place resonating inside your throbbing skull far louder than it probably was.

Stumbling blindly back to your desk, sinking into your chair- you need it to stop. You can feel him as the shadows approach, as they close in-

The child just out of touch, just out of sight, tugging at your scalp, eyes squeezed shut.

Breathe. Breathe. In and out, in and out- you don't need to resort to this, you don't, you don't need-

You do. You do

You need it.

One hand slams down, hard, hitting the desk and sending a shock through your arm,

But it's not enough.

It's never enough. You're never enough.

The drawer rattles as your fingers curl into the hook and yank it open. One particular metallic clink against the wood letting you know it was the right one.

You dive straight into it, searching blindly while your other hand leaves your head. Instead it's drawn to your mouth, fabric taken between your teeth as you tug off your glove with a snarl. Hardly recognizing the sound as something coming from yourself.

Drawer slammed shut once more you throw down the knife and rip off that glove too.

It burns, it stings, blade pressed against the backs of your hand. Once. Twice. Three. Four. Just enough to ground you a bit, to make that muddled, childish laugh quiet down.

After that you switch back to numb, unfeeling palms. The scarring from burns and blades alike make the skin rough and thick, requiring a bit of pressure to break skin. Just to see.

Crimson droplets pattering into hard wood, from just one or two to a steady pitter.

Just to bleed and know you still can.

To know it still runs red.

The shadows are still lurking, so with a growl of frustration you uncap a bottle with your teeth, pouring the sterile liquid over your hands and ignoring the papers it soaks. Relishing in the surging, stinging pain that lashes through your mostly dead nerves. Letting the alcohol seep deeper to the ones that still thrum with life, sending wave after wave of shock through your system.

Only then can you breathe, can you think clearer again. He doesn't edge back into your peripheral, but that doesn't quell the ruminating thoughts churning on loop in your head.

They know.

They know.

Everyone will know what you have done.

Coward.

__

Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Next

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@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @mikahrh @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life25 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @suhmie @its-ares @ravagerdogz @embry-garrick-ravengard @the-spartan-himself @justacreamcheesesandwich @dilf-lvvr @literallyrousseau @olibird @academiq

---"how to cope when you find your enemy hot."---

hint: you don't

König greedily takes the opportunity to separate his body from yours. The match is over, and he inches away as subtly as he can, away from the other sergeants as well who, apparently, cannot help but make the filthiest jokes they can think of.

König pretends the heat warming his cheeks under the hood is due to embarrassment only and nothing else.

Now he had the time to recover and recuperate. And to try his best to push down whatever feelings you had inadvertently caused to bubble up inside him—down, down, deeper, crushing them into a jumbled mess and shoving them into an iron lockbox.

Next up it was you against the infamous Ghost, and, König's feelings aside, he was quite eager to see how this one played out.

You had defeated Gaz and Soap, and had very nearly gotten past König as well. Put up a good enough fight to make even a giant like himself struggle.

König takes a seat against the back wall of the gym to observe from. Not interested in providing the other two immature sergeants with himself as entertainment—though it seemed even those too were more intrigued by this fight than joking around some more.

It starts out typical enough, you and Ghost circling one another just as the past few spars have gone. Though it looks like Ghost has learned a thing or two from watching you with the rest of the team and doesn't give you the time to think, to calculate your every move.

He's feigning left, then taking a step back entirely when you catch on, avoiding what would've been a counterstrike on your end. Ghost gives you no time to recover from that, grappling you into his arms—restricting your arms just how König should've during his attempt—and immobilizing your upper body.

There's a bit of a struggle but the match soon ends with Ghost slamming you down onto the mat. One arm locked around your throat, the other using his hand to restrain your arms, one leg keeping yours tangled and trapped. All while he keeps his balance with one knee planted firmly on the mat in a wide stance. Preventing you from knocking him over.

Ghost only relents when your body goes limp below his, and König takes note of the exhausted droop of your posture when you finally get back up onto your feet.

“That's all for today,” Ghost calls it, sending a meaningful look König's way before flipping around to handle the others. “Back here tomorrow at oh-six-hundred sharp.”

