Chapter Text
Things have not gotten better.
It has been a little over a week since both teams arrived at Eagle Base. Two more fights had broken out between the private military companies, stopping short of combatants needing stitches.
König had only been a part of the initial fight, before they had all been assigned rooms. His reward for it was seeing how the members of SpecGru cringed away from him or made hasty retreats out of rooms that he entered. That alone prevented him from getting into any more altercations. Others in KorTac weren’t as lucky.
The sheer brutality of the last fight, an outbreak between Zero and a man that went by Chuy, caused the leaders of both factions to make timetables for when each PMC has access to the limited facilities. There were even a few rooms mentioned that König had no knowledge about. Many of them turned out to be empty rooms with indents in the carpet where furniture used to sit. One of the rooms listed, the rec room, only contained a water stained pool table.
The initial grumbling gave way to begrudging acceptance since no other fights have cropped up since. Declan had made a passing joke to him that they should be keeping track of how many days it’s been since the last fight. With the schedule in place, all of the operators silently agreed to move in groups, often duos or trios. König became the prime partner for most of KorTac.
He had expected unnecessary attention on himself, but he never imagined it to this degree. König had to swallow his discomfort towards constantly being around everyone. It is necessary , was his silent mantra when everyone’s presence felt like it was scraping against his skin.
He had taken to wearing his sniper hood constantly again. He had first tugged it on when he heard the SpecGru vehicles roll up, and couldn’t make himself take it off until he turned the deadbolt in his room and pulled the blinds shut.
Each pair of eyes on him burned holes into his skin regardless if it was from one of his companions or from SpecGru. He reluctantly kept up with team gossip for the first time now that he was constantly surrounded by people. Once one group finished whatever activity they were doing, König was often whisked away by another configuration of KorTac members almost immediately after. The tireless tradeoffs consumed his days at Eagle Base.
Every day, Roze and Stiletto pulled König with them to the tiny gym that was one of the operator’s few sources of enrichment. They took both of the treadmills in the tiny gym and talked about the girls side of Eagle Base while they walked. König sat in a folding chair near the door as he half listened, holding a cooling cup of coffee as he tried to wake up from exhaustion that no amount of sleep seemed to get rid of.
It was how he learned that Kleo, one of the girls from SpecGru, had a long-term penpal. They talked about Farah’s multiple secret beaus, which apparently weren’t so secret since Gaz kept visiting the girls dorm and Roze could hear them speaking to a third member of their relationship through the wall. Another frequent topic was a potential day trip back to Stewart to look at the tiny tourist shops and eat somewhere. They’ve been trying to playfully goad König into joining them as a chaperone, but he declined each time it was brought up.
The girls' side sounded marginally better. There was still tension, but it was laughable compared to what König dealt with on the men's side.
After their walk, when König is sufficiently caffeinated, he either gets whisked away by either Zeus or Klaus. The former so that a few KorTac members could smoke in peace on the frigid porch, the latter so that a different group could do weapon maintenance while König guards the door. These conversations were edged with malice: words smoldered along with lit cigarettes and knives that were brandished with the same grandiose bravado as the threats towards SpecGru.
Lunch was always a tense affair for everyone. Harsh words and threats were kept leashed as processed, premade meals were passed out. König thought the food was okay once it was reheated. He would retreat somewhere secluded so that he could finally lift his hood up, often trailed by one or two members of KorTac. He missed having the luxury of being able to go back to the microwave and reheat his food. By the time he settled to eat alongside whoever decided to tag along with him, he would notice a cold spot in his food.
The afternoons that bled into the evenings held just as much passive variety as the mornings. Endless, cyclical talking points were either hypothetical or malicious depending on who made up the group. His information on the SpecGru operators was all second-hand accounts tangentially fed to him. Names followed by insults blurred until König knew the other operators by their flaws. At some point he would just stop listening to what was being said around him, exhaustion crashing around his ears with little to no escape.
The barrage of information and stimuli followed Koing until everyone turned in for the night. He would trudge back to his room, paw the door open, and dread the continuation of the cycle. When the door shut he would already feel tired from when he would be followed or led across the miniscule facility the next day.
The only time where he was alone was the few hours he was allocated to sleep in the barren dorm. Mostly alone.
