Ad Astra Per Aspera -- Tord x Reader
Some of you may recognize this from a very old poll I posted. I want to make it clear that this series is HEAVILY inspired by the fic "Colonel's Row" by LizzyGal on Ao3. For any of my Baron Zemo girlies, I highly recommend it. Also, this series will have a lot of speaking in Norwegian. I used Google Translate, so I apologize for any errors. Enjoy!
So many things can change in just one year.
The silence of the new house gave you ample time to sort through your thoughts, organizing the silverware into their proper sections of the kitchen drawer and your feelings into their proper sections of your brain. It was the last thing left to unpack in the kitchen. You had a lot left to unpack in yourself.
Where had you been exactly one year ago?
Certainly not here. Not standing in a tidy, family-sized kitchen. Not unpacking the boxes scattered around the house, moving into a picturesque suburban neighborhood. The dark, rich wood was offset by gray marble countertops and light colored walls. The warm, sticky July air seeped in, the thermostat untouched.
No, not here. One year ago, you would’ve been in the snow. Boots crunching along hidden paths, hands tucked into thick coat jackets. Laughing with your patrol group under the twinkling, starry sky. Yelling over the cacophony of voices in the mess hall. Playing pool badly in the rec room. Lying on the floor in the training room while your platoon mocked you. Anywhere but here.
The sound of a door closing brought you back to the present. Tord grumbled softly under his breath as something that sounded heavy and metal clattered inside the cardboard box in his hands.
“Jævla tyngdekraft og dritt. Jeg ville ha gjort denne dritten nyttig hvis jeg var Gud. Faen.”
You sent a sharp glare in his direction – which he promptly ignored – as he set the box down beside the kitchen door. His hair was slightly damp with sweat. He must have gotten done bringing his boxes of engineering bits and bobs into the garage. His strength and dexterity with only one arm was, admittedly, impressive.
The sight of Tord with his natural hair color was still so unusual.
When did he become Tord in your mind?
You rationalized it by separating him into two people. Red Leader was the man from before; caramel brown hair, stiff uniform, scary metal arm and booming voice. The first few months after the incident, it was hard to train yourself out of saluting every time he entered the room. It was easier now that he’d changed. Tord was the man standing in front of you. He didn’t seem like the untouchable idol that glared down at you from propaganda posters. Not anymore. He felt more human like this.
“If that’s the last of the boxes, could you go check on Hilde? She’s in her room. I can start unpacking the living room.”
“Is something wrong with her?”
“She’s a 10 year old girl, in a brand new country, living with two people that she barely knows, after having faced a horrible tragedy that no child should experience. Of course there’s something wrong.”
Tord sighed softly, glancing over at the stairwell to the second floor.
“Fine. But I can’t promise I can get through to her.”
ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
Hilde’s room was achingly empty. Blank white walls illuminated by the sunlight shining through the open window. Dust particles in the air betrayed how unused the space was. Unopened cardboard boxes sat on the floor, pressed against the wall. Hilde’s remaining belongings sat inside, waiting to be brought out.
The girl herself was sitting on the bare mattress. Her gaze was fixed on the window, intently watching whatever was out there. Brown hair and brown eyes, a distant, melancholy expression. She looked strikingly similar to her father.
Tord remembered him. A strong lieutenant. He and his wife had been loyal soldiers of his for years. They were so excited to learn that they were expecting. Tord had visited the maternity ward when Hilda was first born, witnessed the way her parents cried holding her.
He ignored the throbbing in his shoulder, an old ache from what was missing, and moved forward to take a seat next to Hilda. The mattress dipped under his weight. She didn’t look away from the window, so he turned to follow her line of sight.
Across the street, in the yard of one of the copy and paste suburban houses, children were playing. Five of them, all seemingly around her age. They were playing football, their laughter and squealing echoing through the neighborhood.
Tord furrowed his eyebrows. Not football. Soccer.
Tord hummed in agreement. Growing up in the main base of the Red Army, Hilde had been exposed to a melting pot of nationalities and languages. Her parents made sure she was fluent in Norwegian and English. She’d also picked up bits and pieces from other soldiers – but most of those were swears, so she wasn’t going to tell adults about them.
“Er det en god ting eller en dårlig ting?”
