~MOUSE~
Ophelia's combat boots echoed softly against the metallic floor as she stepped into her barrack, the heavy grey door sliding closed behind her with a muted thud.
The dim light cast shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of quiet tension.
The air was filled with the lingering scent of gunpowder, fatigue and a faint smell of sandalwood.
Her brows furrowed as she inhaled the scent.
She loved the smell of sandalwood.
Ophelia hesitated at the threshold of the shared barrack, her gaze immediately drawn to the lone figure of König.
She knew it was him because of how huge the shadow in the corner of the room was.
The dim glow of a solitary lamp cast a play of shadows on the room's concrete walls, and there he lay, reclined on his bed.
His hood obscured his face as he leaned against the wall, arms dropped at his side.
Closing the door with a soft click, Ophelia felt the heavy silence enveloping her.
Her eyes lingered on König, noting the stillness that clung to him like a second skin.
As she peered closer she felt an intense wave of relief when she saw his eyes closed.
He seemed to be asleep.
Of course, he was. She had seen the redness in his eyes, seen it in her own more than once.
She was positive that if the black paint on his face was to come off, he would have eye bags and grey bruises from sleepless nights.
She shot him an irritated look as she walked across the room quietly.
If he sleeps like a fucking lunatic propped against the wall, I'm never going to get any rest. She thought as she crept over to her bed and grabbed her duffle bag.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
All soldiers slept differently, most in a bizarre way that made them feel safe.
His position made it seem like he was waiting for someone to come through the door and attack him.
He was asleep, yet his body still seemed tense.
Attempting to dismiss the nagging feeling of unease, Ophelia shifted quietly through her duffel bag, pushing items aside and grabbing a clean pair of clothes and a toothbrush.
The creak of the floor beneath her boots seemed amplified in the stillness, but König remained unmoved as his lean, muscled chest rose and fell gently.
Ophelia clutched her comfortable black track pants and a simple white singlet to her chest as she stood up.
The familiar touch of the military-issue fabric brought a sense of normalcy in the relentless chaos she was used to.
The physical toll of the day weighed heavily on Ophelia.
Travelling from plane to helicopter and then by boat to the island had made her exhausted.
Her fatigue was etched in a sheen of sweat on her skin and the heaviness of her movements.
She carefully walked towards the small white door to the bathroom. Her movements are silent as she reached for the door handle.
Something made her stop.
Turning her head she looked closer at the Colonel.
The back of his head was against the wall, dark helmet on his head. His eyes closed.
His breathing was almost silent.
Her head tilted as she saw the faint outline of light eyelashes covering his eyes.
Blonde.
Her eyes stayed glued to the small blonde almost white lashes as she felt a strange feeling squeeze her chest.
Quickly turning away she opened the bathroom door and slipped inside.
The scent of sweat clung to her as she debated whether to disturb König with the hum of the bathroom's fan.
With a measured breath, she decided against it, opting instead to navigate the shared space with silent steps.
He seemed to like quiet.
Her eyes widened as she took in the space around her.
It was clean. Very clean.
She was used to dirty bathrooms and men who didn't clean up after themselves.
But the bathroom in front of her was eerily tidy. Just like the bed outside, it was almost as if no one had ever used it.
Clean white walls and a small shower devoid of any mess.
The sink was porcelain white and a small grey cup with a grey toothbrush, toothpaste and a small bar of yellow soap sat next to it.
Two grey towels. One folded on a small bench resting outside the shower, and one hung up on a metal rack drying.
She assumed the folded one was for her.
Behind the closed door, Ophelia wasted no more time.
She stepped towards the shower and turned the red handle on as far as it could go.
The shower released a cascade of water. Steam rose like ethereal tendrils, shrouding her in a cocoon of warmth.
She stepped back and pulled her sweaty clothes from her body.
Kicking them to the corner she turned to the large mirror that hung on the wall.
She winced as she saw all the scars across her body.
None of her was unmarked.
The worst was the mark on the back of her neck that ran down her spine, but that one she tried to cover up.
With her tattoo and with her clothes. It ran from her hairline down to her tailbone in a jagged mess of curves and splits.
Goosebumps rose on her skin as she turned away from the mirror, an overwhelming feeling of disgust welling in her.
She wasn't ashamed of them, but that didn't mean she liked seeing them.
