#codmwii fic

You were sent home on mandatory leave, the empty house feeling colder than when you left it the first time. It felt like you were always on edge, waiting for a lecture. Even though your parents are long gone now and you're thirty now. You go to leave a few times. Though, you liked it better when you avoided having to go back home. Preferring back to back missions than facing the thought of going back home. The doctor forced you to, shaking his head and hands on his hips as he told you it was good for your long term health. Tapping into your fear of failure.

You anticipate your mother coming to the front door, but you know she never will, never again. The clock still at 3 o'clock in the morning when your mother passed from a heart attack in her sleep. You remember your father waking to her lifeless form, a form that used to be so full of love for life. Gone. Long before she reached fifty years old. Your father went on without her, turning to alcohol for comfort of the loss. It was to no one's surprise, he had passed from a broken heart two weeks after.

You sat on your old bed, dust flicking upwards as your legs pressed into the covers. In a twisted sense you still loved them, cared for them and wish they were there. Even though they were toxic parents. You loved them. The neglect, the threats of abandonment, everything about it. You know you shouldn't. Yet you still do.

It wasn't your fault you looked so much like your mother, her hair, her eyes, her smile and her mannerisms. They were hers, just as much as they were yours. The older you grew, the uncannier it became and the uncannier it became. The more your father seemed to hold disdain towards you.  

You were a constant reminder of the woman he lost. You often wondered if he blamed you for her death. If he thought, you were the reason she had a heart attack. You had been sixteen at the time, a rebellious teenager who had been out past curfew. Your father had found you drunk, stumbling home, and had yelled at you, your mother trying to intervene. The next morning, she was gone.

A stupid thought, you know. A thought you can't hope to let go of, no matter how much you push forward. The guilt had gnawed at you for years, and it had only worsened when your father had died. You had felt like a failure, a burden, a constant reminder of the pain they had endured.

It was like most of it never changed from when you were young. Frozen. In stasis. Paused during a time. A moment in your life when things in your life started, spiralling into something so wrong. As you cleaned out the home, windows open, airing the entire house out. Like it was holding its breath for the past few years or more.

It was after the furniture was taken out, after the walls and floors were sanded, that the house felt emptier and less like a home. More of a tomb of what was. You were hand painting images your parent's wouldn't have let you do. Though, they weren't here anymore to tell you off.

Starting off small with small birds, flowers and animals in corners, after a one-night stand you found out you were pregnant. You debated telling them for a while, you knew you couldn't put it off forever. You called your mother's phone just to hear her voicemail message. As the days marched forward like sand dripping inside an hourglass.

The phone snatched from your fingers, a cold hand closing around your wrist. You pulled your hand away from the stranger, or at least you tried to. "Let go of me." you shouted. "Whoever you're looking for isn't alive anymore. My mother and my father are dead. If you're here for them. Then you are fourteen years too late. They have been cremated, and their ashes are buried with the redwood trees."

You assumed he was there to rob you. "I have nothing of value. Nothing." you told him.

The man laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent chills down your spine. "I'm not here for your parents," he said, his voice thick with a foreign accent. "I'm here for you."

In any other circumstance, those words would be a delight to hear. Given the situation now. It just sent chills up your spine and made your palms sweaty. Fear gnawed at you, gripped your throat and stolen the breath from your lungs.

He learned over, whispered into your ear, his hot breath against your neck and face, “Welcome home, Maus.”

Who knew I’d meet you again so soon? Here I thought my day couldn’t get any weirder. I spoke to you last night and now I’m speaking to you again. Except this time, you’re in your space themed pyjamas, galaxy socks with cats prints, shark shaped slippers and a shark beanie. Kate said she was important, or rather her brain is. I didn’t know why until I saw you midway through your laser gun experiment round.

The charcoal grey brunch coat hanging on for dear life on your shoulders while your giant full ball of a cat watched with disdain of the noise you were making. The pink collar with the rose gold name tag with Mr. Whiskers in cursive engraved into the metal tag. The regal behaviour from a cat large enough to be the side of a medium sized dog remained palpable.

