The first meeting had gone ... well enough. Now just time to actually get these boneheads to do the worst thing they could ever imagine .... Trust!
(Still Nikto x Reader, just some platonic 141 x reader for this mini-series.)
Over the next few days, winning the 141 over was no easy task. Laswell had not been kidding. Distrustful was almost underselling their attitude, especially when they eyed the giant files you had hauled to your assigned room in their section of the barracks. You couldn’t really blame them; the contents of their files alone gave more than enough reasons not trust anyone, much less some strange medic. It probably didn’t help that you openly admitted to being ‘married’ to a war criminal and having maimed a fellow soldier, but honesty is better now than them finding out later. But dogs of the military are simple at their baseline, which gives you a good idea of how to worm your way into their good graces.
First came the problem of food, which had to be tackled first night. If the state of KorTac’s kitchen was bad when you first arrived, this was somehow worse. Protein bars that were basically rocks, milk, out-of-date cereal, and the worst MRE flavors known to man. The only good thing you could find that they were willingly ingesting was the somewhat fresh tea bags you found hidden behind the horrifically bad instant coffee. Laswell had given you basically free access to any facilities you wanted, so a trip to a nearby store was in the cards. Teaching the boys how to cook before you were gone was high up on your to-do list, and learning how to shop was part of that criteria. You found the group in a common room and asked if any of them would like to join you, but the silent stares you received were more than enough to tell you they were uninterested and honestly needed time to regroup and process your existence.
So off to the store you went, picking up whatever foods you think they’d enjoy, as well as fresh foods and in-date cereal. You had to restrict yourself to certain meal ideas, as unfortunately, you are now stuck with a group of Brits (and one Scot), so anything ‘too spicy’ they may not eat. Dinner that night was something simple, just a vegetable and meat pot roast in a slow cooker you had managed to find in the back of a cabinet, still unopened. You had mentally doubled the recipe based on the size of the men, and if needed, any leftovers could always be saved. You had begun to work through some of the basics of the medical forms, just so you wouldn’t have to keep them forever in a med ward with you, when you heard a shuffling of feet coming into the small dining area you had set up in. Glancing up, you could see Soap and Gaz hovering near the door, as if a wall of smell was keeping them out. You laugh to yourself, remembering how similar the situation was to luring Krueger and Horangi out the first time, down to the way the two men before you were sniffing the air like some dogs.
“It’ll be done in about twenty minutes if you want to come sit,” You offered, just glancing up over the papers.
Surprisingly, the men actually took you up on your offer and joined you at the table. The conversation started slowly, with more basic questions like how you’d gotten into the military and all that, before it shifted from mild interrogation to casual teasing about military life, especially their poor dietary habits. Your story about the time you caught Krueger and Horangi attempting to grill on some clothes irons had Gaz full body wheezing as Soap tried to justify their actions, leading into several ‘recipes’ of things he had cooked on irons in his time. By the time the timer you had set on the stove went off, you noticed Price had weaseled his way into the room, chuckling low to himself as Gaz and Soap argued over the quality of hand-sanitizer-cooked spam. A gentle prod to Soap about wondering if Ghost would want some of the food had him rushing out of the room to find the large man, as if a herding dog on a mission. The meal had passed in easy conversation after Soap came back, nearly dragging Ghost along with him. You had gotten your serving and let the rest of the men go at it, any seconds or thirds they wanted, they were more than willing to have, something you gently reminded them over the course of the dinner (totally not pointedly at Ghost, who grabbed such a small first portion). Soap crowed over the dish, how his sisters made something similar whenever he heads home on leave, nearly begging you to promise to make it again. You just laughed and promised to make them a recipe booklet, so they’d always have it. You had found a small pocket notebook duct-taped to your door later, a small smile growing at the small label of “J. Price” on the back cover.
Wrangling them into basic medical checks went much more smoothly after that, starting with the most receptive men first. Gaz went easy enough, no major concerns other than some lingering back pain from a time he had fallen out of a helicopter (you had to have him explain it more than once). How he managed to just wave it off and keep working was beyond you. Soap was next easiest, living up to the slag label Laswell had warned as he flirted during the entire time, nothing troubling of note other than his continued diet habits (he really needed to stop eating those protein bars). Price was the next to pin down, mainly due to him actually being busy with work as a captain, so it was easy enough to just slip it into his schedule. He was also a flirt, though much more respectful about it than Soap. You were younger than him by a good ten years, but that wasn’t a deterrent if his “I'll think about it. But only because you asked so nicely,” response to your teasing scolding about his cigar habit was any indication.
Ghost was purposefully left for last. His file was the most redacted, a definite indication that he would be the least willing to trust you with any sort of vulnerability. But if the others could worm in a good word for you, the wall could be chipped away a little at a time from the inside. Best to let him come to you than for you to hunt him. It took much less time than you had expected, probably since Soap had once again dragged him to your door. Questions went quickly, and with Soap there, you were able to check any scars for healing without having to have him strip for you. Answers to questions were actually multiple words and not just grunts or stares, so you took that as a major win. Laswell certainly seemed excited about it when she saw that there were actually filed and complete medical checks for all of them.