Stepping into the shower, she let the water run over her head and fall over her skin.
Though the water lacked the scalding intensity she craved, it promised a respite from the grime and weariness that clung to her.
Her eyes turned to a small rack on the shower wall.
Two grey bottles labelled Shampoo and conditioner in neat text.
Next to them was a large yellow bottle of body wash.
Grabbing the conditioner she squeezed some into her hand and began to rub it into her hair.
It smelt like sandalwood and honey.
It was nice.
As she washed she couldn't shake the awareness that her Colonel was just beyond the bathroom's thin walls.
He could probably hear her moving around in the shower, using the products and cleaning her teeth.
It was weird.
With anyone else, it would have been fine.
But an ex-war criminal who was also her superior made it very bizarre.
But if Zeus had read her file and was worried she would lose her shit, there had to be a reason he put her here with the Colonel.
But the very idea she was being babysat made her bite the inside of her lip so hard she could taste the metallic tang of blood.
She stood beneath the stream, letting the water trail over her face and filling her ears with gurgled noise.
She rubbed her hands through her conditioned hair, scrunching the curly ends and letting it fall through her fingers.
As she kept her eyes firmly shut, letting the comfort of the heat and water soothe her body, she tried not to think of how close the man outside was.
The rhythmic patter of water on the shower floor drowned out the distant hum of machinery and the muted sounds of activity beyond the bathroom door.
She'd always loved the water.
Her Pappa had taught her to swim in the ocean when she was seven.
How to dive under the raging waves and pull herself out of a current.
Everything was silent and loud at the same time when you sat underwater.
It was the only time she felt real peace. As if she weren't alone.
The water danced over her skin, carrying with it the echoes of distant memories and words.
She missed her parents.
But she couldn't stand the worried and disappointed gazes every time she came home.
So she avoided going home if she could.
As she reached for the soap, Ophelia couldn't help wondering why the Colonel outside was so quiet.
She had been in her fair share of bases, granted she was only twenty but she had joined at sixteen.
Most of the LT's and Colonel's she had been around had an ego the size of an elephant and screamed constantly.
Except for Ghost in the 141. But he was an odd bird.
The man outside was silent in a way that made her skin crawl with unease.
He clearly had issues and he was deadly.
There was no doubt about that.
And the fact he was silent about it made her nervous.
The soap lathered into a fragrant foam, its scent mingling with the steam that filled the air.
Again sandalwood and honey.
Did the man outside have some sort of problem?
All of her products smelt different but he seemed to place importance on uniformity.
Matching colours, simple smells and neatness.
Ophelia's movements were deliberate, each stroke a ritual of cleansing. The water washing away the dirt and fatigue.
Stepping from the shower and drying herself she ignored the mirror and pulled her clothes on over her skin.
The warmth of the shower still clung to Ophelia's skin as she emerged into the barrack.
Dressed in the plain white singlet and comfortable track pants, she carried her gear in her arms, the weight a familiar reminder of duty.
With her tank top on the Colonel would see all her scars, especially since her hair didn't cover them anymore.
The large one on her neck and back would be the most obvious.
The others were little and usual for someone with their lifestyle.
The one her neck and spine wasn't.
It was different.
It looked like someone had tried to cut her open and rip out her spine.
They had. But no one needed to know that.
She ignored the unease it sent through her and let the door swing open with a soft creak.
She'd decided to cut all her hair off when she was dismissed. She wanted to be someone new. Someone who showed off their scars and was proud of them.
She stepped into the room with bare feet on cold concrete.
The muted glow of the lamp cast a subdued light on the narrow room.
Despite telling her body not to, her eyes immediately found König's form.
Her heart fell to her stomach.
He was awake. And staring.
His piercing blue gaze locked onto her, unyielding and silent.
She looked away from him ignoring the palpable tension in the air, and crossed the room with purpose, dropping her gear onto the floor with a deliberate thud.
She felt his eyes on her back.
On her wet hair.
On her scars and skin.
His gaze burnt and she didn't like it.
She ignored him and turned her back towards where he sat.
She began stretching, her limbs extending in a practised routine that spoke of the physical demands of their shared profession.
Her muscles would cramp and become tense if she didn't.
He seemed to watch her the whole time she stretched, his eyes flicking around the room, then back to her.
