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It was a little too cold for Edward’s liking.
As Nikolai had so eloquently pointed out when they had first arrived, the castle walls did “fuck all” to block out the bone chilling alpine winds.
It really didn’t help that they had barely any reprieve against the waves of undead and were collectively running on about four hours of sleep.
The doctor himself was not included in that statistic, having been awake for nearly two and a half days. His executive functioning was fading fast, but he refused to rest until they had succeeded in their mission.
An unexpected snowstorm had halted their progress for the moment, and the group had decided to hunker down to wait the worst of it out. Takeo had started a small fire and Dempsey had managed to tie up the last zombie so they could keep an eye on it.
One of the only upsides to being stuck in a Group 935 base had been that Edward knew where the food and supplies were stored, and the crew had raided those supply closets like they were stealing from the devil himself. They had amassed a sizable amount of canned goods and medical supplies and – agreeing that warm mushy beans were more appetizing than cold mushy beans – were taking turns cooking over the smoldering fire.
Well, all of them except for Edward.
He had excused himself quite early, citing his need to continue working on the construction of the Ragnarok DG-4. His companions barely batted an eye at his absence; they were well aware of the doctor’s workaholic tendencies by now.
Although he swore he could feel Dempsey staring at him as he left. Truth be told, Edward had noticed the man’s gaze lingering on him a lot lately – whatever that meant.
He shivered against the harsh wind as he crossed the courtyard to his makeshift workspace. Snowflakes were coming down in sheets, condensing on his eyelashes and clinging to his vest.
He never thought that he’d end up missing the muddy and drenched battlefields of France, but at least there he had access to adequate winter clothing.
Stomping his feet to get the snow off his boots, Edward entered the small room he was using as a lab, warm air hitting him immediately.
He sighed, flexing his fingers to try and get some more blood-flow to them. The last thing he needed was a case of frostbite putting him out of commission, and he didn’t trust any of the others to be capable enough to treat him.
Hell, Dempsey would probably resort to amputation at the first opportunity.
Though being doted on by the marine for a couple of days was perhaps worth a few fingers.
Those strong hands gently wrapping his own in bandages, adjusting the blankets to make sure he was comfortable, spoon feeding him warm broth…
Nein, focus.
He shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things. He couldn’t afford to let his personal feelings get him distracted, especially with Dr. Groff breathing down their necks the past few days.
Edward pulled up a chair to his workbench and fished out his journal from his pocket, preparing for yet another long night of trials and errors.
His stomach growled in protest, sensing that the doctor had once again given up mealtime in favor of saving the universe.
Oh, to live a life that accounted for normal human functions like eating.
Opening his notes, he settled into his usual headspace that he retreated to while working. He always found it relaxing, only focusing on the materials in front of him, being able to just worry about what was at his fingertips and forget about the rest, even if it was just for a couple of hours.
The clinking of metal and constant hum of electricity serenaded the room, combining with the outside winds in a sort of strange symphony. The castle’s clock tower ticked a lullaby in the distance.
Edward felt his eyelids blink in time with it, getting heavier and heavier with each gentle tick of the hand. He sat up more in his chair, attempting to quell the sleepiness that threatened to cocoon his senses.
Despite his mind’s sluggishness, his hands moved on their own, twisting wires and calibrating circuits as easily as turning on a light switch.
It wasn’t long until he lost track of time, getting caught up in the rhythm of work.
Thoughts were coming more easily now, his brain finally kicking in to gear.
If he switched the order of these two pieces, maybe it would allow the weapon to charge faster? Or what if he used 115 to act as a sort of jump-start for it?
“Richtofen.”
How about if the main fuel rod was directly connected to the cooling system?
“Richtofen.”
Then could it perhaps reduce the charge time by not allowing it to overheat as quickly?
“Richtofen!”
A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped, whirling around.
“Whoa, hey easy, it’s just me.” An American voice said. “You can put down the screwdriver, I ain’t gonna bite.”
Edward realized he was indeed brandishing a screwdriver as one would a knife, arm outstretched and knuckles white. He loosened his grip, slumping back down on his chair.
“Apologies. I must have been lost in thought, didn’t hear you come in.” He mumbled.
The marine in front of him was staring in amusement.
“You’ve been as jumpy as a fucking chihuahua on steroids lately, how long has it been since you took a break?”
Great, now Dempsey most certainly believed that Edward was losing it. He mentally kicked himself. He certainly didn’t need to cast any more doubt on his leadership ability.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Dempsey?” He bristled.
