#carbondioxda

He couldn’t have a dog. Not with the constant deployments and absence from home. Maybe if he had a wifey to take care of the dog and the house while he’s gone, he’d take him in. He didn’t have a dog officially anyway, despite feeding the mutt regularly and having two bowls for him outside, dog food now permanently on his grocery list. He wouldn’t admit to himself how much he cared for him, named him Bravo in his head, but never got him a proper collar.

Bravo always came back, happy to see Simon, wagging his tail and roaming around his neighbourhood whenever he was home. Always slept in his garage during winter. He was a great dog, hunted rodents when he was in the mood. Warned Simon that someone was coming by barking. Never bit or attacked anyone. Played with the kids on the playground nearby.

So when Simon comes back from yet another deployment, he notices that Bravo isn’t there to greet him. His bowls remain untouched and one thing that Simon knew about that mutt was that he’d eat absolutely anything without a complaint. So after two long days of seeing the bowls still full, worry starts to nag the Lieutenant, reminding him at random of how Bravo’s missing.

Simon’s heart drops to his stomach when his mind starts conjuring images of what fate the pup could’ve suffered while he was gone, kicking ass god knows where with the Task Force. People were cruel, whether it’d be men or some messed up kids. Most drivers don’t even stop after bumping into a cat or a dog. The thought of Bravo being hurt or rotting on the side of the road made Simon’s head spin.

At some point, enough is enough. He’d figure out a place for Bravo to stay while he’s deployed, he just wanted the damn mutt to come back. His only company when he was home alone. The neighbours said that the dog vanished, none of them mentioned anything about a dead dog in a ditch, so that was something. Simon found himself driving to the local shelter in hopes of finding him. He heads inside, picture of the dog prepared on his phone already.

There he sees you - the sweetest lass he’s ever seen. Pretty sure he hasn’t seen you before, because he wouldn’t ignore someone like that. He opens the door and the creak and it makes you turn to him and smile, making him wish he’d have you smiling like that when he comes home.

And you? Who doesn’t smile at the sight of a man built like your wet dream, looking to adopt a dog. And you just had a great day, after having made a decision to adopt one of the larger mutts that just came to your shelter a week ago. He was so sweet with that floppy ear of his-

- What can I help you with? Wanna adopt? - you ask. Not many people come to the shelter. Mostly families before christmas, a few volunteers who walk and feed the dogs, maybe some young people when they move out of their parents house and want their own mutt. If he wouldn’t find Bravo here, he was ready to adopt a dog anyway just to see your eyes light up.

- M’mutt’s gone missin’. - he gruffly replied, taking out his phone and showing you the picture he took one time before he got deployed again. - You have ‘im?

- Uh, yeah, he’s been with us for a week now. - you say, but your immediately smile goes down. The handsome guy was taking your dog. A wave of relief washes over his body, his worries dissolved with a simple sentence. He tenses up again though, just as fast. Something’s wrong. You should look at him with glinting eyes and hand him adoption papers. Thank him for taking the doggy to a good house with a kiss on the cheek, or a sloppy kiss somewhere else. You motion him to follow you to the crates. The room stinks of a wet dog. He follows without a word, eyeing your plush thighs from behind, calculating if his hands were perfectly big to grab them both and spread. If you two were at the bar, he’d be already trying to get your number, name, address and family information.

You two walk over to the crate where the poor mutt is in, whining, his tail thumping on the floor when he sees you and Simon.

- It’s good you’re taking him back uh..he’s a smart mutt. - you chuckle awkwardly, fighting through the pain. Simon seemed like a good man and you were telling yourself that he’d be much better owner than you anyway. But it hurts. Because in the week you’ve had him in this crate, you’ve grown so attached that it physically hurts to give him away. Bravo, as Simon called him, was the only dog you actually took out the papers to adopt formally after working at the shelter for months. Turns out you almost took someone’s dog. You open the lock and let Bravo get out and bother Simon.

- I’m gon’ take ‘im home. - he says, watching your expression.