Hilde looked at Tord now, thinking about that question. The faintest hint of freckles dusted her cheeks. Those amber eyes held a sadness far too profound for a girl that young.
“Bedre enn du gjorde basen?”
“Helt sikkert. Ingen stinkende soldater her.”
Hilda began laughing after she said that. Tord’s own shoulders shook with silent laughter. After a few seconds, her giggles died down.
“Sendte froken [Name] deg inn hit?”
“Ja, vi ville bare sjekke hvordan du har det...”
Even if you were the one who had sent Tord in here, he was also concerned about the young girl. She had been silent ever since the car ride. Both of them felt a personal responsibility for Hilda outside of the legal papers declaring her their adopted daughter.
"Jeg har det bra. Jeg lover. Jeg liker å bo med dere to."
"Flink. Vi vil sørge for at du får en lykkelig barndom her."
"Du må sørge for at frøken [Name] også er fornøyd! Hun er din sanne kjærlighet!"
Tord’s whole body froze. True love?? Where in the world had Hilda gotten that idea? Well… she was only a child. In her mind, anyone who is married must be in love. She wouldn’t understand the situation that you and Tord were in, the complexities of a marriage for purely legal purposes.
"Ikke bekymre deg for [Name] og meg. Vi vil tilpasse oss ting."
There were so many things that the two of you had chosen not to tell Hilda. She was still fragile, grieving her parents at such a young age. Stressing her out more would be damaging to her. You hadn’t even told her that she almost ended up in foster care.
"Gå og vaer med henne! Vaer romantisk!”
Hilda scooted closer to Tord on the empty bed, using both of her hands to try to push him off. Of course, he didn’t budge an inch. He grinned at her attempts.
"Ja! Ektemenn og koner er ment a vaere romantiske med hverandre!"
Hilda pouted when she realized it was fruitless to try to get him to move. He was undefeated in Red Army. Tord reluctantly nodded to the stubborn girl.
"Jeg skal se hva jeg kan gjøre. Ikke få opp håpet."
He reached out and ruffled her dark brown curls. It made her giggle. Yes, Hilda was going to be just fine. She just needed time to adjust. Tord opened up her window to let the fresh air in, then left her to her devices to start unpacking her boxes.
Back in the living room, you were sitting on the carpeted floor with your legs tucked underneath you. Your hair was tied back to try to survive the heat, but some strands had come loose and were falling into your face. Two open cardboard boxes stared at you, filled to the brim with books belonging to both you and Tord. Fiction, non fiction, even some scientific studies that certainly did not belong to you. Sorting through the books and organizing them onto the awaiting bookshelf was the task you’d chosen to focus on out of the plethora of things that needed to be done. You just needed to figure out an organization system for them. The faint throbbing of a headache loomed on the horizon of your brain.
You were so focused on the books, you didn’t notice Tord come downstairs. His extremely trained instincts for stealth also didn’t help.
A heavy hand landed on your shoulder. The deep, base instincts trained into you by your superiors flipped on in an instant. You were flipping the person over your shoulder before the rational side of your brain could process it. As you rolled, the other person used that momentum to keep rolling, pinning you underneath them.
Tord’s sharp silver eyes staring down at you made your logic finally snap back in. You huffed and dropped your head back against the carpet as all the adrenaline slipped out of your system. Despite the fact that you’d attacked him, Tord was giving you that lazy grin of his.
“Still pretty good for only having one arm. Don’t you think?”
He sat back, giving you room to sit up. Tord gently tapped your damp forehead with his finger.
“We’re civilians now. You’ll have to try to resist that soldier in there. Anyone else wouldn’t have taken too kindly to being assaulted.”
You gave Tord a stern glare, but you knew he was right. However, he knew as well as you did that it wouldn’t be an easy process. Not wanting to think about it, you turned your focus back to the books.
“She’s still adjusting. I think she will be better, in time.”
Tord pulled the other cardboard box closer to him to help you. Even if he was slower in the task, he didn’t like feeling useless.
“Do you think we should find her a therapist?”
He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes as he added another book to the fiction stack.
“Oh, that’ll go over well. ‘Yes, doctor, here is our adopted child, who has been deeply traumatized by watching her parents die in the illegal army that they were part of. Can you fix her?’”