König was one of the few KorTac operators that was not assigned a roommate in the men’s dorm. The only other people who shared this luxury were Hutch and Horangi. Even then, Horangi became a nightly visitor to König’s room. He had felt how icy Horangi’s skin was the first night and welcomed the Korean into his bed unabashedly. He breathed in the rosemary and cinnamon scent that was distinctly Horangi. It was a relief to finally have something familiar happen in an unfamiliar place, and a comfort from the altercation that had taken place hours ago.
As the week progressed, and König’s time alone had been devoured by his teammates seeking protection, he craved to be alone for one night. Each night that craving mounted as Horangi knocked. A plea to enter that he couldn’t reject. Horangi would press close to König in the miniscule twin bed each night, burrowing into his side the same way they had slept back at KorTac’s main base. König kept an arm wrapped around him. Each morning Horangi would leave the embrace just as the sky paled with the first rays of sun. It was cold where the Korean man had laid by the time König was needed for keeping the tense morning peace.
At almost the two week mark, König felt far more tired than he should be for a mission that required all of them to sit on their hands until being called back to KorTac’s main base.
Things were quiet right now. König was in one of the three breakrooms scattered across Eagle Base, paper cups doled out between himself, Declan, and Horangi, each filled with freshly brewed coffee. Horangi’s cards were sprawled in front of them, halfway through one of their many rounds of blackjack. The Korean man had to keep nudging König’s side to remind him when it was his turn. Declan also needed the occasional reminder while he glared over his coffee at the other table.
Three SpecGru operators had also taken up residence in the tiny break room with them. König was fairly certain he knew who the three were. He made considerable effort not to make eye contact with any of them.
The first was Kleo. Even though the women were much kinder to each other, there was still judgment that was passed. Kleo was a silent woman, and moved with soft footsteps despite the thick soled boots she constantly wore. The most biting comment about her from Roze and Calisto was that she was “quiet, but odd”. This was a scathing remark from what König understood.
The second was Enzo Reyes, one of the alleged “cartel members'' that had tried to accuse and attack Zero. It turned out the man was Canadian and grew up a handful hours from Eagle Base. Klaus had heard the man mention some of the local flora to a few of his SpecGru buddies. He was also overheard talking about Vietnam War battle tactics and war crimes with an uncomfortable amount of enthusiasm. The combination made him seem less like a pusherman and closer to a backwoods slasher.
The final man was the medic of SpecGru, Gromsko. He kept his head down and never engaged with any of the KorTac operators, but his lack of interaction subjected him to nastier rumors. Gromsko’s room was frequented by a number of SpecGru operators, many of them being passed a pill or two through the open doorway. A few KorTac members swore that Gromsko had an entire opiate operation that was peddled from the medical bag slung over his back.
Gromsko was rifling through the massive bag as it sat on the table. A few of its contents had been set on the tabletop, consisting of several tubes and tins. Reyes was flipping through a small collection of paper maps, occasionally marking something on one. Kleo leaned against Reyes, occasionally pointing at something on the tablet she was holding. Reyes would make note of it on the papers in front of him. They were saying fewer words to each other than König, Declan, and Horangi’s near mute rounds of blackjack.
SpecGru must’ve had similar gossip circles given the glances that trio gave them. König could imagine what was being said about him. It wasn’t any different than what he already called himself.
Horangi nudged his arm again. König drew another card. He had five in his hand now, causing Horangi to lean over and look at his hand. König let him.
“That’s more than 21.” He supplied.
König squinted at the cards. “So I win?”
“You lose.” Declan said good naturedly, laying his own hand out. “And the tiger wins again. Are you sure these cards aren’t rigged?”
That apparently made two of the SpecGru members perk up. All three of them still kept their backs towards the KorTac operators.
Horangi winced at their reaction to Declan’s outburst. “No more than any other deck.” His words were tight as he gathered up the cards to shuffle them again.
Declan, in all his tact, picked up on the sudden discomfort. He hammed up his words so that the SpecGru operators would hear him. “Not that I would accuse you of cheating at cards. You’re an honorable man, who I would trust with my life–”
“That’s enough.” Horangi cut him off as he dealt out the cards again. Once he did, he picked up his cards and knocked on the table.
König silently picked up a card from the pile, not even bothering to calculate what he had.