“Soap, make sure Mouse gets cleaned up and fed. Don't let him out of your sight.” Ghost barks. Soap must sense something in the man's tone, because he doesn't make a single snarky quip. Just nods his head and leads the others out of the room. Only after the three disperse does Ghost finally face König again.

“On me,” is the only thing König gets before Ghost is, too, disappearing out of the room. Leaving König to scramble after him.

König wants to ask where they're going, but that quickly becomes clear when they make a sharp left. Ghost only knocks once before entering, not even waiting for an all clear before he's pushing the door open—strange behavior for the lieutenant, that's how König knows this is serious.

“Ah, Ghost,” Price says when they enter, the door clicks shit behind them, a nod in König's direction and subsequent, “Sergeant.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” The captain sighs, and it's then that König really sees the man for the first time. He looks tired- no. Exhausted. Looking his age more than usual, or maybe older. And König notes that he hardly ever sees Price leave this cramped, makeshift office space. Back home the man could be seen chatting with his fellow officers or taking a moment to oversee training indoors and out. Perhaps taking a smoke break or two.

“We need to talk.” Ghost says.

Price raises an eyebrow, gesturing around vaguely with a pen as if to say ‘obviously’.

Ghost lets out a weary sigh of his own, shoulders dropping and König follows closely when the man takes a seat. Lingering behind his lieutenant on his feet.

“Mouse, he's-” Ghost cuts himself off, glancing up to König again then back down. “You can't tell me you don't see it, König.”

König considers it for a moment, but even he can't pretend he doesn't know what Ghost was talking about. You were dangerous. A walking hazard that they were lucky hadn't gone running towards your maker. Whoever that may be.

“Mouse is.. complicated.” König admits.

“Has he been causing problems?”

“Well, no, sir.. not specifically.” König isn't quite sure how to confront this, how to tell his captain that their team almost got completely demolished by the small soldier (?)—were you even a soldier, obviously you had some type of professional training, but that didn't mean much.

“We were doing a simple sparring match, getting a feel for his abilities. Figured Mouse would not be able to keep up, especially given his recent injuries but.. but he far exceeded our expectations, sir.”

“He took on Gaz,” Ghost adds for König.

“And Soap,” König finished. “He even almost got the upper hand over me. Taking Mouse down took a lot more effort than it should have.”

“Too much,” Ghost, begrudgingly, admits. “I saw how he fought with each of you, I knew I shouldn't underestimate him.. but there was a moment I doubted I would come out on top.”

That. That really gets Price’s attention, both of their attention, really. König snaps down to look at Ghost, surprised. “Really? You looked like you had him handled fine.”

All three of them sat in silence then. If you could defeat two of them, then provide enough of a struggle for the other two who were seen as almost invincible on the field, even if what was supposed to be a friendly spar.. that was not a good sign at all.

You had been easy to catch. Laughably easy. It didn't track with what they all had experienced mere minutes ago.

“I don't mean to overstep, sir.. but,” König hesitates. As if by simply saying it the sergeant would speak the words into existence, they would lose everything. “Do we.. do we even have anything to hold him? Legally speaking.”

“If it was not for that tip we got, he would just be a random civilian who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time..” Seeds of doubt began to sew in König's mind. What if you weren't who they had been chasing all this time?

Ghost turns to look up at him, and König wavers, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, hands twisting together as he tried to string together the thoughts swirling in his head, but it's Price that speaks up.

“What are you sayin’, König? That we got the wrong guy?”

“Well… maybe?” He squeaks, shrinking half his size under the captain's hard gaze.

“He does have a point..” ohthankfuck, perfect timing on Ghost's part, stealing Price’s attention away from the oversized sergeant.

“The note is circumstantial at best, and with all that blood and mud caked onto it, it's pretty much moot.” Ghost's tone takes on a hard edge, as he too is realizing that they all really had, well.. nothing to hold you on. “Even with all the strange shite he was spittin’ when we captured the runt. Could easily be washed away with the excuse of delusion due to blood loss.”