“Yeah actually. You can start by eating this.”
Edward’s hands were suddenly filled with a can of food and a metal spoon.
“And this would help you how exactly?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“You skipped dinner.” Tank replied, as if that explained everything. He looked expectantly at the doctor.
“I ate earlier.”
Edward held the can and spoon back out towards him. It was a small lie, and he hoped it would satisfy the marine for now.
“No you fucking didn’t.” Dempsey scoffed and shoved his hands back to him. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”
“And how would you know that I didn’t? I could have eaten when Takeo and I went to search the rocket test site.” Edward countered.
He hadn’t had enough time to eat then either, but Dempsey didn’t need to know that.
The marine looked at him funny.
“Doc, that was two days ago,” he said slowly. “You spent all of today helping me construct my bow.”
What?
Was he really that far gone that he wasn’t able to tell the days apart?
“Shit, okay, forget eating, when was the last time you slept?” The other man was still giving him a strange look.
Edward thought about it. He had originally figured that it had been about two and a half days, but now he was starting to doubt his own concept of time.
His hesitancy made Dempsey sigh.
“Jesus Christ Ed. You have to take better care of yourself. I—we can’t have you collapsing in the middle of a hoard of freakbags.”
Edward sucked in a breath. The use of the nickname felt like a punch to the chest.
“I’m fine. I assure you, I’m in no danger of collapsing on the battlefield.”
“You just about took my fucking eye out for entering the room. How you’re even still upright is beyond me.”
Sensing that Dempsey wasn’t going to let this go, the doctor turned to set the can of food on his desk. The scattered parts of the DG-4 looked back up at him.
He frowned. He really did need to continue working.
“Well, I appreciate the sentiment,” Edward said, straightening up and turning to face the other man. “But I should get back to what I was working on.”
That forced a laugh from Tank. “Fat chance bud.”
“Excuse me?”
The doctor narrowed his eyes. Dempsey was usually persistent, but this was pushing it, even for him. Why did he suddenly care about Edward’s health? A week ago the marine was close to putting a bullet in his head at the Der Reise facility. Though he supposed that he beat the man to it, in a sense.
“You’re eating something before another finger touches that science fair project.” Tank was wearing that determined, lopsided grin that made him weak in the knees. “Even if I have to tie you up and force it down your throat.”
That last comment conjured up some scenarios that the doctor would most certainly be re-visiting later.
Focus, Edward. He chastised himself.
Scowling at both his mind’s explicit sidetrack and Dempsey’s stubbornness, he grabbed the can off the desk, popping it open. He jerked his head towards the marine with an expression that read ‘happy now?’
“You won’t be calling it a science fair project when it saves your life countless times.”
He eyed the can’s contents. The label said that it was beans mixed with chunks of sausage, but the actual food gave the appearance of muddy rabbit droppings. He grabbed the spoon and dug in.
His stomach started rejoicing at the appearance of sustenance, and it took all Edward had not to start shoving spoonfuls into his face.
“Oh I know when it’s done it’ll be totally kickass,” Tank said. “You always make the best weapons, Doc.”
“Flattery is a fool’s asset Dempsey.” Edward replied in between mouthfuls, but he couldn’t stop his heart from jumping at the praise.
“Take the damn compliment for once. I don’t hand ‘em out lightly.” Tank snorted, still grinning.
He seemed satisfied now that Edward was finally eating something.
“Are you just going to stare at me while I eat? It’s making me uncomfortable.” Edward huffed.
“Oh I’m so sorry Doc, what would you have me do instead?” Tank said sarcastically.
“I don’t care, as long as I can eat in peace,” Edward said, turning his upper body away to hide his chewing. “Go do whatever it is you Americans do for fun. Play baseball or something.”
He could practically hear Tank’s eyes roll around in his skull.
There was a rustling of fabric and a sudden weight hit Edward in the head with a thwap. His vision was momentarily obstructed by the object, now draped over him.
The doctor made a muffled noise of surprise and reached up to rip the thing off his face. It was warm and soft, smelling like a strange concoction of iron and nutmeg. A second passed before he realized what it was – Dempsey’s jacket.
“What the hell was that for?” He glared up at him, only to have his heart nearly stop beating.
The marine was now not only in a very tight-fitting t-shirt, but also stretching his arms over his head, subconsciously flexing his muscles.
