~MOUSE~
It was official.
Zeus had lost his mind.
Two weeks of relentless pursuit, scouring the earth for The Viper's elusive hitman had taken its toll on the colossal figure.
The tension in the air was noticeable, an unspoken understanding that the moment of reckoning was approaching.
The giant man, usually composed and stoic, now wore the weight of frustration like a heavy cloak, threatening to shatter his formidable composure.
Ophelia observed Zeus's descent into desperation.
The lines on his face etched deeper, and the intensity in his eyes burned with an unsettling fire.
Fuck, she did not want to be that man right now.
The stakes were high, and the pressure to capture the hitman was mounting, casting a shadow over the entire team.
König's presence in her bed at night became a comforting ritual, a silent reassurance in the darkness.
Ophelia tried not to think about the way he pulled her close, as if trying to shield her from the storm raging outside their walls.
When she fell asleep he wouldn't be there in their room, too busy helping Zeus.
But she always woke to arms around her, his head tucked in the crook of her neck as he snored quietly.
The simplicity of his actions made her smile.
It was nice.
Ophelia had deciphered König's language of affection, recognizing that physical touch held a significance beyond words for him.
He couldn't seem to get enough of contact.
It was like he wasn't even aware he was doing it, naturally gravitating towards her to press their skin together.
In the fleeting moments they passed in the halls, his hand would brush against hers.
Even when he walked with Zeus and she followed behind their group of operatives.
It was almost subconscious.
Like he couldn't help it.
Like he just needed to do it.
In the intel room, he stood closer than necessary, his back almost brushing her chair, his breath hitting the back of her neck.
She had seen her teammates staring at him with quizzical expressions as he sometimes leant on the back of her chair.
He was so obvious it almost hurt.
During training sessions, he would choose to stand beside her, a not-so-silent companion who seemed to critique her every move.
But recently he had moved away from her.
She was pretty sure she knew why.
They all got the leave in a day.
Head home for two weeks.
She had never been able to do that before.
And for once she found she didn't want to.
She didn't admit it but she knew she would miss the gloomy and somewhat terrifying Colonel.
She was so used to his presence, the sound he made when he moved and the feeling of his eyes on her. She wasn't sure how she was going to stand being alone.
Callisto said Zeus always let them go home before a mission got serious.
She guessed it was to say goodbye to their families.
Tie up loose ends just in case.
Ophelia dropped her head back, letting her chestnut locks tickle her neck.
The coarse grains of sand moulded to the arches of her bare feet as she anchored herself against the relentless pull of the waves crashing on the shore of the island.
Her mind was in a frenzy after training.
She tried not to sigh out loud as she remembered how her angry Colonel had been beating the shit out of a punching bag, far, far away from her.
He wasn't good at vulnerability, so she had left and wandered down to the beach to sink her feet in the sand.
The dark blue expanse of the ocean churned before her, mirroring the storm clouds hanging heavy in the sky.
Grey and brooding, the clouds seemed to echo the tempest brewing within her own mind.
She had never missed someone before.
It kind of hurt.
Storms had always held a special place in Ophelia's heart.
They were her sanctuary, a source of calm amidst life's chaos.
The howling wind whispered secrets to her soul, and the air, charged with the scent of salt, invigorated her senses.
It was a dance between nature's fury and her own inner peace, a paradox she embraced with open arms.
With her eyes closed, Ophelia leaned back on her hands, relishing the feeling of the gritty sand beneath her palms.
The rhythmic melody of the crashing waves played a soothing symphony, drowning out the noise in her mind.
In cargo pants and a training singlet, she revelled in the freedom of the open beach, her bare arms coated with a delicate layer of salt and sand.
The subtle sound of footsteps approached, and she sensed him before she saw him.
König.
He seemed to navigate the fine line between wanting to remain concealed and yearning to be seen.
She always knew when he was close.
With her eyes still closed, she absorbed the symphony of the storm and the anticipation of his approach.
