The bickering between the two never seemed to end and now here they were standing in your med bay bloodied and bruised threatening to start the fight again. “I’ll fuckin put a bullet right through that stupid mask” “watch your tone Sargent we both know you’d miss”. Soap was about to wind up his fist. “Are those fucking bubbles?”
“You two done now? Or do you need your own wand” you stood holding tiny dinosaur themed bubble tubes, bubbles actively floating around you. A pink one open in your hand. Raising your eyebrows waiting for a response from the two giants.
“Gimme the Rex” soap snatched a blue T-Rex bottle from you.
“That means triceratops for you Lieutenant. Now sit and blow so I can patch you two up”
That’s how they learned you were a school nurse before coming to their base.
(Both sat on the table kicking their feet trying to see who could blow the biggest bubble while actively getting stitches)
The conference room is bursting with activity so early in the morning, packed like sardines now with new KorTac friends. It's meant to be an indefinite stay, the one-four-one allying with a handful of KorTac mercenaries. It had been a few weeks now, and they had proven themselves quickly, powerful allies both in the field and behind closed doors. No one had any reason to object the new additions thus far.
Price had chosen well, taking your suggestions on his pickings much to your pleasure. Years ago, before your own recruitment into the task force, you had spent a few months as a freelance medic under the French Parliament. You had worked closely then with a few squadrons in your time, but mostly under their Colonel before Price had hand picked you for the one-four-one.
You recall greeting the quiet Colonel with open arms on the helipad, a long overdue reunion. Price hadn't questioned your eagerness for the Colonel when you volunteered him, assuming naturally from your time freelance that you harbored some lasting bonds. Little did your captain know until after your input, how deep you bond truly ran with the Colonel.
Now, arms laden with a precarious tower of hot to go cups, you bustle towards that busy conference room. You were running late this morning, held up in the med-bay with an injury that was too stubborn to heal properly on a newer recruit.
Unaware of the conversation behind the thick wooden doors before you, and too focused on your leaning tower of caffeine to listen in, you kick open the door none the wiser to the towering Colonel's paper thin patience. You call into the room cheerfully, “Hello! Bonjour soldiers! Another beautiful day today, yes?”
A cacophony of laughter greets you, filling your ears and cementing you in the doorway. The door falls against you with a soft thud, though you hardly register the feeling of the stacked cups shifting precariously in your arms. Even Ghost is laughing, you notice, balaclava puffing with each quiet chuckle.
"Oh?" You breathe, lost for words with the sheer absurdity of the moment. Something had happened, something said that you had just barely missed. König, with his back to you just a heartbeat before, now stares at you in horror. You don't need to see his full face to notice, and you stare back just as shocked and confused as the laughter continues to swell in the room. Soap wheezes, folded over his propped knee.
Crossing the conference room in three swift strides, König is at your side, shock still prevalent in the dilation of his pupils. Tilting your head up to meet him, your greeting comes out more like a question than a fond hello.
“Bonjour, mon ange de la mort.” Had you done something? Had you put yourself at the butt of some shitty joke? Had you somehow ruined a moment that you couldn't possibly have prepared for?
"Hello-" König clears his throat, trying to cover the straining nerves in his voice. “Vögelchen. Guten morgen.”
His accent had faded a bit throughout the years, though it always came back more prevalent when his nerves got the best of him. You had teased him over the years, whenever you found a moment when your time zones lined up for a phone call, that he was speaking too much English. That you could tell when something was on his mind in the way his accent betrayed him.
He really was nervous. What in the hell happened before you got there?
Brushing against you, König takes the brunt of the door away from your shoulders, one hand hovering beside the tower of drinks stacked in your arms. He ushers you fully into the room with his other hand pressed gently against the small of your spine.
Your questions remaining unanswered, König hovers cautiously over your shoulder all the way to the head of the conference table. You dont miss the slicing stares he throws about the room as he all but curls around you. He had always been careful to remind himself of your size difference, but now the endearment only made more questions buzz through your mind.
“I brought coffee…” You offer, the laughter finally dying away. “And tea, of course, just how you like it, LT.”
“Much obliged.” Ghost grunts his thanks, his tone back to the level coolness you were familiar with. You attempt to catch the colonel’s eyes with each drink you pass, to no luck. You feel it boring into the back of your neck when you turn away, but darting away to glare at someone else the moment you turn to him.
“Are you lot well and done?” Price barks, brusquely marching through the conference room to take his place at the head of the table, without so much as a proper hello. He accepts the coffee set in his spot with a nod and quickly delves into the debriefing as the task force starts to take their seats.
With each drink now with their respective soldier, you find yourself settling between the visibly tense König and Gaz as Price drones on about this new case load. The report had already been brought to your desk the night before, König as well, and the two of you had studied up the night before in your office.