“Even the video evidence..” Price murmurs in agreement, followed by a heavy sigh as the man drags a hand down his face. “It's all blurry, and of cloaked, hooded figures in black. Faces covered and of varying heights and builds.. fuck.”

“Do we have.. anything?” König reluctantly asked, regretting opening his mouth again when Price's eyes immediately locked on him again. The captain sat up a little straighter, reaching for the papers on the desk and shifting them around.

“We have one thing..” Price doesn't expand on that idea further, mouth pulling into a thin line. There's a far away look in the man's eye, but König knew better than to question his captain. “You two are dismissed.”

“But-”

“I have enough to keep him. For now.” Price waves them away. “Now begone, shoo, I've got work to do.”

König puts his hands up in mock surrender while Ghost grumbles an amused, “yessir.” Then the two of them are out of the office, and more importantly, out of the captain’s hair.

“Thought you had left me here for dead.” Are the first words out of your mouth when König arrives back at the room you two unofficially share. König turns after locking the door behind him—by now he's certain you wouldn't try to escape, but it didn't hurt to be cautious and the bolt would at least slow you down in the case he was wrong—raising an unimpressed brow as he considers you.

You. Sitting there, on what used to be his (unofficial, again) bed, small and cute- dripping wet. Getting water all over the thin mattress. Looking like a drowned dog.

“They give you a towel..?” König's words are met with a scoff on your end and he is surprised you don't cross your arms over your chest and pout. Or, well, he supposed he didn't know whether you were actually pouting or not. Given the mask obscuring your features. Speaking of the mask..

“You do not take it off even to shower?” He asks, eyeing your damp—that had to be uncomfortable, did you really not trust them that much?—mask. The fabric leaking little droplets that raced down the column of your throat.

König tries not to linger on the other ideas that sight shoved into his mind.

He also pretends not to acknowledge the odd feeling that stirs in his chest, knowing you would rather-

“Just enjoy waterboarding yourself, then?”

Do that then risk being seen by them—by him. Fair enough, he supposed, it wasn't like you had been there long. Or had joined willingly—but you were here willingly, weren't you? …Ah, decidedly, you weren't. It was either this or- or death. Because they couldn't let you go, not when they couldn't even imprison you for your crimes—crimes they weren't even sure you had committed.

“Mm, something like that.” You retort. If König didn't know any better, he would assume the damn thing was glued onto your face. What kind of person used a straw like that if not because the thing was stuck on? That must be it; the thought elicits a private huff from the sergeant.

“What is so funny? I don't see you taking yours off either.” And there it is, crossing your arms like a defiant child, König bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing at the comparison.

“You are not with me all the time.” He says instead.

“Yeah, right,” you say, grumbling, a furrow to your eyebrows König refuses to admit is almost- almost adorable in some way. “You are practically glued to my hip half the time. I'm almost surprised you do not drag me with when you go to piss or something.”

“You think about me peeing often?”

“Only the healthy amount.”

“Uh huh, that so?”

“It is.” König can hear the smile in your voice—a real shame he can't see it—and breaks himself. Cracking a grin of his own under his hood, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. It's not too long ago that he had held a blade to your throat—the same damn throat that was stupidly tempting when still damp with water, could do easily be mistaken as being slick with sweat-

It looked so out of place, the mask. The only black piece of clothing on you, mismatched when paired with the oversized shirt and pants, a belt cinched tight around your waist to hold the latter of the two up. König definitely doesn't briefly consider what it would be like to tug it down.

That would be unprofessional.

And he certainly doesn't have to force his eyes away from your body, thankful once more for the hood to shield his blush from view, and push his body to take a seat at the little desk in the corner instead.

“You should rest.” He says, stupidly keeping his back to you. But it was better than letting the little beast in his mind continue to devour the sight of you. “The lieutenant's got more in store for you tomorrow.”

There's a sigh a few moments later, joined by the rustling of fabric as, König assumes, you get comfortable on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah…” you murmur. “Just don't kill me in my sleep.”

“I make no promises.”