His deep, smooth voice cut through the sound of crashing waves, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Looks like a storm," he remarked, his words carrying no emotion as usual.
A small, serene smile played on Ophelia's lips as she continued to bask in the cold air.
"It will," she replied softly, her words carried away by the wind.
"You can smell it." Her hand patted the sand beside her, an unspoken invitation for him to join her.
There was a seamless transition as König accepted her unspoken invitation, settling into the sand beside her without a shuffle of hesitation or a hint of reservation.
She could have grinned.
They were so ingrained in each other that there was no pause any more, no hesitation or worry.
Ophelia could feel his massive form, a sturdy presence that resonated beside her.
The distinct aroma of sandalwood wafted through the air, clinging to him like a subtle signature.
It was completely silent for a moment.
The sea crashed into the shore.
"I have a question," Ophelia said as she kept her eyes shut and her head towards the ocean.
She found it easier to ask questions without staring at someone.
"Mm?" was his response, a low and harsh sound that she knew meant he was listening.
Ophelia waited for a moment.
She didn't want to push the boundary between casual and not-so-casual.
But she was curious.
And she also wasn't sure if they were casual.
Neither of them had said it, but it didn't feel so casual.
Not anymore.
"You're not a sniper, at least not trained as one, you move too loudly," she observed softly, her eyes reopening to study him.
It was a subject she had been dancing around.
He was an amazing shot, that much she had seen.
But he couldn't sit still.
Ophelia turned her gaze toward König, seeking answers in the depths of his dark blue eyes.
Tousled locks of blonde hair framed his face, accentuating a strong jawline and chiselled scarred features.
He wasn't wearing his hood.
Dark blue eyes, once vibrant, were shadowed by the weariness of sleepless nights and the burden of their mission.
Bruises lingered beneath those piercing eyes.
She liked them more than she should.
König shifted his gaze away from Ophelia, directing his attention toward the vast expanse of the ocean.
The rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves mirrored the unspoken currents between them.
He nodded stiffly, his short, tousled hair tickling his cheeks in the breeze.
Ophelia felt like smacking herself.
She could practically feel the annoyance in his eyes at her words.
Being a sniper was obviously a sore subject.
Trying to change the subject she turned back to the ocean and bit her lip.
"My Baba taught me to swim in the ocean when it looked like that," Ophelia spoke softly, her eyes fixed on the powerful waves crashing onto the shore.
In that moment, she allowed herself to drift into the depths of her memories.
Underneath the waves, the world transformed into a fluid dance of shadows and light.
Sunbeams pierced through the surface, refracting in a kaleidoscope of colours.
The waves created an ethereal landscape, with shafts of sunlight breaking through the surface, casting a mesmerizing glow on the sandy ocean floor.
The sea became a realm of muffled sounds, where the rhythmic pulse of the waves was a constant heartbeat, and the dance of seaweed and marine life painted a tranquil masterpiece.
König's gaze followed hers.
His intense eyes, framed by the weariness of sleepless nights, held a hint of curiosity.
"He was in the Navy," she explained, her words carrying the weight of respect.
"Said if you couldn't face the environment around you, you couldn't face the enemy." The wisdom in those words lingered in the air as Ophelia recalled the first time she was pulled beneath the surface.
A subtle smile played on her lips as she shared a piece of her family history.
"He met my Mama that way," Ophelia mused the warmth of nostalgia in her voice.
"She was a nurse, loved the ocean enough to swim at night when no one was watching." A shrug accompanied her words as she observed the waves crashing into the shore.
"Except he was. Every night for three years," she added with a knowing grin, turning her gaze back toward the man beside her.
König's attention was already fixed on her, his eyes penetrating yet guarded.
His muscular frame was clothed in practical attire, cargo pants providing flexibility for swift movements, and a grey shirt moulding to the contours of his well-defined muscles.
His hands were draped over his knees, scarred fingers subtly tensed as his eyes momentarily shifted away, tracking the relentless rhythm of the crashing waves.
"Will you go back? To France?" he asked, his tone stiff and devoid of emotion.
