#cod eequest

To put it bluntly, König is a big suck. He really is. He's emotionally mature enough to know that he's overreacting, but he's trained to deal with the worst, not mild inconveniences. For him, having a full fever is easier than dealing with a small problem. The worst part of it all is that it's usually self inflicted.

König doesn't really get colds. He also doesn't really get hurt badly (unless he's come back from a mission, but that's another post entirely). He's careful, neat and considerate with his actions. That said, he has these moments where you really have to question how he's still alive.

You see, König has this little saying that he learned from his family. It's his catchphrase, at this point. Horangi groans whenever he hears it. Stilleto puts her head in her hands. Hutch's eyes glaze over as he looks far off into the distance and shakes his head, quietly muttering, "It's not right, man. It's not right." With all these reactions, you might be wondering what exactly is König's favourite catchphrase?

"It's not an expiry date, it's a best by date."

König has had food poisoning many times.

So when König goes on a whole rant about how 'it's not that moldy, just eat around it', the whole company knows to just wait. Almost like clockwork, the only thing König will be eating for the next 24 hours are his words.

When he's sick, he'll go home and he'll make it your problem. His stomach will be cramping, he'll be spewing vomit like a sprinkler, and he'll be stuck in the bathroom for hours at a time. When he crawls out, you'll be there for him.

You'll have to change his bedding religiously for him. He's sweating up a storm over here. Each time you do, he'll thank you profusely and then collapse into bed.

You'll have to change his bucket. He has a designated vomit bucket (he's gotten food poisoning enough to have one marked and ready for the occasion). He'll always thank you and hold your hand. Thankfully, the military forces him to keep short hair so you don't have to hold that back, but he does really appreciate you rubbing his back. Honestly, who doesn't? It's the least you can do for someone turning their stomach inside out.

With his cramps, he'll pretend he's fine but at this point, you probably know better than to believe him when he says it doesn't hurt that much. Instead, get him a nice supply of heat packs for the worst cramps. However, he much prefers you holding him or rubbing his stomach. It's much more comfortable. He's so happy to have someone care for him like this. He might not be able to give back while he's sick, but he won't forget your kindness to him. He'll pay it back three-fold soon enough.

Every time you make him a light soup, every time you carefully feed him a plain salad or some cut fruit, he's delighted. He knows it might be coming back up in less than an hour, but he's grateful for anything you provide him. As long as it's edible, he'll eat it. (Just please remember to stay away from foods that are hard to digest, like protein, dairy and carbs. Maybe some plain toast with his soup is alright, but it's a good idea to give sick people simple food. Just a pro tip.)

He will curl up to you and use you as a blanket when he gets cold. He will soak up your heat like he's in the ice age. He can't get enough of your gentle touches or soft words. He clings to them as he clings to you, a suffocating embrace.

When you are too hot, he'll begrudgingly roll away and kick off all his blankets and sheets. That's a good sign that maybe you can step away and do some household chores for him. The house doesn't clean itself, after all. When he can appreciate your hard work properly, he'll gladly kiss you and hold you close. However for now, he'll just curl up and lay perpendicular to you and lay his head on your abdomen when you get back. He may not be able to kiss you right now, but he'll gladly curl up on the mattress with you.

Sometimes, he might need help walking to and from the bathroom, and that's always an ordeal. Unless you're strong enough, he'll just have you both toppling over in a heap of sickness and sweat. It'll be miserable. Instead, he'll have to force himself to stand a bit so he won't have you losing your balance. When he collapses back in the bed, he'll huff and puff and grumble about the bathroom being too far, but he'll live. Maybe take the time to run your hands through his hair and scratch his scalp. He'd like that quite a bit.

In Three Days

König, for all that was wonderful about him, was a bit of a hazard in the kitchen. Not because he was a bad cook, oh no König is a fantastic cook. He’s just a menace when you’re baking.

“But it is still flour! How is it any different than cake flour?” König grumbled as he put the whole grain flour back into the cupboards, switching to grumbling in his native language to keep you from smacking him with a wooden spoon (again).

“It is not the same. Cooking and baking are different, König,” you turn to keep a careful eye on him. You didn’t particularly trust him to not just make a show of putting it away only to put it in anyways. “You can’t substitute everything like you usually do.” 

You not-so sneakily slipped in between him and the cupboard, preventing him from trying to go for it when you weren’t looking. He squinted down at you, sniffed, and spun on his heel to turn back to the bowl on the kitchen island.

“First you do not want margarine, then you do not want me to use baking soda instead of baking powder, and now you are complaining about what flour I use,” he muttered to himself.

“If your suggestions weren’t awful, I might consider them,” you raised your wooden spoon in warning.

He took no heed of your weapon, instead choosing to move it to the side with a finger and look at you incredulously, “I make fantastic suggestions.”

“If I listened to you, our cake would already be a disaster,” you snapped back.

“But I am right. It is more efficient! It is cost effective!” König crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“We agreed that money wasn’t an issue!” you bonk his masked nose with the spoon, leaving a small white spot.