Eyes, Edward, look him in the eyes. Not his arms. Eyes.
“I’m going to do what I do for fun: go on a jog.”
“In this weather? You’re insane.” Edward prayed to whatever god was listening that his face wasn’t as red as he thought it was.
Dempsey snorted. “And you’re one to talk.”
“Touché.”
The doctor choked down another spoonful of beans, attempting to distract himself from the borderline obscene display in front of him.
Tank seemed oblivious to his flustered state. “You’d better have all of that eaten by the time I get back. And don’t even think about working on that damn weapon.”
It was Edward’s turn to roll his eyes. He set the jacket on the table, careful not to disrupt any of the fragile pieces of the machine.
“You expect me to just sit here twiddling my thumbs? I know you aren’t particularly thrilled at our current situation, but we do have a mission to complete.”
“No, I expect you to sleep for fuck’s sake.” Dempsey shook his head. “I don’t care if I have to knock your lights out for you to finally shut your eyes. Eat. Then sleep.”
The marine started towards the door, nudging it open with a foot. Frigid air rushed in and Edward flinched.
Dempsey looked back at him with a grin. His brown hair was stark against the moonlight, and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle alongside the crystalizing snowflakes that blew inside.
“I’m gonna do a lap and be back. Don’t spill any shit on my jacket in some attempt at revenge, I just washed that bad boy.”
The doctor wrinkled his nose, eyeing the very stained article of clothing. “With soap, blood, and guts I presume.”
In a very tasteful and dignified response, Dempsey held up his middle finger.
“Just eat your fucking beans, Doc.”
It was probably just Edward’s imagination, or maybe the wind distorting the syllables, but he swore he heard a murmured “please” tacked on to the end.
With that puzzling revelation, he watched Tank turn and disappear into the curtain of snow, leaving the doctor with an increasingly cold can of food and an unsettling warmth in his chest.
He turned back to his desk, sighing at the sight of the marine’s jacket. For once he wasn’t just trying to get a rise out of Dempsey, the thing really was covered with splatters of undead insides. Though if he looked closer, he could see a failed, frustrated attempt at scrubbing the stains out. He had to grin at the mental image of Tank cursing furiously as he attacked the jacket with a washcloth.
Edward ran his fingers over the worn leather, tracing the stitching. There were scorch marks and tears covering the thing front to back, signs of battles hard fought and sacrifices painfully made.
Tank almost never took it off. It wasn’t like they had any extra clothes lying around to wear instead, but Edward suspected it held a more sentimental value to the marine.
A cold gust of wind hit him in the back and he realized that Dempsey had neglected to shut the door when he left. Typical.
Edward slung the jacket around his shoulders and marched over. The snow was coming down harder than it was earlier, helped along by the swirling winds. He heaved the door closed with a satisfying thunk.
Dempsey really was out of his mind for going out in this weather.
The doctor shivered as the last of the snowflakes he had trapped inside settled to the ground. He pulled the jacket tighter around his torso. For being so unassuming from the outside, the thing sure was insulated.
The realization of what he had just done hit him all at once.
He was wearing Dempsey’s jacket.
Unconsciously or not, he had wrapped the thing around him like a baby’s blanket. The marine would probably kill him when he found out.
If he found out, a traitorous part of his mind amended.
Edward sat back down at his desk, his can of food was still off to the side, forgotten in favor of the snuggling warmth he now found himself draped in.
He would just take it off before Dempsey returned, and he would be none the wiser. There was no reason that he had to freeze to death while working, right?
The doctor opened back up his notes, willing his brain to get back to the task at hand, but Dempsey’s threat from earlier bounced around in the back of his head.
Maybe he could spare a few minutes for some sleep. At least until Tank got back.
After all, he was so warm.
And the jacket smelled so good. Like earthy spice, blood, smoke, and Dempsey.
Edward pressed his face into the soft inside of the garment. He could imagine that he was lying next to him, curled around each other as they drifted off into sleep.
The wind had quieted outside. A steady tick from the clock tower echoed around the room and Edward could hear the far away rumble of the rocket tests.
His breathing slowed as he drifted off, and the last thing he registered was the hollow creak of the door opening before he succumbed to slumber.
He didn’t see the grin on Tank’s face as he walked in, or feel him gently caress a hand through his hair.
He didn’t stir when Dempsey tucked his jacket tighter around him.
And he didn’t hear the whispered “Goodnight, Ed” as Tank left.