König was a fool. It was the next day—his back twinged now and again after he accidentally fell asleep at that tiny desk—and he really, really should not be as excited for this as he was.

Gaz held the record, Soap close behind. A part of König hoped you would surpass it.

All in all, he was a foolish man. A foolish man who was horribly excited to see you run this course. To see you sweaty and panting with exhaustion- and pocket that imagery later to think back on in a wholly different context.

König can't remember the last time he felt like this. It was dumb, beyond foolish—how many times was he going to say that?—, and so on.

You were the enemy still, technically. Yet his mind appeared to be hooked on the idea of you being so much more than that.

He was slipping up—promised himself he never would again, not after what happened the last time he let another occupy his mind like this—and not even bothering to try and catch himself before he fell. Hard.

And with no one there to catch him this time.

You're running this course with Soap and Gaz; Ghost had decided to keep him on the sidelines to help observe the three of you. It's just a simple obstacle run, nothing but climbing and sprinting and rolling around in mud. Alejandro had agreed to give them free reign over this area for the afternoon, the set up was a bit different than the one back home, but the premise was the same. First one to the end won.

Ghost was betting on Gaz,

“The lad holds the record in the other, why not this one as well? And that's with a gun, this should be a milk run for our boys.”

“Shouldn't you be rooting for your boyfriend?”

Ghost sends him a glare, but König snorts, knowing it held no heat behind it.

“Mind your own, Sergeant.”

“Just saying..”

“Soap is plenty good, but we all know Gaz is the most proficient in speed and agility.”

“Right, right,” König nods along, finding it impossible to keep the grin out of his tone. “As we all know, you have a thing for the beefy ones.”

Ghost elbows him, and König supposes he deserves that one, even as he silently chuckles. Shoulders shaking along with his amusement.

“Shut it, before I send you in there with them.”

König straightens up. “You wouldn't.”

“I would.”

“Mm, you would.” As much as König loved suffering under the heat of the sun—even in the winter, it was a far cry from the frigid temperatures back home—, he also loved keeping his dignity intact. However little was left. And getting distracted by you and ending up dead last would absolutely destroy the last bit he was clinging to.

“Maybe I should,” Ghost pipes up again a few moments later—they’re still waiting on Gaz, who had to make a brief visit with Price this morning—, though the lieutenant's sights are still on you and Soap. The two of you goofing around over by the course. “Give you somethin’ nice to look at, trip you up, knock you down a peg..”

“You are a heartless man, Ghost.”

“You started it.” Ghost says with a shrug, but König doesn't miss the squint of his eyes, following his gaze to catch as Soap says something and you turn around to playfully shove at him.

“What are you, five?”

“Oh, for sure. Didn't you know? You've been following the orders of a toddler all this time.”

“Now that I think about it, that makes a ton of sense, sir.”

Jealousy. König recognizes it with an amused huff. Then he watches as Soap does the same to you, a big grin on the Scot’s face as he does it, and König can't even pretend he doesn't know how Ghost feels.

Only it's a bit different. As Ghost is actually dating the erratic pyromaniac.

And you're not attainable. For him, or for anyone.

“Uh huh, righ’,” Ghost speaks after a moment of silence, and König had almost forgotten they were talking- seriously, what could possibly be so funny to have you giggling like that? König can't hear it from here, unsure if you're even making any sound. But people don't just double over like that unless it's from laughter.

“You both are hopelessly pathetic.” A voice from behind them jolts both men out of their reverie, turning at the same time to catch sight of Gaz standing behind them.

“Christ, it's creepy when you lot do that.” Gaz shivers under their duel stares, breaking the tension König hadn't even realized had sprouted in the air. “We ready to start, or…?”

Ghost turns back around and Gaz tracks the man's stare, barking out a laugh when he puts the pieces together. “Don't worry, he's all yours, big man,” Gaz says, patting Ghost in the shoulder.

Ghost shrugs it off, grumbling.

“Soap, Mouse, line up!” Gaz calls on his way over to the other two, Soap calls something back but König isn't paying attention. Too caught up on the little glimmer in your eye, a far cry from the dullness that has resided there these past weeks.