Several more rounds of blackjack passed. Tenseness pervaded their game now. Horangi stopped winning games, with the majority of wins going to Declan as they slowly drank their cooling coffee. It wasn’t until König finally drained the bitter dregs from his own paper cup that Horangi spoke again.
“I’ll grab us another round.” Horangi placed his hand upright when stood. Declan and König followed suit, displaying another carefully calculated loss on Horangi’s part.
Declan rolled his shoulders as he stretched. “The coffee’s probably gone cold if there’s any left.” He slumped back against the table, propping his elbows against the edge. “Has a new pot been made?” He asked offhandedly.
“No.” Horangi’s nose wrinkled behind his mask. “Damned leeches.” He muttered as he did his own stretch.
König’s back twinged from sitting in the hard plastic chair for so long. He arched against the backrest, trying to pop his spine, tossing a glance at the three SpecGru operators. Each one had their own paper cup in front of them. Only Kleo had the civility to shrink from the accusation as she took a sip.
Horangi circled around the table, making his way towards the kitchenette. It had the barest equipment out of all the breakrooms on Eagle Base, but held the most important appliance: an industrial sized coffee maker. There wasn’t any mold, infestation, or leaks on the entire machine unlike its brethren that were tossed during inspection. One carafe was discolored while the second was chipped, but other than that it was a perfectly good machine that pumped out enough coffee to sate all of the operators.
It became a place of neutrality between both PMC’s, and was still a hotspot of activity after the new appliances arrived. The only downside was that no one on either side ever refilled the machine once it was emptied.
His spine finally gave an unsatisfying tiny pop . There was almost no relief from the tension in his back. König twisted to the side, using the arm rest as additional leverage to try and get another pop out. Horangi clapped his shoulder as he passed behind König. The two of them exchanged smiles behind their masks.
And then Horangi’s legs gave out from underneath him.
It wasn’t until Horangi was on the ground that König even registered that Horangi was down. The Korean man pressed his palm against the meat of his right calf, hissing in pain. Declan shouted Horangi’s name as he shot up from his chair.
König left his own chair and swiftly knelt next to Horangi. He wasn’t able to ask what was wrong before the downed man waved him back.
“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”
Declan scoffed. “Clearly. When did you start collapsing?” He moved from around the table to get a better look at Horangi.
“It doesn't matter. It passes.” Horangi stiffly stood back up, still favoring his right leg.
König could hear the bared teeth from his voice. He stood beside Horangi and made the other man sit in one of the chairs.
König’s words were jagged. “I’ll handle the drinks.” His own questions swirled around. Why wouldn’t Horangi tell him about this? They have been bed mates nearly every single night for some time. How come he hasn’t noticed–
“I can take a look, if you’re willing.” A soft, slavic accent stopped König’s mind from careening further. The three SpecGru operators had stood from their seats. Gromsko, the one that had spoken, already had his hands wrapped around the handles of his medical bag.
“He’s a medic.” The other man, Reyes, vouched, as if Gromsko’s profession wasn’t embroidered onto the bag.
Kleo elbowed him. “It’s totally up to you. He can also spare some supplies if you want one of your friends–”
“He can look.” Horangi relented.
Everyone on KorTac had basic field medic knowledge: how to improvise a tourniquet, the proper way to staunch blood, identifying concussions, and other similar ailments to stabilize their fellow operator in order to get them to an actual medic. König had fumbled his way through the training. He had always either been present with someone who had better medical skills than himself or prevented the injury from happening at all. He slowly shed any medical equipment from his kit as the months wore on. Being on the roof with Horangi was the first time in his military career, let alone KorTac , where it was just him with the injured party. It had been a bitter reminder that his position as an insertion specialist required just as much luck as it did skill.
König stepped back, allowing Gromsko the space to haul his bag to their card table. It landed with a thud. “You were holding your calf.” Gromsko stated. “Are you able to roll your pants past your knee?”
“No.” Horangi’s brows furrowed.
“Then take them off.”
König and Declan’s eyes widened at the blunt request. Horangi, however, was unphased. He unbuttoned his pants, and shimmied his hips so he could slip out of them while seated.
Along the inside of Horangi’s calf, almost four inches below his knee, was the glancing gunshot wound Horangi had sustained in Norway. Instead of just an entrance and exit wound, it was one, long, angry laceration. It curved around the inside of his leg, angling down to where the bullet had landed in the dirt behind the Korean. Despite its age, the scabbed over wound was thinly rimmed with cherry red irritation. It only looked half-healed at best. Half of the stitches seemed to strain against swelling.