His accent came out more when he was hiding his emotions.
Ophelia sighed, a tangible weariness settling over her.
Her fingers ran through her hair, careless about the grains of sand that clung to the strands.
The prospect of returning to France was not a happy one.
She loved her home, and her family, but it just didn't feel like hers anymore.
Not since she lost her team.
"Yeah, but I won't see them," she admitted softly, her hand finding its way to her neck, tracing the outline of the large, jagged scar.
A secret she had kept from her family, a truth she couldn't bring herself to share.
The unspoken burden hung heavy in the air between them.
König remained silent, his body rigid.
Ophelia turned to him, her confusion etched across her features.
Something about his demeanour felt different, and she couldn't quite grasp the reasons behind his unusual behaviour the past few days.
Was he upset with her?
"Can I ask why?" he inquired, his gaze still fixed on the relentless ebb and flow of the ocean.
Ophelia felt a pang of shame, her stomach dropping and clenching at the admission that followed.
"Mama believes women should help people, not fight," she explained carefully, aware of the cultural differences that separated them.
She didn't want to perpetuate stereotypes about her people but she wanted him to understand the complexities that shaped her choices.
"Baba knows I could die at any moment," she continued her words carrying the weight of a reality she had grown accustomed to.
"I'm their only child," she added, her hands tracing abstract patterns in the sand, letting it pool beneath her fingers.
She wanted to be tracing his scars instead.
The ones on his face, neck, chest and every part of his skin she could see.
His hair was gently moved by the breeze.
His eyes were a mirror of the ocean in front of them.
Dark and hard to read.
Volatile and free.
"What about you?" Ophelia asked softly, her attempt to maintain a casual demeanour contrasting with the desperation to unravel the mysteries that shrouded him.
She leaned back on her arms, the sand beneath her offering both support and a tactile connection to the earth.
Her eyes, filled with curiosity, searched his face for answers.
Finally, he turned to look at her.
His gaze, usually guarded and distant, met hers with a depth that made her stomach clench.
"Come with me and find out," he replied, the words carrying a subtle challenge and an invitation wrapped in an enigma.
Shock tore through Ophelia, and she whipped around to stare at him.
"What?" she stammered, the word escaping her lips in disbelief.
His face carried a small, crooked grin, a subtle expression that hinted at a complexity beneath the surface.
Yet, his eyes refused to meet hers, instead, they were glued to where his scarred fingers rubbed against each other over his knees—a nervous habit.
"You heard me," he replied softly, his gaze fixed on his fingers as if seeking answers.
Her mouth hung open in shock, struggling to process the reality of his proposition.
He wanted her to go with him?
Why?
The weight of the unspoken implications lingered in the air, creating a charged atmosphere that resonated between them.
"But that makes things...." she trailed off, realizing that words were unnecessary.
The gravity of the situation hung heavy in the space between them.
Something serious, real, and undeniably more.
His eyes finally met hers, and deep blue orbs traced over her face, studying her features with an intensity she didn't understand.
"I know," he said quietly before turning his gaze back to the water.
"It's okay if you don't want to," König said stiffly, his tight expression betraying the significance he attached to her response.
It wouldn't be okay with him if she said no.
It would hurt.
A smile, like a rebellious force, fought its way over Ophelia's face.
"Yes," she declared before her mind could catch up with her tongue and talk her way out of it.
She sensed König going rigid beside her, his disbelief palpable in the tension that radiated from his form.
"What?" he questioned, a note of incredulity in his voice.
He didn't think she would agree.
It made her smile grow, despite the panic lacing through her like fire.
"You heard me," Ophelia replied with a grin, a mischievous spark in her eyes that mirrored the playful dance of the waves.
"Yes," she said again as she leaned back against the sand, letting the ocean air trace over her skin and hair.
On the outside, she knew she portrayed calm, but on the inside, she felt like she was freefalling through the sky, with no parachute.
Falling fast with nothing to hang onto.
It was terrifying.