“Hey! You. You’re the guy I was talking to yesterday. Or am I just imagining things?” you remarked. “I forgot to ask how you liked dessert last night. The chocolate fudge I mean.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at your question and the amount of high energy you managed to summon at the sight of me, “It was rather sweet and salty. Though I am surprised you remember that.”

You looked at me with puzzlement, “Why wouldn’t I remember? That was a pretty intense chat we had last night. Besides sea salted caramel fudge is the best kind of fudge.”

Soap raised an eyebrow at the mention of your favourite type of fudge, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Sea salted caramel, you say? That’s quite the taste you’ve got there, Doc.”

“Specific, but the diner I usually go to at night sometimes. They make the best kind.” You commented. “Sure, the whole diner is a little suspect on the outside. But man, the fudge is the best.”

Gaz nodded, his eyes lighting up with the same enthusiasm. “I know the one. They’ve got a secret recipe. The owner is an ex-navy chef. He’s got a taste for the sweet and salty combination.”

“Yeah. Not too far off from my father’s taste for dipped buttered toast with his porridge.” You quipped with a smirk.

Gaz looked to be reeling in from the conversation we had last night after I returned to the safe house. Whistling an upbeat tune, it took him by surprise, in fact it took them all by surprise. He never whistled like that. Ever.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Soap asked, his eyes looking at me with suspicion.

Ghost looked at me with equal amount of suspicion, he also questioned, “What has you in such a good mood?”

I smirked from ear to ear, feeling the energy in the room shift slightly. You had a certain charm about you that was infectious, even if you didn’t realize it. The way you spoke about your love for science and the mundane yet delightful things in life was refreshing. It was as if you didn’t have a care in the world, despite the chaos that probably swirled in your mind with your job.

“I met someone at the diner.” I told them. It did nothing to ease their suspicions. “Ah, you should have seen her. Beautiful in her midnight blue dress with silver stars.”

“Talking my ear off about quantum entanglement and how she doesn’t believe ‘fate’ exists.” I continued after a breathy pause. “And her car? A gorgeous vintage.”

“The biggest, largest bonus of the entire night? She grabbed my hand, wrote her number with a pink sharpie and bought me dessert before she left.” I was rambling. I knew that. But how could I not? How could I not ramble about the woman that made a lasting impression on me?

You probably could kick my arse, and I’d thank you for it afterwards. A strong woman like you? Rare. A strong and smart woman like you? Even rarer.

It was when they saw you disintegrate a soda can in your pyjamas while your cat looked on with disinterest. Soap saw you shoot the thing in your makeshift shooting range with your makeshift targets made from a stack of empty soda cans. He only found you there after hearing the evil cackle you made from behind the brick fence.

Things started making far more sense after seeing you in person finally. Though the amount of sense wasn’t all that much. The level of unhinged is only amplified by the fact that you couldn’t be bothered to change out of your pyjamas first.

Soap recognised you from an explosive drill you did to ‘get a better handle on things’. He was far too scared to ask what you meant at the time. The grenade you altered and wanted to test out? How you said it was meant to replicate the effects of outer space in a compact form.

You are a contradiction of sorts. A living, breathing contradiction, paradox and conundrum altogether. “How did you like that grenade I made?” you asked Soap. “I have made a few upgrades since the last version. I can’t wait to show you the progress I made.”

You brought them up on the digital whiteboard on the wall of your lab. The upgrades were: sticky grip, vanta black coating, heavily reduction in shrapnel, a more concentrated burst of energy, the ability to create a small vacuum around it and, my personal favourite, a self-destruct mechanism that would make Q proud.

Soap looked at you with a mix of awe and fear. “Jesus, Doc. That's... That's some serious shit you're playing with here. How the hell do you even come up with these ideas?”

"Regular grenades, grenade launchers, they're all so... pedestrian." You say with a dismissive wave of your hand, a hint of mischief glinting in your eyes. "But a grenade that can stick to surfaces, reduce collateral damage, and create a temporary vacuum? That's a game-changer. It's like bringing a piece of the cosmos into combat."

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air like the aftermath of a supernova. Then, Soap laughs, a boisterous sound that fills the lab. "You're insane, Doc, you know that? In the best possible way." He says, clapping his hands together with the kind of excitement that only a seasoned soldier could muster for something so potentially destructive.