The funny thing about integrating into a new team is not just all the new things you learn about your new teammates, but the things they learn about you. You weren’t the strangest person in the military they’d ever met, but you were certainly the strangest medic they had ever met. Soap certainly hadn’t met any other medic who laughed about having to relocate several limbs of a Lieutenant who had pissed off your husband (the guys had finally wormed out that it was, in fact, a husband). Gaz learned a new appreciation for being on any medic's good side when you were helping some younger medics, telling them to make the stitches tighter as the soldier beneath their fingers screamed. Price was consistently reminded in briefings how you are also technically a war criminal with each unhinged comment or suggestion made to the plan, having to remind you that they were not allowed to do that until you eventually just asked, “Well, what am I actually allowed to do?” He will never forget the shocked look on your face when you, in full seriousness, asked if you weren’t even allowed to maim enemies.
The strangest straw came on the night before deployment, final gear checks and weapon counts done before the morning. Soap had decided it would be a good idea to have a proverbial dick-measuring contest, to see who had done the most (he coined) badass thing in bed. Some silly contest to keep your minds out of what was to come, he had reasoned to the critical looks of you all. He decided that he’d start it off strong by dropping that he’d had a threesome or two, Price immediately following up with that he’d be invited to an orgy. The man then admitted he hadn't actually gone, but that “it was the 2000s, so lots were around anyway”. Gaz was next to admit he’d managed to bed several people in one night (all separate, he clarified), and shot back at Soap’s teasing of “Thas just a good night out a ta pub” with the fact that Soap had admitted his threesome partners lacked in the performance department. After much pestering, mainly by Soap, and grumbling about how ‘he’s not participating in this discussion’, Ghost finally mumbled out that he’d had a partner pass out cold from how long he’d been going down on them.
“Just means I was doing a good job,” He’d remarked over Soap’s loud cackling, Price nodding his head along in approval.
You were just trying to actively avoid Gaz’s confused gaze, so you didn’t burst out in laughter. Then it was your turn, all eyes turned and ears tuned in to see what would come out of your mouth. You had partners before, most usually lacking due to inexperience or plain old hubris, not really taking any pointers on how to better please you. With Nikto, it was a whole different ball game. It wasn’t just some mindless fucking (although sometimes it certainly was bordering on an animalistic level), but a physical comfort. He thought that was too simple, too childish a word for it. It was something where he could bare his whole self, you reflecting that sentiment in kind. For as often as it was for it to be an outlet for him to show you all the love he had that he couldn’t put into words, it still didn’t stop the two of you from getting up to some shenanigans.
“Ever been good enough to make them forget how to speak English?”
You can still remember the first time Nikto slipped back into his mother tongue, whispering all sorts of things into your ear as if you could understand just as he did. He still did on occasion, on nights where the thoughts and feelings were ripping through his chest and throat to get out, screaming louder than any choir of his voices ever had. It’s (secretly) a point of pride to you, being so dear to a man you loved entirely, to hear his unfiltered, unrestricted thoughts. He would translate for you, once the high had tempered, your bodies still keeping each other warm. The owlish blinking of the men would have clearly never experienced such a thing had a wide smirk grown across your face, tapping your ring gently with your thumb.
“That is how you bag a husband like mine.”
AN: So, hey guys, definitely miscalculated, and this will probably end up being a 4-parter. Whoops. Either way, the 141 is still around for at least a bit longer, then we'll be back to regularly scheduled KorTac. For anyone wondering, yes, I do have military friends that had tried Soap's "food hacks"; no, they were not in any way edible. Also, yes, some MedicNikto sex is soft, but sometimes you get the same emotional connection and comfort from being railed into tommorrow, I don't make the rules.
Part 2 of the AU is here, and it’s origin story + regular story! DON’T WORRY, I’ve got some explanations for all these sad dog images I just made you all look at 🙏
Part 1 kinda LOL. Honestly this is actually part 1
NEXT!
It’s the origin of them meeting- which comes with a price.
K9 Stone was critically injured, and has been abandoned by his handler. Once the dust settles and he remains with no one coming back for him, he wonders if the love and loyalty he put in was ever reciprocated. Did the pain he went through over being a dog lead him anywhere but his grave?
Morbid, sad, ikik. BUT, Cat Robotnik is here, and I’ve got a much more silly and fun one up next that I’m already almost done with 💕💕💕
EXTRA EXTRA INFO, is that Stone is a Sable coat German Shepherd! These dogs are bred to WORK, and work they DO. Cat robotnik isn’t a real cat color, he just looks cute to me LMAO. Secret too- but he’s going bald later >:)
image courtesy of google this one isn’t mine 🙏 you can look them up too I mean
Military dogs, while cool to look at, inherently make me a little sad. Obviously a lot of them live full lives and are happy to work, and a lot of them don’t have bad handlers and owners- they’re still stuck in an expectation of violence and stress that can get them killed, and the tactics used for training many of them sometimes makes me upset. Not gonna just yap about stories I’ve heard though, my own GSD is just a pet I do my best to keep safe, and she hates cops LMAO. She’s a BEAST.
AND, Stone dog will be happy and healthy very soon, don’t worry 💕
