Chapter Text
Many feared you. Many hated you. Many looked up to you. But Konig found himself not placed in any of these categories, an outlier of sorts. He was accustomed to this feeling of being different, with his towering height and anxious demeanour which irked many with his fidgety nature and inability to stay still. But what he was a stranger to was this new feeling. To this new emotion which clouded his already morally grey judgement and gave him what he felt like was a greater purpose, like seeing God for the first time. He actually was sure this feeling wasn’t far from it. Obsession.
Your boots hit the surface of the familiar gravel with a soft tap, revelling in the feeling of the gritty crunch of the earth beneath your steel pointed shoes. People don’t usually miss the ground, being stuck to it most of their mundane life but the miracles that endless flights and ear deafening screeches of helicopter motors flooding your eardrums what felt like every waking moment the past week was astonishing. The wind was no longer lashing and biting at your cheeks like it was high up in the air, instead it was a gentle warm breeze wafting past you and soothing the tension of your rigid muscles. The week had been long. So much paperwork, copious amounts even which made you consider writing up your superiors for contributing to the increasing problem of deforestation. You bit your cheek in those moments, the slight pain bringing you back to your senses and dismissing the somewhat violent thoughts creeping up into your mind as you thought about this new promotion instead. This new start.
“Siren” a loud voice booms at you from the general direction you were walking in, pulling you out of your thoughts which made you feel like you were about to have whiplash from the constantly changing environment. Snapping out of your daze, you look at the owner of the voice who was a man, looked no older than mid forties, standing tall in the generic military assigned uniform. Colourful badges and medals littered across his chest signified his importance but you could’ve easily distinguished that from the way he held himself. Confident and commanding. This however, was juxtaposed by his thinning hair dancing in the breeze causing you to stifle a small chuckle inside your throat. Age catches up to everyone, he was lucky he was able to be caught up by it in this line of work.
“Colonel Siren, should I add. Pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand as you stop in front of him, a polite smile as he shakes your own firmly. “Long trip I assume, been a while since our general has hand picked someone to join our company” He adds as you give a small nod. “The names Carlos. Intel specialist but with my age I more or less work behind the scenes while i try to figure out how to use the ever evolving technology. God I miss the simpler days.” He reminisces as he guides you inside of one of the many buildings in the compound.
“Well remind me not to come to you with my broken phone” You humour, enjoying the more relaxed atmosphere of being a mercenary. Not having to walk on egg shells around everyone but still being given respect for the hard work you achieved.
The building was a generic brutalist style structure which looked almost identical to those all around it, making you dread having to learn to navigate around the compound. Already anticipating the embarrassing ‘rookie Colonel who can’t even find the lunch hall without help from privates’. The fluorescent lighting above bounced off of the walls which smelt strongly of gunpowder and fresh paint. Despite that, it was evident that it was far from newly painted as some had started to chip off in places. Your footsteps joined harmoniously with the others around you, drifting past them in the hallway as you follow Carlos like a lost duck. He goes on about modern technology which causes a few laughs to erupt from your throat at the passionate war he has with it but his rambling gets lost as you take in the place around you, carefully eyeing every door and person walking past almost instinctively. You hated it sometimes. Knowing you’re in neutral territory but still like a good trained dog, mapping out escape routes and gazing briefly upon any individual which could pose as a potential threat.
You’re snapped back into reality when Carlos’ steps slowed as you both stop at a door. A rusted metal plate hanging on its surface, labelled as ‘MR 1’ which you deduce quickly stands for ‘Meeting room 1’ as you came across many other doors labelled the same in descending order. He gives two solid taps on the door with his knuckles before pushing down the handle and gesturing for you to go in first.