Gromsko hummed at the sight of the wound. He pulled a white bottle and sprayed a dollop of foam into his bare hands. As he rubbed them together the sting of antiseptic crawled into König’s nose.
“It needs to be kept wrapped. At least so your clothes don’t catch on the stitching, that may be causing some of the irritation.” Gromsko knelt between Horangi’s legs, pulling on pale-colored latex gloves. “Whatever doctor did this needs to be commended. This is holding well despite the circumstances.” One of his hands wrapped around the outside of Horangi’s calf as he looked over the blue thread of the stitches.
“The circumstances.” Declan’s voice was flat, his arms crossed.
“The cold.” Gromsko clarified. He stood, plucking a small brown bottle. “It can slow healing down. The dry air might also be causing the irritation as well.” He poured some of the liquid on a square of cotton before kneeling down. “It looks like it’s mostly from friction.” Gromsko pressed the cotton against the start of the line of stitching, causing Horangi to recoil away.
König’s stance mirrored Declan’s now. The only difference was he was hiding his white-knuckled fists in his folded arms.
“Disinfectant. You’re on the brink of getting an infection, if you don’t have one already. I’m not seeing any pus, so that’s good.” Gromsko explained as he patted the square down the length of stitching. “I just want to make sure this is clean.” The medic kept his touch gentle as he knelt between Horangi’s legs.
Declan stood next to König now. The Irishman clapped his shoulder, breaking him away from a wave of something dark and possessive that threatened to rise up inside of him. “Start the machine, I’ll watch him.” Declan kept his voice low.
Leaving Horangi felt like pushing a boulder uphill. Unlike the Sisyphean task, König knew that there was a reachable end goal. A full coffee pot felt just as impossible as the mythological task. Horangi was surrounded by people who were allies only on paper, with an injury bared freely. Every word against SpecGru rumbled in his ear as if it were being spoken anew.
The bitter snap of do it yourself weighed heavy on the flat of his tongue.
It was swallowed back when he caught a glance of Horangi’s eyes behind lowered sunglasses. Brown, nearly black, eyes stared up at him. He was watching König, not the man between his legs. A quick jerk of his head was all the permission König needed to turn away from the scene in front of him. His footsteps felt leaden despite making no noise against the faded carpet.
König was surprised that he managed to keep his back turned when he heard another hiss of pain come from Horangi. The dark green bag of coffee (a Pike Place Roast, boldly stated on the front) kept his hands steady as he continued pouring the grounds into the machine. Declan grumbled out a warning that was drowned out by the coffee maker hissing to life as it began brewing. König did catch Horangi’s words after.
“It was an honest mistake.”
Declan sounded like a petulant child that was denied candy. “Whatever.”
The first dribble of coffee was spat out from the machine into the glass carafe, yanking König’s attention back just as he was about to turn around. As the operators used this coffeemaker, they learned that the machine brewed enough coffee to fill both carafes each time it was turned on, with the carafe needing to be swapped for the empty one once it was filled.
It somehow managed to overflow every single time someone’s attention left it for any period of time. At one point it looked like there was an alarm to let the user know when to swap but it had been broken. The rings of coffee stains on the ground were testament to that learning process.
König ground his teeth as he kept his eyes on the carafe. The operators behind him were silent as the machine pissed out its brew. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hiding the tight fists he couldn’t unclench. Thousands of scenarios depicting the worst primed themselves in his head.
“There.” He heard Gromsko’s voice cut through. “It should be clean enough. With this it should prevent any further infection.”
Declan followed up with the very question König wanted to ask himself. “What is it?”
“A surface antibiotic. I have a few extra tubes, so I can give you this one. Apply it at least once a day.” Gromsko explained easily. He gave a small hum before continuing. “It also looks like these are supposed to come out soon. Did you have any plans for that?”
König tried to hear Horangi’s answer, but the coffee machine decided to make an awful grinding sound, drowning out the Korean man. König smacked the side of the machine, and the grinding stopped.
Gromsko answered. “No worries. We shouldn't wait too long though, it could leave unnecessary scarring.”
Horangi chuckled at that. “I already have unnecessary scarring. What’s a few more dots on my leg?”