He was probably thrown off because her chest was visible from under her singlet.
But she was not sleeping in a bra just for his comfort.
That shit sucked, and no woman should ever have to if she didn't want to.
His blue eyes traced the contours of her face, lingering on her chest before quickly flicking away.
Was he nervous all of a sudden?
As she turned around she saw his eyes locked onto the wet curls on her head.
She saw his gaze shift as if he'd smelt his conditioner on her.
Shit.
"Oh...Sorry, I used your conditioner, forgot mine," she said as she finished stretching her arms.
"Which is almost funny considering..." she trailed off as she pointed to her curls.
She had no idea why she was even talking.
König remained silent, his gaze unrelenting as it flicked all around her and her space.
The air thickened with unspoken questions, as tension seemed to stretch between them like an invisible wire.
So, we're not going to be best friends, then. Ophelia thought with a restrained laugh as she turned away from him and looked down at her bed.
Determined not to let the unexplained scrutiny unsettle her, Ophelia let her body fall backwards and into the hard rock that would be her mattress.
The worn yet somehow solid mattress beneath Ophelia yielded to her weight with a creak as she fell back with a sigh.
God, she was tired.
The room, once alive with the subtle echoes of her words, now enveloped her in a cocoon of stillness.
She could hear him fidgeting and moving from where he lay on his bed but she refused to look over.
If he wanted to pretend she wasn't there she could happily pretend she didn't exist.
She was a mouse. She was good at being quiet.
Her eyelids closed, shutting out the muted glow of the lamp and allowing the small sounds to wrap around her like a comforting shroud.
Silence, an unwelcome companion, stretched out before her, and Ophelia found herself grappling with its oppressive weight.
She hated silence. Feared it more than anything.
But if her superior preferred their coexistence to unfold in wordless exchanges then she would have to suck it up.
As she lay there, eyes shut against the dim light, the subtle shift on the bed next to her signalled König's movement.
The sound of drawers opening, the soft shuffle of fabric, and the distinct rustle of gear being removed permeated the room.
Each movement, though executed in hushed tones, resonated in the quiet space around her.
He was too tall and muscled not to make any noise.
How was he a sniper? There was no way he could be.
He might have a killer shot, but he was too restless to hide.
Every time he moved she could tell it was him.
His footsteps had a distinct sound. Even his body seemed to cut through the air with a definite sound.
Ophelia resisted the urge to open her eyes, allowing herself to be enveloped by the auditory dance of his actions.
The sound of his movements was nice. Soft and almost comforting.
It hushed the nagging part of her brain that begged for sound to feel safe.
Her eyes became less tense and her breathing evened.
The room became a symphony of subdued sounds, a peculiar melody that filled her.
She heard him walking around, the creak of the floor announcing his presence as he navigated the small room.
Drawers opened and closed softly, the rhythm of his movements revealing the familiarity that he had with the room.
The familiar creak of the bathroom door opening and closing reached Ophelia's ears.
The ambient sounds of the room shifted as the door sealed shut, and the ensuing murmur of running water filled the air.
He hadn't turned the fan on either.
Which was kind of nice, since he assumed she might be asleep.
Curiosity compelled Ophelia to open her eyes, and her gaze instinctively drifted towards his side of the room.
There, meticulous in his routine, he had methodically removed his gear, arranging it in separate spots with a precision that spoke of discipline and order.
A quick glance at her own scattered pile of equipment on the floor prompted a wince.
Shit.
It was a stark contrast to König's organized arrangement.
Her gear appeared haphazard, a chaotic jumble that seemed to clash with the COL's sense of order.
Reacting swiftly, Ophelia sat up, her movements fueled by a determination to avoid bothering him and potentially getting killed in her sleep.
She'd never really worried about it before, but she could practically feel his need for neatness and order.
Like a compulsion to have control over his environment.
She gathered her gear with a hasty sweep, stuffing it into her duffel bag with a speed born of necessity.
She didn't want him to know.
To think she was a pushover.
The muffled thud of the bag being kicked under the bed punctuated her efforts as she kicked it out of the way.
Returning to the bed, Ophelia closed her eyes once more, allowing the rhythmic cadence of sound to envelope her.
The sound of his movements and water hitting his skin lulling her into sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~