The room was of adequate size, a large projector screen on the opposite end of the wall with a shoe horned table directly in the centre facing it. Chairs were neatly arranged around the perimeter of the table and you even catch a glimpse of greenery in the shape of a palm potted in the right corner of the room, standing tall. However, as your eyes drift around the room, the furniture suddenly begins to feel comedically small like one for children as you land your gaze to the left wall. Stood there, leant against it, was a man whose posture was somewhat hunched as if in an attempt to make himself look smaller which ultimately failed. It’s quite hard to make a, what you guess as, 6”10 broad shouldered man look small. Lifting up your gaze, you meet his eyes which where somewhat hidden behind a black hood with two eye holes cut into it. Questionable fashion choice but, theres always some quirks people develop when coming into this line of work. His eyes widen momentarily as they meet yours before resuming a neutral position, his eyes flickering over your body as if assessing you. To the untrained eye it would go unnoticed, but you see his muscles tense slightly and his feet shift as he adjusts himself against the wall. You then notice that he paused his previous movements, a butterfly knife was dancing across his fingertips before he laid his eyes on you. Now it was still, like a deer in headlights as his body tensed up and he sheathes the blade with a satisfying click.
You offer him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension in his shoulders as his eyes bore into yours. Almost as if searching for your soul. His eyes never leave yours as Carlos shuts the door behind him and introduces the two of you to each other. “Colonel Konig, this is Colonel Siren. She will be your partner for the next few missions.” He says, gesturing a hand between you both as the silence stretches across the room. He flinches slightly at the words ‘partner’ and you take note of that. Is he disappointed to be stuck with someone like you? You force a brighter smile onto your lips as you dismiss the thought for the moment. He shouldn’t be making assumptions on your talent or yourself as an individual when he’s just met you. You didn’t want to know the picture he was painting of you in his head as he hears the word ‘partner’ escape Carlos’ lips. Most likely dismissive as you were used to as a woman in this field.
“Konig.” You ponder for a moment as you glance across the opposite end of the room before looking back up at him, almost craning your neck. During that brief moment, you fail to see the way he shifts his footing once again after hearing his name in your voice. A voice which he instantly knows is laced with honey and miracles. Did your lips taste the same? Would he be able to taste it on his tongue as he intertwined it with yours? Was it just your lips or other parts of your body which would taste just as sweet as the nectar of heaven? Call sign Siren was no joke, your voice alone saying just 5 letters entranced him like a sailor at sea, and he would gladly sink his boat in to hear more of your songs. Many different songs.
“King in German, no?” You finish, remembering a few lessons from your time back at school when you were forced to learn a language. In the moment, you hated it but it proved to be handy every now and then.
“Ja.” He replies concisely as his hands fall to the front of his body and interlock with one another, hovering over his crotch as he grips the sheathed knife.
“Are you German?”
“Nein”
“Where are you from?”
“Austria”
“Oh cool, heard its beautiful there. Would love to visit one day.”
“Ja” he replies once again and you bite your cheek again at the awkward atmosphere. Nasty habit. His replies are blunt and not much to work around but his eyes burn holes into you. Swirling with something unfamiliar that leave you a bit uncomfortable but unknowingly why. The conversation feels strained and awkward already but his eye contact fails to reflect that, his whole demeanour betrayed by the way he stares at you. Leaving you quite confused.
He takes you in. Countless thoughts running around his mind faster than he can comprehend. He drowns in your voice, drowns in your micro expressions of confusion and discomfort. He should be sad that he’s eliciting an already somewhat bad expression from you but some dark part of him revels in the idea that he already has a bit of control over your emotions. That he’s affecting you. Like you’re affecting him.
He fights the urge to blink for longer than a fraction of a second, afraid that the angel in front of him would disappear and be nothing but his pitiful imagination. His breath hitches as his eyes trail along your face. God if he was close enough he would start counting your eyelashes. Etching them into his memory and thanking God for each and every one of them. Like a starved man, he absorbs your being. Unfamiliar with this new emotion that clouds his mind but he does not shy away from it. He finds himself embracing it, embracing the dark thoughts about you after only seeing you for less than 5 minutes, embracing your song, your waters, your call. Why else would you look so good, sound so good if you didn’t want him to be all over you. To be obsessed with you. To be his.