You wonder suddenly if something had been said: if the usually daunting and terrifying colonel had been caught creeping from your room in the early hours of the morning. If they had seen through the façade of his late night escape and decided to grill your lover like a group of school girls afterwards.
It was none of their business, and you find yourself rolling your eyes at the childish antics these adult men seemed to still hold so dearly to themselves. However, you still silently hope that nobody had been awake late enough to hear what you had done after the two of you overviewed today's mission. It had been many months since you two had seen one another, felt another. You weren't going to waste any spare moment you had together.
You half listen as Price catches the rest of the task force up to speed, trying to shoo the memories away from showing across your cheeks.
+++
“You never filled me in on the gossip this morning, Colonel.” Dropping the load of bags at your feet, you let your hands rest on your hips. Busy preparing his own gear, with the helicopter's blades slicing through the air as it rumbles to life, you worry that König hadn't heard you.
König flashes you a glance. You watch him pointedly, going as far as to dramatically cross your arms and tap your foot against the asphalt as you wait. He had kept as much distance as possible from you after the debriefing, and even now he takes his sweet time adjusting and readjusting each of his straps before looking in your direction again.
Like hell if you were going to let him get away from this without explaining.
"König."
“Oh.. that. Yes, of course..”
Stepping over your dropped cargo, you plant yourself as close to König as possible, practically stepping on the toes of his boots. You press a hand gently to his sternum, and follow his eyes as they trace up from your wrist over your chest, neck, and face, but never quite reaching your eyes.
"Need I remind you, schnecke, that I will be the one tending to your wounds, should you get any? Do you really want to avoid me?"
“No Vogelchen..” He sighs, his eyes dark and squinting against the wind whipping around the two of you. “I might… fuck... ich hätte vielleicht scherzhaft gedroht, die nächste person, die ich sah, zu schlagen, und diese person warst du.”
It takes a moment for your brain to unscramble the translation, but you can't stop the dumb smile from creeping across your cheeks as it comes to you. You laugh, clutching at your sides as the laughter pulses through you. König watches you warily, unsure if he was in the clear now or not.
“Mon ange,” You chuckle warmly, setting a hand over his heart. With you other you cup his chin, guiding his face to align with yours. All of this anxiety and confusion for a poorly timed joke. You feel the tension ebb away under your touch.
"You wouldn't dare," You add cheekily, dragging his face closer. His eyes glitter with a smile you know lies hidden beneath his mask as he bends to rest the crest of his helmet against your forehead. You stand there for many moments, lost in the beat of the helicopter blades and each other.
When he straightens, König stands a little bit taller now that the tension had dissolved between you. Brushing a gloved thumb over your lips, you relish in the faux kiss and smile.
Beyond the sculpted bulk of König's arm, as you lean to retrieve your supplies, you catch Gaz in the distance passing what you can only assume is cold hard cash over to Soap, who celebrates excitedly. You rolls your eyes, the hope you had at keeping your relationship under wraps now gone with the wind.
You make a mental note to beat Soap's ass after you return from this takedown, even more so as he feigns innocent confusion as you and König close the distance.
“Bonne chance, mon amour. Être bien.”
Translations:
Bonjour, mon ange de la mort - Good morning, my angel of death
Vögelchen. Guten morgen - Little bird. Good morning.
Schnecke - Snail (a term of endearment for a loved one, usually reminding them to come out their shell)
Ich hätte vielleicht scherzhaft gedroht, die nächste person, die ich sah, zu schlagen, und diese person warst du. - I might have jokingly threatened to beat the next person i saw and that person was you
Mon ange - my angel
Bonne chance, mon amour. Être bien. - Good luck my love, be well
im so sorry if google translate did me dirty with any of these translations, a girl is trying her hardest out here.
The poll is over, so now I'm introducing the blog's new entry.
She will interact with you to lend a hand, talk when Price is busy, and give the Captain a hard time.
You can ask her whatever you want. She won't always be there, of course; sometimes she'll show up when you least expect it!
You will also find this post in the pinned post.
"Yes, I'm a medic. Yes, I'll help you."
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Basic Introduction:
Name: Rowan Delaney
Call sigh: "Doc"
Gender: female (She/Her)
Sexuality: Bisexual
Age: 30 yo
Height: 1.68 cm
Rank: Sergeant
Specialization: Military doctor.
Nationality: American.
Languages: English, Spanish, Italian.
Physical appearance:
Fit, nicely tanned, with short brown hair, she always wears her cowgirl hat and boots. Dark eyes and a few scars here and there on her body. The most obvious is the one on her lip.
Some information about her:
She joined the U.S. Army early. She then specialized as a field medic and became a sergeant a few years later.
She was transferred to the British Army for some unknown reason. There she met Laswell and Price. Currently he is part of the 141 and is responsible for managing the base's infirmary.
Personality:
Pragmatic, Joking, loyal, Empathetic, stubborn and respectful. She often clashes with Price because of his way of thinking. They have a push-pull relationship.