"I named it after the Fibonacci sequence." you told him.

Soap looked at you with bewilderment. "The Fibonacci sequence? As in, the mathematical sequence that appears in nature?"

"Yes. That one." you were buzzing with so much excitement.

Soap nodded slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, Doc. You've officially out-nerded us all. A grenade named after a maths sequence that's supposed to replicate space?"

“Just wait till you see my gaming set up.” You stated. Hinting at one of your hobbies you have.

You showed off your gaming set up in the room beside your lab. The framed posters of movies you enjoyed on the walls. The mouse pad with the Doom Slayer on it and your computer had a Lady Maria from bloodborne animated wallpaper on all three of your computer monitors.

The life-sized statue of The Master Chief from the Halo game series. The rug with the Millennium Falcon printed onto it. Though the sex doll you had in the other corner of the room was rather specific, with the j-cup sized breasts, blonde hair, height of 5 foot 3 and brown eyes.

“Is that...?” Soap’s eyes widened, pointing to the doll.

"A sex doll? Yes." you answered.

Soap looked at the doll again, his expression unreadable. "What's the story behind that?"

"Apart from the outfits I put on her to see if it'll look any good on my own figure?" you asked.

Soap’s face was a picture, a mix of shock and confusion. “You dress her up?”

"Did you expect me to leave her naked?" you questioned.

Ghost smothered a laugh with his hand while Gaz's eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere except at the doll. Soap was the only one who remained unfazed, his gaze lingering on the doll with a sort of detached curiosity.

"Truth be told, I'm surprised you even spotted it." you snickered.

Soap’s curiosity grew, “How’d you get into gaming?”

"Older brother." you answered.

Soap raised an eyebrow, "He sounds like quite the character."

"Yeah, but he wasn't into hentai like I am so there." you quipped.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, clearly surprised by your candidness. Ghost remained stoic, his gaze lingering on the doll with an unreadable expression. You didn't miss the glances, but you were used to people's reactions to your unconventional hobbies. You shrugged it off, moving over to your computer.

"You guys play games?" you asked, changing the subject. The room felt awkwardly silent, but you didn't mind. It was your space, your sanctuary, and you felt comfortable with your newfound guests.

"Yeah, we've got our fair share of downtime." Soap admitted, "What's your go-to?"

"Bloodborne, Elden Ring, Doom 2016, Doom Eternal, Halo Reach, and, The Evil Within 2." You replied without a moment's hesitation.

I didn't think I would have liked her this much. Though to be fair I wasn't expecting to bump into her to begin with. Sure, you weren’t what I imagined you to be. But I like it better this way. Soap and Ghost assumed you were socially inept as soon as I told them you were a scientist.

I’m just glad I finally met someone with the right kind of madness inside them.

You are a qualified Physicist working in Quantum Physics and Quantum Computing. It is two subjects near and dear to your heart. Something you have poured ten years of your life into. A love you knew only in romance movies and cheesy romance novels. You had no intention of dating an actual person. Why would you? Who would date a nerd like you? No one ever did during high school or college. So why would anyone date you now?

You had a roommate who had more boyfriends than you had chances at dating. You are an anomaly, you had expertise in areas like gaming, physics, Krav Maga and Taekwondo. Pottery and ceramics were your way to soothe yourself when you felt like your world was ending. Even though everyone else seemed to be fine.

One afternoon while you were clearing out the at the end of your shift. You were about to leave to head to your black vintage impala. Your father had it, and he passed it down to you when he passed from liver cancer. You packed your gear from the day's failed experimental trial.

When you reached home, crashing in your basement bedroom after changing into something more comfortable. A black turtleneck and a deep brown cardigan, followed by grey sweatpants.

You made a dating profile months ago. Discarding it when you didn't have any luck through it or offline. Your bio had “I'm a former fat kid, turned physicist nerd, cat person and prefers cats. A master of Krav Maga and Taekwondo. Studying in Astrophysics to broaden my array of knowledge. If you're willing to put up with a nerd like me, then let's talk otherwise. Thank you for your time and consideration.”

Your roommate found your dating profile and laughed hysterically. “You actually made a dating profile?” She gasped, her laughter turning into a wheezing fit.