If König didn't know any better, he would say you look almost fond as your gaze flicks between the two sergeants. A look that soon shifts into something deeper, darker. Longing.

You glance away then, and König catches your eye. Giving you a small nod not even he knows the meaning behind, but it works and you perk up again just the slightest bit.

“Alright. Enough goofing off, you three.” Ghost barks. Full lieutenant mode is back, it seems.

You come in first place, not even looking a smidge out of breath. König pretends he had been paying attention to all three of the men on the course, but he wouldn't be able to recite a thing if asked. Ghost doesn't ask.

Good. Because he's certain the lieutenant doesn't want to hear all about the way König had stood there on the sidelines, categorizing all the different, minute shifts, the tense and release, of all the muscles in your arms, the ones peaking out in the glimpse he could get of your back. Watching closely as you pull yourself up the wall in just a few bounds—too short for just a running start to get yourself up, but a quick burst of energy from kicking against the wall is more than enough to boost you.

There isn't even a speck of sweat on you when it's all said and done, and König swears he's probably perspiring more than you from simply standing there. Observing.

Ghost knocks him out of his doomed, one track mind before calling time. You first, with Soap and Gaz just barely lagging behind. Gaz, predictably, gets there a mere millisecond before Soap, but Soap doesn't get any pity points from his boyfriend.

The only difference between you and the two sergeants is that they, at least, appear like they just ran a full obstacle course. You, on the other hand, look as if you've just gone for a casual walk in a park. Eyeing the other two with—adorably—furrowed eyebrows, as if confused as to why Soap and Gaz are a bit out of breath.

“Christ above,” Soap takes the offered water from Ghost when he gets close enough, wheezing a bit. “Ah'm never doin’ that again.”

“It was just an ordinary course, Sergeant.” Ghost says, but König heard the hint of humor in the man's tone.

“Ordinary my arse,” Soap grumbles after gulping down half the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The set up, maybe. But Ah'm pretty sur’ I best ma’ own damn time.”

Ghost looks down, checking the little scribbled down time stamps he'd made in his wrist. A small doodle representing each of the three and the times right beside it. “You did.”

“Huh??”

König snorts, listening in even as his eyes flick up to catch sight of you again. Still chatting with Gaz, and looking so, so confused by all of this.

“You and Gaz both,” Ghost clarifies. “Both of you beat your own record.”

“Ach, damn. Ah knew I was pushin’ mahself, but I dinnae think it was that much.”

“Not confident in your own abilities, Soap?” König teases, glancing down at the other sergeant just in time to catch his pout.

“S’not like tha’,” Soap grumbles, but now that he's been able to catch his breath, his words gradually become more intelligible again. “You're runt just cleared us with zero effort, dinnae even look back. Had to push ourselves just to keep up.”

“And yet you still came in last.”

“Gaz is a speedy bastart, nothin' can help that.”

Ghost puts a hand on Soap's shoulder, the latter leaning into the touch just barely. And soon enough the lieutenant is calling out the next instructions. Soap soon disperses to join you and Gaz once more.

“C'mon now, inside. This time it's just you, Mouse.”

Again, this next one is similar to what they have back home, but just different enough to be interesting. A typical small urban layout with cardboard cutouts as targets. Some that moved, some that stayed stationary, and others that popped out at you when triggered.

“Just me? I am honored.” You interject when close enough. Leaving the two spent sergeants behind to join Ghost and König at the front.

“What are we doing this time? Another obstacle thing?”

“Sort of,” Ghost says. “Jus’ your typical urban combat setting. I'll set another timer, see how quick you can get in and out without losing any points or having time added to your overall score.”

“Sounds straightforward enough.” You nod along, soon coming up to a door which König opens, letting the four of you file in first.

“It should be.” König muses, letting the heavy door fall shut behind you all with a weighted clunk.

The temperature is vastly cooler indoors when compared to the stifling warmth of outside—why, why is it warm in winter??—and König can finally breathe easily again.

“Who knows,” Ghost cuts in. “Maybe you'll even beat Gaz’s record.”