- Alright. You’ll need to fill out some basic forms before you do. You may sit on one of the chairs. - you guide him to the poorly furnished waiting room where you return to your counter and give him the said files. He gives you a nod and sits down, Bravo bothering his ass all the time. He writes down whatever was needed, mostly just trying to rack his brain on if his sudden need for you isn’t caused by not getting laid for years in the military. But no. He doesn’t ogle pretty girls that way in grocery shops or at base, you’re just uniquely wife-shaped in his opinion. And he hates that frown you have on and even more that he’s the one to cause it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you loved Bravo.

- Ya got a dog? - he suddenly asks, laying the paperwork on the counter to get it signed. He’s determined to get you to smile again, not look like you just got your soul companion ripped away from you.

- Oh, no, I wish. I..almost adopted your dog, actually. Well, uh, big dogs are better for houses than flats anyway, yeah? - you smile weakly. Small flat doesn’t quite fit to the description of the absolute shithole you live in, but it’ll do. He senses that. He’d be more than willing to lock you up with Bravo in his house and get you all the pups you want. Anything to get the spark in your eyes back, the one you greeted him with at the door.

-…Ya dogsit? - he gruffly asks as you give him back the paperwork. He needed something to silence his guilt and have you within his reach. You wanted Bravo, he can share.

- I suppose I could. - you shrug. Anything to see that dog. You could get a penny or two dogsitting too. And drool over Simon.

- I mean fo’ long periods of time. Few weeks, a month. Livin’ in the house. - he said, laying out what he needed, because taking that mutt in meant getting him someone to watch over him while he’s deployed. It felt like sharing custody already. And he wanted to see you home. Smiling when he comes back. Hell, he’d get two or three dogs there if it meant seeing you all sweet and smiling.

You think for a moment. Your flat is shit. Simon mentioned he has a house, not an apartament. You don’t wanna part from Bravo and you need money.

- Sure. - you shrug, finally smiling a bit more without that sadness in your eyes. His heart flutters. He’s gonna buy a ring and himself a matching one if you do that again. The guest room’s gonna be your space, he’s gonna come back for another dog and let you choose which one, and Bravo would make a great family dog anyway, so the storage room upstairs can be the nurser-

You exchange numbers and that’s when you’ve sealed your fate. He calls you two days after he took Bravo and you show up to discuss the details. His dog greets you and you rub his floppy ear, ruffle his fur like all you needed this today was that mutt.

- Where’s yer suitcase? - he asks, hanging your jacket.

- My suitcase?

- Yer stayin’.

- Sorry, what?

- Ya agreed to dogsittin’ Bravo. M’gone often, so it’s best ya jus’ move in. Guest room upstairs ‘s yours. - he states. It’s not a question of you want to move in. You will move in. - Ya mentioned wanting to adopt Bravo. He fuckin’ adores ya, so he’s yours too. Yer stayin’. Next time, bring yer things.”

But he forgets words in english. Needs to think before making a point sometimes because how was that one term he wanted to say?

You hear his german when he talks to himself. Rambles under his breath when doing paperwork or cooking, doing anything by himself really.

Hisses Scheiße whenever something goes wrong, whether would that be a minor inconvenience or a fuck-up during a mission.

Calls Horangi ,,Arschgeige” or ,,Arsch mit ohren” whenever he tells you about some shit they pulled together. Tried to tell you what it means, but accurately translating a ,,butt-violin” is tricky.

Gets excited if you blurt out a sentence in german to him, correctly or not. Even if you butcher the pronounciation or fuck up the grammar, he’s gonna be happy to pretend you’re a C2-level, talented speaker just to hear it again.

He talks in his sleep. Full on conversations that don’t make sense even in german. If you ask him what he meant, he’s gonna respond some foreign bullshit as well, maybe throw some unintelligible english into the mix.

And you always notice how different his voice sounds when he’s speaking english and how it is when he’s speaking german. English is sharper, his accent is impossible to miss. German is calmer, somehow, despite the aggressive nature of the language he makes the words flow like water.