“I made it years ago. I stopped looking at it when I had no luck in the realm of dating.” You told her. “As far I am aware, a nerd has no chance in that world.”

While you were talking with fervent, frenetic, frantic passionate lecture of Quantum computing, your roommate was talking to guys at the charity ball, you were so into it. Your roommate told you to stop talking about your work, but it came out accidentally. You stopped after apologising and when you attempted to leave early.

You never felt so embarrassed in your life. “What is the use of a charity about quantum physics if no one talks about it?” you said to yourself, mostly.

“You're so weird,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “People want to talk about fun stuff, not quantum physics.”

You didn't speak for the rest of the night, mainly hiding at your table until your roommate left a random. You walked to the diner to eat something. The starry dress you wore felt more like one made for a child. A childish desire. You didn't feel pretty as you thought you were.

You sat in the booth in the dim lit diner, hoping to hide in your shame. You ordered two burgers, a heap of sweet potato chips and three sodas. All for yourself. “My diet is in ruins.” you muttered to yourself.

You were interrupted when a figure slid into the booth across from you, their presence commanding a blend of confidence and casual ease. You glanced up, the dim light revealing a man with a rugged demeanour and an aura that suggested he was someone who had seen and experienced much of the world. His dark, intense eyes met yours with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice was deep, tinged with a faint accent that was hard to place. He settled in before you could respond, seemingly unaffected by your surprise. “Seems like you're in need of some company.”

You hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the intrusion. “I, uh, wasn't expecting anyone,” you stammered, your fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of your starry dress. “I'm just here to... eat and wallow in my embarrassment.”

He chuckled, a sound that was both soothing and unsettling. “Well, that makes two of us. I was just looking for a place to unwind and maybe drown out some of my own frustrations. Seems like fate brought us together.”

“I don't believe in stuff like that. Reserved for romantic novels and romantic comedies,” you snorted. “Quantum entanglement disproves it too sufficiently. You know, when two particles link together in a certain way no matter how far apart they are in space. However, no one takes it as romantic as I see it most of the time.”

The man leaned back, crossing his arms as he studied you with an expression that was both intrigued and amused. “Quantum entanglement, huh? Sounds like you’ve got quite the mind for this sort of thing. Most people wouldn’t bring up particle physics at a diner.”

“Limited areas for lectures and what not.” you sighed as you went back to your wagyu burgers. He commented on them with, “Wagyu burgers, huh? You’ve got good taste. I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who indulges in such luxuries.”

“You should see me with sushi, I eat more there. It's my ultimate guilty pleasure, well of them. Another is breakfast quesadillas.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “Sushi and breakfast quesadillas, huh? I have to admit, you’re full of surprises. But tell me, what brings you to a diner late at night, eating your way through the menu?”

“Other than eating my feelings?” you snorted. “I guess I’m just feeling a bit out of place. There was this charity ball earlier tonight, and let’s just say I wasn’t exactly the life of the party.”

The man’s gaze softened, his earlier amusement giving way to a more empathetic expression. “Sounds like you had a rough night. I get it—sometimes we all need a bit of solace, a place to be ourselves without the pretence. I’m more than happy to lend an ear if you want to talk about it.”

“Eh, at this stage. I think it's better to forget it happened.” You replied. “I have Stella and my new kittens to worry about.”

The man’s interest seemed to intensify at the mention of your pets. “Stella and your kittens, huh? They sound like a source of comfort for you. I’ve always found that animals can be some of the best company when you’re feeling out of place.”

“Stella is my car out there.” you said, pointing to a vintage black Chevrolet Impala 1967. “My old man loved his coffee and dipping stale bread inside it. Loved take-out more than anything. Died from liver cancer when we all thought it would be cardiac complications. I never expected him to go, not this soon. I guess he’s the reason I keep the car and the habits he loved alive. Stella’s a relic of him—there's something comforting about driving her, like I’m still connected to him.”

The man leaned in, his expression a mix of curiosity and genuine interest. “I can’t help but be intrigued by your story. You’re not like anyone I’ve met before. Most people wouldn’t open up like this to a stranger in a diner.”

