König found the fucker who gave you your cold, sergeant fuckface over here’s been coughing out in the open air for the last two, three minutes.
“Cough inside your arm,” he finally says, tone severely curt. The sergeant was going to oblige, what with König ranking higher but something about that snappy delivery made him talk back. “What’s your problem?” He goes, omitting the word “sir”. Certainly a choice, not a brave one.
The Colonel’s left eye twitches. His problem? His problem is being too overprotective of you.
“My problem?” He says. “My problem is you spreading your fucking germs everywhere. My problem is that my wife, who was here, working with me, caught your fucking cold and has been sick like a dog for six straight days.”
The chair’s legs scrape against the floor as König abruptly stood, “Six days, sergeant. Six days and six nights, I’ve had to stay by her side hearing her hack and wheeze her lungs out, she doesn’t eat, barely drinks anything and you’re wondering what my problem is?”
The sergeant shrinks into his seat as your husband stalks towards him and almost grabbed the man by the collar, but he held himself by some miracle. “Cough into your fucking sleeve next time.”
He looked like he was about to piss himself, good. The sergeant nods, unable to pry his eyes off the behemoth who stood before him, then he scrambles out of his seat and leaves König alone in the break room, never in his life has he seen the bastard move so fast, not even during drills.
Hopefully he got the message. Now, all he needs to do is get through the rest of the day so he can return home and cuddle beside you, and hear you whine and complain about being sick.
Poor Schatzi.