The possibility put open into the air drags a deep, exaggerated groan from the sergeant in question.

“Why, Ghost, whyyy? Don't say that! You're goin’ to speak it into existence!”

Ghost shrugs, dismissive, but they all—with the exception of you—, see that the action contained an underlying thrum of amusement.

Ghost gives you the brief rundown while the other three find their place from which they will sit and observe.

“Do ya think he'll manage it?” Soap asks from König's left, nudging his arm with an elbow to get König's attention.

“To beat Gaz? Or have a good score?”

Gaz grumbles something to König's right, but Soap responds before he can tease the man some more.

“Uh, both? But mostly the first. Y’don’t think he can really do it, d’ya?”

“I'd say it's best we don't underestimate him,” Ghost interrupts, coming over to sit on Soap's other side. Apparently he had already gotten you set up. “At all. The runt's already far exceeded our expectations.”

The three nod along in agreement with their lieutenant.

“That's for sure,” Gaz says. Obviously the man isn't truly that worked up over the possibility of you surpassing his old score, but the easy jokes were more manageable than facing the reality that they still had no idea who—what—they were dealing with.

They knew nothing about you, a persistent fact that bothered König more and more every time it resurfaced in his mind. They didn't know your real name—if you even had one—, nor did they know where you came from. They had found you, here, in Mexico, but that didn't mean this is where you originated from.

No origin, no name, no age, no clear goals or motivation. No purpose. It was almost suspicious, with nothing—at least surface level—to live for, it was a wonder you hadn't simply.. well, to put it bluntly, committed suicide yet. Taken the easy way out.

Not that he would ever want that, but from a purely logical standpoint.. it made the most sense. Which, given that you were still here and had something to prove, there must be something you were doing all of this for.

An oath? Responsibility? Someone to return to?

Something to live for. Someone to live for. To greet you when it was all over, whatever ‘it’ was in the first place.

Maybe that was the key. You had someone waiting on you. A friend? Someone more—though given your clear disdain for socialization at any point, König figured that wasn't the case, but he couldn't rule it out, and he ignored the way that made him feel. Or, rather, didn't make him feel.

You were enemies. Reluctant allies at best. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Rubber?” Soap's voice brings König back into reality, the four of them watching you do a brief inspection of the weapon you had been given for this test.

Ghost shakes his head, negative. “Paint.”

“Paint?”

“Need to see where the shots land, but the last thing I wanted was to give him a real firearm. Rubber hurts more. So paint it is.”

Huh, König doesn't think he's ever seen anyone do that before. Not that it would be more difficult, maybe a little light if the faux weapon wasn't properly weighted. Other than that, you shouldn't be at any disadvantage. Or advantage.

König zones back in to watch you work the moment the alarm blares through the speakers, signaling the start of the course.

They watch you run through the twists and turns of the mock interior of a home, and it puts König on edge when you somehow manage to predict where the cutouts are going to spring out before they even happen. Some you aren't even in the same room as. In a run you've never been through before.

It reminds König of that time before, when you picked up on the sounds of apparent bombs. A noise Gaz nor himself ever were able to hear. Not until the detonation itself.

Could it be.. could it be that you were just naturally gifted with excellent hearing? Or maybe it was the vibrations of the sound waves in the floors.. no, that wasn't right.

König suspects even someone with ears in perfect condition, never damaged and born with zero imperfections, would be able to hear the things you do. You have.

This wasn't human. It wasn't natural. It was technical. Man-made. Enhancement.

Of course, devices to aid in hearing weren't unheard of. But that's just what they were. Assistive device. Designed to give those with hearing impairments the chance to experience what the average person did, or close to.

They didn't do.. this. And those eyes. König had thought it was his imagination when it first happened, back in the little city along the border. A reflective glare, like a cat's when a phone tried to capture them in the dark.

He catches it again when you turn into a darker room—once again locking onto a target before it gets the chance to even straighten out—a little sheen. A reflection when the overhead lights hit just right.

This wasn't some fantasy bullshit, obviously you were human. There was no other option. But you were for certain.. enhanced.