“Oh? Have they been bothering you?” There was an off-kilter pause in Gromsko’s speech, as if he meant to end the question before realizing the implications of what he was asking. He stumbled across his words before returning to his same smooth cadence. “Not that- we- In SpecGru, we have an operator that has heavy scarring. The cold has been hard on him, too.”
König watched the freshly brewed coffee creep closer to the max fill line. The steam and smell doing little to ease his mind as it usually does.
“It… has.” Horangi sighed. “It feels almost…” He struggled with the words.
“Too tight?” Gromsko supplied.
König doesn’t like the pause after the answer.
Then Gromsko spoke again. “I have extra of this too. I make sure to carry extra.”
“For that mystery operator?”
Gromsko gave a good-natured scoff. “And for others.”
There was a break in the stream of coffee. König switched the carafes and finally, finally turned around. His eyes immediately went to Horangi.
The Korean man looked relaxed as he gazed down at Gromsko, who was still kneeling between his legs. The scene made him grit his teeth.
With a tight jaw König grabbed one of the small stacks of paper cups that were in one of the nearby cabinets. He filled only one cup with coffee and returned to Horangi’s side, just as SpecGru’s medic stood up. The paper felt scalding against his palm as he finally finished the task, the weight of it sweet instead of stifling.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Gromsko’s hands skittered through the contents of his bag as he checked over the items still in his bag. “You only need to use a little ScarAway twice a day, and let it dry before using anything else on your skin. If you need help applying it–”
“He will be fine.” König’s voice was harsh. He could feel discontent towards Gromsko simmer in his gut.
The operators present tensed up at König’s outburst, the first time he’d spoken directly to anyone inside of SpecGru. König steeled himself from their reaction. As soon as the words left his lips he knew it was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t think of what words to string together to make things better. Before he spoke, everyone had been relaxed and getting along. No one looked like they were going to go for each other’s throats. Even Declan, his arms still crossed over his chest, rested his weight back. An easy smile replaced the scowl that König last saw him with.
Declan spoke in his stead. “You gave us enough for now.”
“And I’ll take up your offer about getting these stitches out.” Horangi followed.
König grit his teeth to prevent himself from making another mistake. Instead, he held out the cup of fresh coffee to Horangi. He knew that the Korean always drank it black.
Hours careened by as König continued to replay the scene in his head, autopsied until it was just a shell of the events that had actually happened. Fantasies where he performed every action correctly so that he wouldn't feel the sour regret that settled in his gut as he left the break room. König couldn’t even grab a fresh cup of coffee since his stomach was in knots after the non-confrontation with Gromsko. He was almost relieved when Klaus and Fender appeared in the doorway to collect him for weapon maintenance.
König fled the breakroom faster than he meant to.
These mental corrections of what happened in the breakroom continued to spiral until he was alone in his room, convinced that there was nothing he could do to repair whatever happened. It was probably for the best that SpecGru saw him as an unfeeling monster. That reputation did protect his fellow operators inside of KorTac. His outburst after Horangi was hospitalized was probably still fresh on their minds. They, too, probably saw him as something vicious when they all decided to set him up as a guard dog.
König was sick of these thoughts swirling in his head. He gathered his things to shower, hoping that it would help finally clear his mind. Bathrooms tended to be a place of solace for him: a private room where, when occupied, people left you alone. There were times where he would lock himself in the school’s bathroom as he hid from the worst of his bullies. Inside the bathroom of his childhood home he would press against bruises from fights, often as he stood under the showerhead while water pelted his body. It was calming for him.
There was a communal bathroom in each dorm wing, equipped with three toilets and three showers, all stalled, and apparent mirror images of each other. There wasn’t even a urinal to differentiate the two. König hasn’t verified this claim, he just knows that the communal bathroom for the men lacked one and the women haven’t mentioned having one in their bathroom.
It was around the time that most of the operators were getting ready for bed on the men’s side. Anyone who wanted to shower had already, leaving all three stalls empty when König entered the bathroom. The doors were unbalanced for all the shower stalls. The first two doors hung open, indicating their vacancy, while the furthest stall door always remained shut. All three stalls had solid walls separating them giving König even more privacy.
The dividers for the toilets only went up to König’s jaw, and he had to duck to avoid accusations of peeping.
