#we ballin

The glare you were shooting König could have knocked his knees out from under him, not like the giant Austrian would ever let you know you were getting to him. You were promised to be done with this sort of shit. One team, you were promised. The only guys you would have to take care of. Now this. The order lay on König’s desk in front of you, bold letters stating your callsign and the request (more of a demand, really). Some British team needed a medic for a mission in a nearby area, and somehow, your expertise with treating the strangeness the military complex breeds is exactly what they want. 

“You know this is not what I was promised. These aren’t my men.”

“It’ll be just a couple of weeks, Schatzi. We’ll be just fine here. This Laswell is very insistent.”

“The poor medical staff won’t be.” Your bark of laughter comes off much sharper than usual. “Does this Laswell know I’m not just some rent-a-doc?”

“Just look what they’re paying, Erbsenzähler.” 

König pointed almost angrily at the paper, his tone stern, but his eyes gave him away, glinting in amusement at your frustration. You huff, flipping through the stack of papers until you find the ‘Compensation’ section. For as glad as you are that all of this is in English, the overwhelming amount of paperwork makes you wish you were illiterate. Though the amount listed for pay definitely turns that frown upside down, a chuckle escapes König as your mood shifts immediately. 

“You really meant it when you said demanding König. How in the hell did they manage to find that kind of funding?”

“They manage to find it when they want to take unser Sani.” His tone is almost prideful, but you know he’s preening like a bird under that hood. 

Your goodbyes to the team were supposed to be quick. König had already stolen you away to make sure he knew how to run any of the kitchen equipment, and any favourite recipes were written down with all the quirks of how to make them your way. Horangi and Krueger were, as usual, being little shits (affectionately) about the whole situation, teasingly complaining that you were replacing them and how cruel you were to leave your little brood behind. The unamused glares sent their way seemed just to rile them up even more. Nikto just stared quietly as you packed, leaning against the wall of your (basically shared at this point) room. This wasn’t the peaceful silence the two of you often shared, the air charged with all the emotions radiating off the silent man. 

“You know I won’t be gone long.”

Only silence met your offering of comfort. Then a shuffling noise, his mask coming to rest against the back of your head. 

“We …. worry, мой Киса. Not for you, but of the men you are sent to.”

“They will behave, мой Родной. When have you ever known me to take any sort of shit?”

The Russian he taught you falling from your lips so easily makes him rumble against your back, almost a purr if not for the gravelly base tone. A gloved hand reaches around for your right hand, pulling it back gently as something cold slips onto your finger. It’s a simple band, gold exterior with a silver inner lining. Something that speaks volumes compared to the quiet man nuzzling into your neck.

“In case they get any ideas. Also, a tracker if it all goes to shit. Encrypted, just for us.”

Your first instinct is to tease, coo about how soft he was becoming. The strong, frozen man melting in the palm of your hand. But that’d just make him retreat, back to that frozen tundra of his mind. So you just smiled, rubbing your head against his. 

“Thank you, Nikto. It’s perfect.” 

That earns you another happy grumble. The peaceful silence is restored. The last goodbyes on the tarmac are quick: a fist bump from König, crushing hugs from Krueger and Horangi, and a final head bump from Nikto. The glances between you, the ring, and Nikto do not go unnoticed, the nosy bastards. You give one final wave as you lift off, leaving your boys behind before turning to the other occupant of the cabin as your smile fades. 

“Laswell, I presume?”

The flight is filled with small chat, basic getting-to-know-you stuff you’d thought you’d have finally escaped. But Laswell was an interesting subject. Short but not condescending, as if regarding you as an equal without any of the actual formal qualifications. It was refreshing. Hell, she even laughed at your remark about the money being too good to refuse. 

“Had to fight several generals to get you that pay,” she laughed over the mic. “You handle your group well, and we need someone who can handle more difficult cases.”

“How difficult are we talking?”

“Standard trauma pack mentality, not trusting of those outside of the group. Especially those who have to see them at their weakest.” As she nods to you. “They neglect medical checks to the extreme, opting to treat themselves or only go if dire. I can barely even get MacTavish to listen half the time during briefings.”

“They gonna be happy to know you brought me in? Outsider for medical seems to be the thing they’d hate the most.”

“You handle your team well. I have no doubts you’ll be able to wrangle these arseholes into shape in no time. The most you’ll have to worry about is MacTavish being a slag.”

“A what now?”

The rest of the flight was spent almost solely as gossip time between you and Laswell, learning many new things about the team you’re going to and Laswell herself. Like the fact that she has a wife (apparently a lovely woman) and that she suspects the men have some sort of homoerotic bond with each other (“They will never admit it, too proud.”). Even the pilot, Nikolai, chimes in over the comms to add some more fuel to the fire, as well as introduce himself. Landing smoothly on the tarmac, Laswell stepped off and guided you over to where two men stood, one sporting a Union Jack ballcap and one with a boonie hat. 

“Laswell! Good to see you!” The boonie hat man spoke up. “Captain Price. This here is Kyle, or ‘Gaz’.” You nodded politely to them both as Laswell spoke up. 