“Well, when you have nothing to lose. You end up making weird choices.” you commented. “Or in my case. Get sucked into probability and win heaps of money during a trip to a casino.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly at your unexpected confession, his curiosity piqued even further. “A casino, huh? You’ve had a run of luck, it seems. Most people would shy away from such bold revelations. But here you are, sharing it with a complete stranger.”

“Like I said, when you have nothing to lose. You end up making weird, odd choices with reckless abandon.” you confessed, “I guess you could call it a form of catharsis. Or in this case. Getting high as a kite.”

The man chuckled when you said, ‘getting high as a kite.’  He leaned back in the chair, “Interesting way to cope. But you do you, I guess.”

By the time you were home, you walked into a mess, you frowned thinking, ‘What on earth happened while I was gone?’

“I will have you executed if you interfere with your older sister’s martial affairs. Regardless of their temperament and treatment towards you. You cannot and should not interfere with the martial business in her regard. Do not overstep or face the consequences. Keep your husband on a tight leash, duchess. Preventing a second marriage from your family does your parents or your sister no benefit. You are now of a place of privilege, girl. A duke would know of this. Yet he seemed in adequate in assessing the needs of others. Keep your slimy fingers away from the affair, or I will cut your fingers off myself with a rusty pair of garden scissors, you are ungrateful, moron. Keep your feelings away from the matter. Your feelings do not matter in this situation. I will, and I can have you executed if you continue to misuse your power.” Aelora to you, the wife of Duke Simon Riley. Her crimson eyes piercing through your soul.

“Duchess, this is your first and final warning.” Aelora’s fraternal older brother, Grand Duke Aelor, told you. “Do not mistake this as a mercy. It is a mere kindness in regard to your prior circumstances.”

“I am not afraid to make you a widow.” Aelora continued as Aelor finished. “I would rather not make you one. But I will not hesitate in doing so. Your trauma doesn’t give you the right to squander the potential of others around you. Duke Riley, your attempts to provoke a reaction will not go unnoticed either. Ruining the potential marriage between your sister-in-law and future spouses make me more inclined to believe you cannot control your emotions. A political marriage about to bloom can't be squandered, you inept child.”

“Maybe if her face didn't look so much like a sour lemon, she would have more luck.” Simon argued.

“Maybe if her brother-in-law knew how to shut the fuck up, she wouldn't have to look like she sucked on a sour lemon.” Aelora snapped back at him. “You overstepped not only once, but three times this evening. You have brought endless shame upon your family's name as well as your heritage, Duke Riley.”

You felt a sizzling tension in the air, and the room seemed to shrink around you. Your heart hammered in your chest as you took a step backward, watching the power dynamics unfold before you. Aelor's grip on his sister's arm tightened slightly, as if to hold her back from lunging at Simon. His eyes never left Simon, a silent warning that he would not tolerate any more disrespect.

You heard of her marriage to her older brother, Aelor, something your husband Simon had only whispered about in the dead of night. His words painted Aelora as a cunning and ruthless leader, feared and revered by all who knew her. Yet, in the brief moments you had spent with her, you saw a hint of vulnerability, a softness that did not align with the cold steel you heard so much about. It was as if she was two people in one, a complex dance of fiery temper and guarded emotion.

“You can't be serious, Simon.” you hissed. “That would be incest.”

Aelora's gaze swung towards you, and for a moment you felt the full brunt of her fury. “In our world, the royal world, such trivial matters are overlooked for the sake of alliances and power. The union of a sister and brother is not so uncommon if it secures the throne or prevents a war.”

'No wonder Soap wished for her to be wed to someone other than you,' You thought, looking at Aelor. 'Soap, bless his soul, was always too kind for his own good. Though with her own rumours of madness in the royal court. It is really that much of a wonder you would rather have my older sister wed without the interruption of either me or my husband.' You spoke with a calmness that belied the chaos in your mind.

'Now, if you'll excuse us, Duke and Duchess Riley, we have matters of state to attend to.' Aelora said coldly, her eyes never leaving Simon. 'Do not make us regret our decision to extend this olive branch tonight. It is not one we shall repeat.'