That brought up questions of how? Why? Who? And, further, what was the purpose of it? If you had increased hearing and sight, what other senses had gotten the same treatment? What were the limits?

Were there any limits?

Who did this to you? Why? Were there more like you?

A sinking feeling tells König he doesn't want to know the answer to that.

19.8, that's your final score. Gaz is, understandably, thrilled by this. Letting out a loud whoop and springing to his feet.

“I'm just glad I can keep my dignity after the disaster of the last run.” Gaz says, turning to Soap and clapping his palm down on his shoulder with a deep, dramatic sigh. “Can't say the same for you, mate.”

“Oi, shove off,” Soap grumbles, swatting the other man's hand away while Ghost looks on with amusement.

König's attention is drawn away by your approach, a slight crinkle to your brow that grabs his focus. Odd. You should be thrilled by this, few managed to get below Soap's score, much less beat the Scot and almost reach Gaz as well.

Ghost starts to go over your score with you, but König doesn't zone in on that. No. He pays mind to your stiff posture and wonders briefly if your injuries were acting up again. Perhaps that was the source of your soured mood.

When all is said and done you're dismissed with a wave and barked order that you would meet back here again tomorrow. More testing—more opportunity to watch how you move, to gauge your responses and capabilities. To understand how exactly they would need to act if they had to put you down, if it came down to that.

The walk back to your shared sleeping quarters is short, and you keep up with König better than expected after today's adventures.

Once you both are back in the room, though, that is when you finally break your silence. You had been quiet when Ghost had given you the rundown, not even joining Soap and Gaz in their banter like you had after the first test.

“What the fuck was that?” You growl, flipping around to face König as he locks the door behind you both.

“Mm?” He inquires, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Huh. König had thought things had been going well. Guess he had been wrong.

“Do not give me that look.”

König's frown deepens, completely out of his depth here. Was he supposed to know what you were talking about.. comfort you maybe? How would he even begin to do that? He didn't know why you were upset- and surely it wasn't his responsibility to comfort the enemy-turned-reluctant-ally.

“Ughh!” You throw your arms up and turn around, just in time before König can catch the wince you make because of the action.

“I truly do not understand, Maus..” König mumbles, eyebrows scrunched together as he drags his gaze over your body again and again. This time under completely innocent intentions, truthfully. He just cannot comprehend what could possibly be bothering you.

“Does your shoulder hurt? Your leg?” He asks, probing for more information. If he could just figure this out then he could get you to sleep, get out of these damn clothes and into something comfortable, maybe take a shower..-

“Are you kidding?” You huff, one gloved hand dragged roughly down your face.

“Uhh.. nein?” König shuffles in place, his shoulders curling in slightly. He's exposed, more vulnerable than he's felt in years and he's not even in public this time. König just desperately hopes you don't turn around—doesn’t think he could handle being seen right now. Being observed.

“Fine. Fine.” You flip down on the thin cot, both hands over your face, grumbling. König lets out a small breath of relief when you don't look at him. “Pretend you don't know. Like you all weren't making a complete fool of me out there. Giving me those stupid, easy assessments. The kind of shit fucking teenagers know how to do.”

König is yanked from his spiraling thoughts. Teenagers? What did- what?

“I don't understand.” König finds himself repeating, dumbly. “You beat two out of five of the best soldiers in this regime. You nearly broke a years long standing record, injured, mind you. How were we treating you like a, uh, ‘fool’, or so you say.”

König catches you peeking out from between your fingers, confusion swirling in those striking hues.

“What?”

“What?” König parrots.

“You are telling me..” you begin, pushing yourself up into a seated position. “That.. that was a good score? A good run?”

“Uhh.. yes?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“... Yeah, goodnight then, König.”

And the conversation is over, leaving König utterly puzzled. “Okay…”

König drags out the last syllable, muttering to himself under his breath as he turns around, grabs a change of clothes, and dips out of the room. Locking it firmly behind him. He needed to speak with Ghost again, then probably Price too.

First, a shower.

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Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Next..

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