He brought his few toiletries to the furthest stall, the largest one, and latched the door shut. The shower stall itself was divided into two sections: a changing area with a small bench where you stored your clothes, and behind a plastic curtain was the actual shower. The showerheads in all the other showers barely reached his shoulders, but the back stall had a detachable shower head. It was the main reason he often claimed this stall. It made washing his hair much easier. He didn’t know that this was an option before, and had made several mental notes to get one for his private bathroom back at the main KorTac base.
König undressed quickly. Standing bare in the stall, he didn’t feel ready to step into the shower despite it being his original intention.
What caught his eye was that his skin was bereft of any bruises, cuts, or scrapes. A fair number of scars decorated him, his own reminders from a harsh childhood to a harsher adulthood. Calluses accrued from where his gear sat against him and rubbed him raw during his early days of training. Even remnants of where the clothes he was just wearing were a size too small: showing where his socks ended and the waistline of his pants pressed against him.
It was almost unnerving. König couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t sporting some kind of injury. His body has always been in the middle of healing something. From broken bones to bloody noses to bruises, practically anything that could be named.
He twisted his spine, trying to see if he was mistaken. König even swiped his hands along a few planes of his body that he couldn't see. There was no scratch of scabbing skin against his palms.
The door to the showers opening made König jolt, his hands moving away as if he was touching live coals instead of his own skin.
“See, there’s no one here.” A Scottish lilt echoed off the tiles. “I’ve showered at this time of night before.”
The other man gave an inaudible response. König couldn’t pick up any specific words because it felt like his blood froze.
The first man, Soap, his brain finally supplied, let out a laugh. It was a quiet, good-natured thing. “Watch the door then, worry wart. I still have to shower.”
“Fine.” The other man finally responded. It wasn’t enough for König to identify him as well.
Once the heavy door shut, Soap let out a fond huff. “Stupid.” He stated with no malice.
König heard his footsteps approach the showers. His heart leapt to his throat. If Soap also had a preference for the final shower stall, he would be discovered. He heard the stall door next to him creak on its hinges and be pulled shut. The latch echoed against the tile. A bag was set down, followed by the rustling of clothes being removed. The cacophonous sound of water hitting the shower tiles filled the bathroom.
Soap got into the shower far quicker than he did. Would the Scotsman find it odd that König was standing silently in his own shower stall? It definitely would be treated as some salacious fact whispered among the other SpecGru members. Maybe even a few KorTac members would hear about this fact and confront König about it.
He thought he was safe under the noise of Soap’s shower, and König grabbed his bottle of shampoo. If the other man was quick, König could just camp out in the shower stall and wait for Soap to leave. He could move the toiletries he used into the showering area while he waited.
Until he dropped his bottle of shampoo.
It hit the ground louder than any gunshot he’s ever heard.
The water doesn’t stop running. For several agonizing seconds, König waits for an answer.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” Soap’s voice sounded flat. Controlled.
It only took another handful of seconds for König to realize he was supposed to answer. “I didn’t know anyone would come in.” He swallowed. “Sorry.”
König picked up the bottle of shampoo he dropped. There wasn’t an answer from Soap. He grabbed his body wash, trying to ignore the sour taste of misspeaking bubbled in the back of his throat. He’s already made enough mistakes today.
Soap, thankfully, did speak again. “So it was unexpected for both of us, yeah?” His voice easily carried over the rush of water.
König nodded. He almost forgot that he needed to give a verbal response since Soap couldn’t see him. “Yeah.” He turned on his own showerhead and stepped under the spray. As the cold water warmed and drummed against his skin, Soap asked another question.
“Any reason why you shower this late?”
The question rolls around his mind as he tries to figure out what the best answer is. He’s fucked up twice in their conversation already. “It…” He trails off. König can’t say that he enjoys the quiet or being alone. Both reasons are true, but that would be rude to say. He’s learned that from seeing people’s eyes narrow, noses wrinkle, and eyebrows furrow when he gives that answer. Maybe striking out on this conversation would end it. Solitude has been an expensive currency lately. Unfortunately, König is very much naked and afraid of what the consequences would be if he does so. There was at least one other SpecGru operator guarding the bathroom’s exit, and König doesn’t want to think of what would happen if he said the wrong thing.