He shakes his head, but walks back to the screen of your laptop and crouches down to look at it properly.

“That many eggs?” König spat.

“Yes, that many eggs,” you replied as you pulled out the carton from the fridge, “it’s a big cake.”

“But that is so many! What cake needs ten eggs!?” König whined as he helped you crack the eggs into the bowl of the stand mixer.

“We bought these eggs for the cake, so you knew what you were getting into when you came with me to the store,,” you reply, dropping the last egg white into the bowl.

“And then what do we do with all these yolks?” König pointed to the bowl of yolks beside him, “you are not allowed to throw them out.”

“We’re not throwing them out, we’re using them for the lemon curd filling,” you explained as you set the bowl into the fridge.

“So that is why you bought the lemons…” König mused. He nodded sagely as you turned on the stand mixer. Not long after, the mixture was ready for the next step.

“Who puts sour cream in cake? It is…” König squinted, “wrong.”

“It’s to add moisture,” you scraped the paste into the bowl, then turned on the mixer again. You turned it off and glanced over at him, “see look, I told you we needed a Kitchenaid mixer.”

“I still think it was too much,” König shook his head dismissively.

“So you want to mix the batter yourself?” you raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to try challenging you.

“I could. I am tired today, but I could do it,” König asserts defiantly. He crossed his arms over his chest, showing off his thick forearms.

“Sure thing buddy,” you roll your eyes, “keep telling yourself that.”

König simply muttered a few words in German as he checked on the oven.

“Are you sure the temperature is correct?” König asked.

“Aren’t you the one that set it?” you countered.

“Yes, but I want to make sure,” he replied.

“Well, check the recipe. It’s right there,” you pointed at the laptop.

He glanced between the laptop and the stove before nodding and turning back to you.

“Yes, it is good. The oven is set to one seventy-seven.”

“Wait what?” your eyes widened in horror.

“What?” König stiffened, “there is no problem, is there?”

“Why is the oven so low?” you hurried over to the stove, abandoning the cake mix in the process.

“Low? No, it is high! That is high!” König blinked and looked down at you as you checked the oven’s LED display.

“No, that’s-Oh. Celsius, not fahrenheit,” you gave a relieved sigh, “don’t do that to me! You had me panicking there.”

“It is not practical to use imperial,” König said, his tone too haughty for his own good.

“Yeah, but I’m used to people using imperial in recipes,” you shrugged and walked back to pour the rest of the dry ingredients into the wet.

“Well you are used to people using the wrong measurement system,” König huffed as he trailed behind you to the stand mixer.

“I am…” you dumped the last of the dry into the wet, “sure, whatever.”

König rolled his eyes, but he left it at that. Instead, he stepped back to go back to what you were doing earlier.

“Are you mixing it too much?” König leaned over your shoulder.

“No? I don’t think so. It should be good. Can you go check the video for me?”

König returned to the laptop, coming back a moment later with an affirming nod.

“You are right, my love. I am sorry,” König clapped a hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft rub before flicking the stand mixer off, “now it is done.”

“Thanks,” you smiled and leaned back to kiss him before taking the stand mixer bowl out and to the island.

König ended up being the one to measure out the pans, having done the weight calculations while you worked. You called him a nerd, he called you an idiot before kissing your forehead.

“My favorite idiot,” he’d said, sweet as the German buttercream frosting you’d both made earlier.

Once the pans were in the oven, you both sat down on the counter stools.

“That was so much work,” you groaned and stretched yourself over the soapstone island. You stretched out one hand and took his hand in your own. He gave you a light squeeze, then went limp. Evidently, it was a long day for both of you.

“Thanks for all the help.”

König sleepily turned his head to you, then gave you a small nod.

“Always.”

“I’m so happy to have you,” you squeezed his hand, “you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

“I can say the same of you,” König leaned over and slung an arm over your shoulder, then dragged you and your tool over to his side.

You huffed, but leaned into his side.

“You could’ve asked me to move.”

“This was more efficient,” König insisted.

“Was it now,” you kissed his chin through the mask with a smile, “so, just three more days?”

“Three more days,” König agreed and hugged you tightly to him. You melted into his hold with a smile.

“You looking forward to it?” you asked.

König squeezed you tight, “More than anything. Even if it does cost so much.”

“Hey, you agreed I could do what I wanted,” you laughed, “and I cut costs where I could.”

“You could have gotten your own tailor, but you went second hand. You are unbelievable,” König grumbled, but gave you a kiss, “but I am thankful. Others would spend my money like water, but you are careful. You are not good at math, but you are smart with your money at least.”

“I’m not that bad at math,” you nudged his side.

“No, but you are bad enough for me to laugh at you,” König smirked under his mask.

“Anyways, are you tired?”

“So tired. Do you want to lay down?”

You nodded eagerly. You followed him to the sofa, where he flopped down and dragged you onto his chest. He rubbed his hand over your sore back and hummed contently.

He rolled his head back over the armrest and sighed.

“If only I knew our wedding cake would be so much work.”

PS: Recipe I used (I doubled it for the story)