You groaned and dropped a book into a stack, not even looking at it. You flopped onto your back, closing your eyes against the bright sunlight. That throbbing in your head was getting stronger.
Tord pressed his lips together, staring down at you. Hilda’s words echoed in his ears. She is your true love. Be with her. Be romantic. Ha. He didn’t even really know you. Before the tragedy, you were just another soldier, a last name on a jacket patch that he would forget in an hour. It sounded cruel, but there were hundreds of soldiers under Tord’s command. He couldn’t possibly remember them all. No, his first memory of you was that day. Struggling under the rubble of his office, pinned under that damn metal rafter that he’d always hated. It was an eyesore, he’d say. It was almost his death. Until you appeared, the full moon forming a halo around you as you frantically pried the metal up enough for him to climb out. In the dizziness of his blood loss, Tord had thought you were an angel.
You were a stranger. Someone he knew nothing about, tied to him only by a child that belonged to neither of you and the fake last name you shared.
“You need to get some rest. You’ve been at this for hours.”
“I’m fine. Staying busy keeps me –”
That tone made your eyes snap open. It was one you hadn’t heard in months now.
“I’ll make it an order if I have to.”
You frowned. You gave in. Standing from your spot, you sent him a sour look.
“That was low. I’ll just lay on the couch.”
Within 5 minutes, you were asleep.
ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
“Tord, I’m not eating that.”
“It’s my favorite childhood dinner! A Norwegian classic.”
This was a new sort of mission. Arguing with Tord in the seafood aisle of the grocery store. He was trying to pitch lutefisk for dinner, which you were having none of. Hilda sat happily in the cart, doodling on the 50 cent magazine from the store entrance.
When the two of you had decided to adopt Hilda, there was a lot of stress that came with it. Neither of you were ready to be parents. Tord could barely take care of himself, let alone another small creature. Let alone a child. The hour before going to the grocery store was spent researching the diet needed for a child to be healthy, then turning those things into ideas for meals.
“Tante! Can we get some popsicles?”
Hilda looked up from the handlebar mustache she was drawing on a beautiful actress. Giving you those puppy dog eyes that made you weak.
“...I guess it is really hot outside. Okay, we can get a pack. Here, these are the ones we always had when I was a kid.”
You gently placed the big cluster of popsicles in the cart.
“Oh, so we can have things from your childhood now?”
The sun was setting by the time you arrived home. It had cooled down a few degrees, but the air was still warm and sticky. There were very few stars popping out, unable to shine due to all the light pollution. It made you miss the galaxies of stars you could see in Norway.
“Wow, you let your husband get a big car like this?”
A brunette woman walked across the asphalt to join the three of you in your driveway. She’d clearly come from the house across from yours. The thick, wooden ‘Welcome Home’ sign on the door made your eye twitch.
You slammed closed the door of the Bronco a little harder than necessary.
The woman was taken aback, but tried to recover with a sly giggle, giving you a knowing look as you opened the trunk door.
“Yours in name, but I bet he finds every excuse to drive it.”
Tord joined the two of you with Hilda at his hip. You watched with a sick satisfaction as the woman’s eyes landed on Tord’s right shoulder, where his arm should’ve been. She looked pale. You passed Tord and Hilda both some grocery bags and sent them inside. The woman composed herself, holding out a hand to you.
“I am so sorry about getting off on the wrong foot. I’m Wendy Abbott.”
Oh, maybe you were being too judgemental. It would do you some good to make some friends with the moms around the neighborhood. Being the isolated weirdos wouldn’t do you any favors. Plus, you could get some tips on how to actually raise a child. You accepted her hand and gave her your name in return. The last name you’d put on your forged legal documents didn’t spill from your lips as naturally as you would’ve liked.
“Lund? That makes sense. Your husband sounds so… foreign.”
Ugh, when did basic human interaction become so tiring? Wendy wasn’t even a pain to talk to, she was being polite and just trying to get to know you. Maybe Hilda wasn’t the only one who needed therapy.
“I’m sorry to sound rude, Wendy, but I’ve got stuff that needs to go in the refrigerator…”
“Oh! No problem at all! It’s my fault for bothering you so late. I’ll let you get back to your night.”
You watched her cross back over the street and disappear into the house across from yours. It was neat and put together.