“Where are the other boys, John? They run for the hills already?”

“Ghost is training, ma’am. Soap is running some rookies into the ground.” Gaz responds. 

“I told you not to call me ma’am, boy.” She huffs, walking her way towards one of the buildings. “Price, call those two muppets in so we can have a proper meet and greet.”

Price nods, walking off towards another building as you and Gaz follow behind Laswell into a grey stone building. The walk is quiet as you follow her through a maze of corridors, finally ending up in a meeting room of sorts. She motions to the chairs surrounding a table, letting you sit down, and plopping your sack of belongings on the floor. Gaz takes a seat opposite you as Laswell grabs a stack of files from a cabinet and places them before you. 

“Personnel files for all of the boys. Should be easier to work through than pulling information from them.” 

“We’re not that bad…” Gaz starts, quickly falling quiet as Laswell shoots him a very tired mom look. Both heads turn back to you, a chuckle slipping out at the situation. 

“Sorry, sorry.” You apologize, cooling your face into a smile. “How long til you think the others will be here?”

“If Price has managed to wrangle Ghost into actually coming, not long.” Laswell checks her watch. 

“Well, if we’ve got time,” You flip through the files until you find Gaz’s. “Anything you wanna add to this before I start to dig through it?”

“You’re just looking for medical stuff, right?” He pauses as you nod. “Then no. Should be all up to date.”

“You’re not getting out of a basic checkup, if that’s your hope.” Your smile grows as he sits a little straighter in his chair.

Laswell’s face finally cracks a smirk as the door opens, Price returning with two new men in tow, pushing them towards the chairs. One is shorter, a half-tamed mohawk sprouting from his head. The other is built like a bus, tall and broad, with a skull designed balaclava covering most of his head. Mohawk man’s eye skate to you, smile pulling at his lips before sitting and shifting his attention to Laswell. The other just sat, eyes trying to bore into your head. 

“Thank you, John. This is your new medic, call sign Lector. They’ll be with you for the next couple of weeks. Play nice.”

“Ta fock kind o call sign is ‘Lector’?” Mohawk cuts in as Laswell shoots him a glare, Price smacking him lightly upside the back of his head. 

“This is Sergeant MacTavish, or Soap. And this,” She gestures to the other man. “Is Lieutenant Ghost.” 

“Nice to meet you all. As Laswell said, I’ll be your medic for the time you guys are here, so hopefully everything will go smoothly, and we can get home safe.” 

“Ye dinae answer ma question.” Soap piped up, quickly scooting his chair away from Price’s next swing, Gaz silently laughed at his antics while Laswell just rolled her eyes and muttered something about them being children. 

“What kind of call sign is Soap?” You shoot back, a smirk on your lips as you cross your arms. “Answer for an answer.”

“A’m good a cleanin house.” He says almost proudly. 

“He also didn’t bathe for weeks at basic,” Gaz adds, earning a glare and a thrown pen from the Scot as your smirk grows. 

“Yer turn, Lector,” Soap stretches the pronunciation. 

“A fellow recruit was harassing me during basic training. I ate his finger with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” You laughed. “The Silence of the Lambs was all the rage, so I share a name with the good ol’ Dr. Hannibal.”

The room was silent for a beat, then two. What broke the silence was a chuckle from Laswell, the men’s eyes flicking to her face. 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be just fine.” 

“Any other questions?” You smile at the group. “I’ve gotta look over your files before I start calling names for a basic medical check.” 

“You married?”

The question comes from the one you least expected, Ghost. His head tilted to the side, one hand nonchalantly pointing to the ring visible on your right hand. All the others zone in on it immediately, eyes flicking between you and the ring expectantly. 

“Something like that.” You shrug. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie. It’s not like you weren’t planning to marry him if he let you. It’s not like he made any indication to letting you go; buying this ring alone is more than enough to solidify he was at least semi-serious. He’d get a kick out of you calling him your husband. He preened in private to you calling him yours anyway. 

“What’re they like?” Price asks, another question from someone you’d least expect. 

You take a minute to think. What you know of Nikto and what he shows to the world are two very different people. You know his nightmares, what makes him laugh, and how to soothe him when his mind runs too loud. You know he loves to nuzzle his face to yours, his way of a kiss without having to show his face. You know what tea he likes in the mornings, what foods he loves to help you make, and what books he settles down to read with you on nights he can’t find sleep.  You know his silent fears, that one day he might not come home to you, that he might break you himself. You know the hidden man beneath the shell that he shows others, your Nikto. You know he’s probably watching the tracker now, checking in to make sure you’re still safe. 

“Wanted in multiple countries for being a war criminal,” You sigh lovingly. 

Schatzi - term of endearment ("honey/dear" meant in a familial context here)

Erbsenzähler - teasing insult meaning "pea counter", someone who worries over details

unser Sani - "our medic", Sani being the informal/friendly term

мой Киса - term of endearment ("my kitty", joke between the two)

мой Родной - term of endearment ("my own", refers to a bond more intimate than just being loved)