“An escape.” König finally pushed out between his teeth. He hated that there was a rise in his voice, making the statement sound more like a question.
“An escape?” Soap parroted back.
“What about you?” König didn’t want to give Soap a chance to think about the answer.
“Me?” The other man sounded incredulous, taking a few seconds to answer König back. “Well, it’s uh. There’s no one around normally.”
“But there is now.”
Soap mulled over these words, before repeating what König said again. “But there is now.”
Both of their showers filled the silence between the two men. König picked up the detachable shower head and held it over himself, wetting his hair.
“Has–” Soap cut himself off before starting up again. “Has KorTac been… good?” The question sounded uncertain, as if that wasn’t what Soap meant to ask.
“Good?”
“Yes.” Soap continued. “Like… you all are you, but close.” His words halted at odd intervals.
König furrowed his brows. “I don’t know what you are asking.” He answered honestly, placing his showerhead back. Another awkward pause bloomed between them. König picked up his shampoo bottle from the ground. “Is SpecGru… good?” He asked with the same hesitancy. He isn’t sure why the other man is even trying to hold a conversation with him.
“Yeah, it’s good.” Soap replied. “It pays the bills. There’s good health insurance.”
“That’s… good.” He thanked his lucky stars that the shampoo bottle didn’t make a farting noise.
“I was supposed to get surgery before this whole… thing.” The man sounded annoyed. “Took a fucking long time to get everything set up for it.”
König tilted his head as he scrubbed in his shampoo. “Surgery? You’ll be okay, ja?”
“Eh, I’ve lasted this long without it. Plus, after all this dies down, I’ll finally be able to schedule my leave for it.” Whatever the surgery was for, the Scotsman did sound excited for it.
“Oh, well,” König grabbed the shower head again. “I wish you a speedy recovery when it happens.”
There was another lapse in their conversation. It wasn’t awkward this time, it felt like it was supposed to be there until Soap spoke again.
“Thanks.”
König smiled at how genuine it sounded.
Soap continued talking. “I’ve been meaning to ask, where are you from? I can’t place your voice.”
“Austria.” König said as he reached for his body wash. “Most people think it is German. They are close, but not right.” He lets out a huff as he uncaps the bottle. “You are from Scotland, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He confirmed. “Just outside of Glasgow. Is Austria a nice place?”
No. König had an awful life there, and began looking for the first opportunity to leave when schoolyard fights started ending with swollen faces and jammed fingers. “It’s nice in the springtime.” It was a half-truth. Most places are nice when flowers are blooming. “Is Glasgow nice?”
“In the springtime.” Soap’s quiet laugh was almost drowned out by the water.
It seems both of them were only going to give vague answers, often parroting the same answer back. That was fine by König. Their conversation continued as they both showered, only giving shallow questions and getting shallow answers in return. It reminded König of his early days at KorTac, where all the operators were trying to gauge his personality and vice versa. It was almost companionable, until both of them shut off their shower heads at the same time. The tense, thick awkwardness descended upon the two of them, just as suffocating at the silence.
“Er, I can leave first.” König managed to mumble out. “If you want.” It still echoed off the tiled walls.
“It’s fine.” Soap opened the shower curtain in his stall. “Ghost is guarding the door, and he might take things the wrong way if you walk out.”
He didn’t know that was the man Soap was talking to earlier. It was probably best if he avoided Ghost for a little while, since the last time they had interacted König had him pinned to a wall while he was practically beating the British man. “Alright.”
He still hates the fact that Soap goaded Declan into attacking him, and Ghost for attacking Declan in turn. He didn’t bring up the “O’Carbomb” comment from then, or calling his friends terrorists, or saying that Horangi and Oni were a part of a Japanese gang.
König picked at his cuticles. It was possible that assumptions were made out of ignorance. He’s overheard Zero and Zeus debate stuff like that on occasion, whether certain actions could be construed as ignorance over malice. Maybe the stuff that they’ve heard about SpecGru has been taken out of context as well? It would be hard to put context on what Roze revealed about the former Task Force 141.
The latch on Soap’s shower stall clicked open. “Maybe we’ll talk again?” The Scotsman asked.
“Maybe.” König did want to speak with Soap again, however impersonal their conversation was.
He listened to the man walk out of the bathroom, and then waited until water stopped dripping from his hair before stepping out of his shower to dress.