You couldn't help but notice the possessiveness in Aelor's touch on Aelora, the way his eyes flashed with a mix of anger and protection when Simon spoke. It was clear that the bond between the siblings was not just political, but deeply personal. As they turned to leave, you felt a strange sense of relief mixed with fear. The air in the room was thick with unspoken threats, and you didn't want to be caught in the crossfire of their power struggle. Strangely enough, you felt like you wanted to, needed to prove yourself to Aelora, to show her that you weren't just a pawn.

Simon prevented Aelora from leaving by placing a hand firmly on the door frame. “Hold your tongue, Aelora. You may be the crown's favourite, but do not forget who holds the purse strings here.”

“Your funds are not required for that wedding. You ruined it by your own choices, actions, and words. To act without thought of consequence. How would you feel if it was your older sister?” Aelora now calmer after Aelor had retired for the night.

“How would you know what I feel?” Simon replied, his voice laced with bitterness.

“Why did you think I asked in the first place? Do you not comprehend my questions, or should I ask for your wife to translate them in even plainer English for your northern ears?” Aelora countered.

Simon's jaw clenched at her words, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the door frame. “You think you're so clever, don't you? You and your fancy words. But let me remind you, I am the Duke of this land, and you are but a pawn in the grand scheme of things.”

“I am a grand princess, soon to be grand duchess, heed my warning.” Aelora reminded him with a raised an eyebrow at his temperament. “What do you think you gain from this?”

Simon took a deep breath, his chest puffing out as he tried to maintain his pride. “I want what’s best for my family. I want peace and stability, not a marriage that could ruin us all!”

“'Ruin us all?' or ruin your leverage over someone else?” Aelora questioned. “Your sister-in-law seeks a marriage alliance not a marriage complication. What she may or may not have done is not up for contention. Now or tomorrow.”

Her tone was cold and precise, cutting through the room's tension like a knife slicing through the stillness of the night. The candles flickered as if even they felt the intensity of the exchange. Simon's face reddened, his hand slammed down on the armrest of his chair.

“The decision has been made, Duke Riley. You will respect it," Aelora continued, her voice unyielding. “Your selfishness and spite will not dictate the future of my family. Her sister is not a tool for you to manipulate.”

Simon took a step closer to Aelora, his own anger now fully ignited. “And what gives you the right to make decisions for her? You're not even her blood!”

“Do you really think kindness should only be shown from blood alone? The term is Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” Aelora countered again. “We will speak of this in the morn.”

Her words echoed in the corridor as she and Aelor left, leaving you and Simon in a room that felt colder than it had before. The silence was deafening, filled only with the distant sound of the castle's night watch. You stared at the spot where Aelora had been standing, her presence lingering like a storm had just passed.

A captured moonlight in a body of a human, porcelain, alabaster, as if the sun never reached her skin. Albino is the term you heard people use for her condition.Her eyes, a stark contrast to her pale visage, were a deep shade of crimson, so dark they were almost black, fringed with thick lashes that cast shadows on her high cheekbones. Her hair, like spun white, cascaded down her back in curls, a stark contrast to the crimson dress that clung to her slender frame. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, as if she was floating rather than walking. The room grew quiet as she entered, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and power.

Aelora took her seat at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the assembled nobility. You watched as the lords and ladies bowed their heads in respect, some with genuine fear, others with veiled loathing. Her brother, Aelor, took his place beside her, his own eyes a slightly paler shade of the same crimson. His posture was regal, his expression unreadable, yet his hand remained possessively on Aelora's shoulder.

Aelor's finger nails digging, biting into Aelora's flesh, reminded her of the gravity of the situation. She felt his tension, his silent support, his unspoken rage. It was a rare show of vulnerability from the stoic Grand Duke, and it sent a shiver down her spine. You saw it as a testament to their bond, one that seemed unbreakable even in the face of a potential political crisis. Though the placement of his hand seemed far more intimate for a sibling relationship.

You brought this up with your husband, the intimate touch from Aelor to aelora. When you got to bed, you couldn't help but bring it up with Simon. "Simon, why do you think Aelor holds Aelora so closely?"

Simon's eyes grew distant as he thought. "It's not just affection. It's more than that. It's a silent message to everyone here. A declaration of ownership, of protection. He's telling us all that she's his, and no one messes with his own."