Chapter Text
König sat bound to the cold metal chair in the center of the interrogation room. The leather straps cutting into his wrists behind his back had caused his hands to go numb hours ago. His shoulders ached from the repeated dislocations to the point he was sure they were bruised. A string of saliva mixed with blood trailed from his bottom lip down to his chest.
A split lip, a broken nose, bruised jaw, possibly a fractured eye socket. Those were the injuries he could confirm on his face, he didn’t have the energy to count the ones on his body.
Too many to count.
The metal door creaked as it swung open. A woman walked in with a bag, the guard behind her closing the door, leaving them alone together.
She sat her bag down on the table in front of him and stepped toward him, approaching him slowly to check him over for injuries she could tend to. The mask he’d come in wearing was ripped away within seconds of him arriving, trampled and forgotten on the floor below his chair.
She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move as if she was one of them. She fucking hated this part. She stepped back to her bag to take out a bottle of water, wetting a sterile cloth before approaching him again.
König glared at her with defiance in his eyes as she came near him. His face was a mess of blood, bruises, and swelling, evidence of the beating he had endured. Despite the pain, he remained stoic, refusing to show any weakness.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion, "What's this? Trying to be merciful now, huh?" he spat, his sarcasm not lost on her. "Save your pity, kleine Soldatin. I don't need your sympathy."
Ignoring his vitriol, she moved closer, gently pressing the wet cloth against his split lip. König sucked air through his teeth in pain, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. "You can play your little good cop routine all you want, but I won't give you a damn thing," he growled, his determination seeping through his words.
She continued to tend to his injuries in silence and he knew her actions were not driven by compassion, but rather the desire to keep him alive. König watched her intently, his eyes following her every move. "What's the matter? Can't take the sight of your men’s handiwork?" He sneered as her brows furrowed at the sight of the bruising on his brow.
She finished cleaning his face in silence, and König's gaze hardened, a flicker of uncomfortable vulnerability crossing his eyes before he quickly masked it again. "You think you can break me? You're nothing but a pawn in this game, just like me. We're all disposable," he said bitterly.
“You have me confused for someone else.” She said quietly, his outburst had made her flinch, making her draw her hand back from him. “I’m not an interrogator, not one of them. I’m a medic. So please let me finish cleaning you up so I can treat your wounds properly.” Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper.
König scoffed at her, a harsh, raspy sound that did little to hide the pain in his voice. "Medic, interrogator, all the same. You're all just dogs on a leash," he spat. But despite his harsh words, he didn't resist as she moved to clean the blood from beneath his broken nose.
"Your concern is touching," König continued, "But I'm not in the habit of accepting aid from my enemies."
She sighed, “I mean, you can’t really stop me, now can you?” She taunted, nodding her head toward his bindings, “Seems like it’s a habit you’re a bit unable to avoid. Now bite down.” She shoved a leather strap in between his teeth before moving her thumbs to the bridge of his nose. Her eyes met his, an apology that she wouldn’t speak brewing in them. With a quick, sickening crack, she reset his nose as best she could.
He groaned, his jaw straining in pain as he panted around the bit. She took it from his mouth carefully before inspecting the next area on his face.
"I don't care what you do to me," he said in a strained voice, meeting her eyes with a steely glare. "I won't betray my team."
“Then don’t.” She said softly, “But don’t waste your energy on me. You need your strength to fight.”
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Over the next several days, the same woman would come in after the interrogators were through, and each day, he had more injuries piled on top of his healing ones. As she stepped in on his seventh day of captivity, he had a deep cut along his abdomen and a gash on his forehead.
When she entered, she dropped her bag before she even reached the table, rushing to kneel next to him, “Shit…” she cursed under her breath. She looked around, knowing she wouldn’t be able to support his weight to move him to the cot in the corner so she dragged it over until it was next to him. She carefully unbound his hands and moved them to his lap. He groaned in pain as the stiff, bruised muscles in his shoulders protested.
She shifted his weight, having him lean on to the bed so she could adjust him the rest of the way until he was laying flat on his back.
Once he was settled, she assessed him again, “You need stitches.” She said, her own body tensing knowing how much it was going to hurt without local anesthesia.
König grunted in response, a grimace marring his bloodied and battered face. He looked up at her with hazy, pain-filled eyes, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "No shit," he spat, the words garbled from the blood still pooling in his mouth.
His body was riddled with bruises and cuts, the brutal interrogation methods he'd been subjected to taking their toll. But as she moved over him to work, the mercenary didn't make a sound. He simply stared up at the ceiling, his jaw set in a grim line as he braced himself for the inevitable pain.
As she prepared to stitch his wounds, König's gaze drifted to her gloved hands. His eyes traced the movement of her fingers as they deftly thread the needle, a look of fleeting fascination crossing his features. For a moment, he seemed to forget about his predicament, his attention solely focused on her.
His hands flexed and relaxed, working the blood back through the appendages. Her throat was dangerously close to him, and he debated wrapping his fingers around it to teach her that she shouldn’t trust him. He was her enemy after all, and she’d just freed him like an idiot.
He could kill her with his bare hands, but her hands had not once caused him pain, other than to help him. Either she was stupid, or she trusted him, and for both of those reasons, he started to believe that she may not be a threat after all.
"You're wasting your time, Fräu," He muttered, bringing his gaze back to meet hers. His voice was softer now, almost weary. "I can take the pain. But I'm not giving them any information. You might as well tell them to kill me now."
Despite his words, she continued with her task. Her hands moved with practiced ease as she began to stitch his wounds, her brow furrowed in concentration. König watched her ignore him, and he felt an odd mix of frustration and irritation.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" he finally spoke, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“You’re the stubborn one.” She retorted as she worked on the gash on his abdomen, her hands staying as gentle as possible, “I figured after a week of speaking with me, you would have at least stopped believing that I’m here to hurt you. I’m a medic. That’s it. I don’t do interrogations, nor do I believe they should happen in the first place.”
König's gaze hardened, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Oh, I know that," he replied coldly. "But you're still part of the same team, aren't you? The same people torturing me day in and day out for information I won't give."
Despite his words, he didn't resist as she worked. He simply lay there quietly, his gaze fixed back on the ceiling as he endured the pain.
"I don't care what your role is," König continued, his voice growing softer. "In the end, you're all the same. You're all my enemies."
He fell silent after that, his eyes closing as she continued suturing. His body was tense under her hands, the muscles hard and unyielding. Yet despite his defiance, there was a weariness to him that spoke of the toll the constant brutality was taking on him.
"You should know," he finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't give you the information you want. I don't know where they are."
For the first time since she’d met him, König sounded sincere. There was a raw honesty in his voice that made her pause. He opened his eyes then, meeting her gaze with a look of resigned defiance.
“Will you shut up?” She hissed, for the first time there was something other than softness in her voice, “If you tell them that, they might kill you.” She brought the bottle of water to her lips, taking a deep drink so that he knew he could trust it, and then placing it in his hands so he could drink.
She couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his abdomen ripple as he brought his head up to drink. She flushed slightly and then moved up to sit on the edge of his cot next to him, leaning over his chest to clean the cut on his forehead, “And no, I’m actually not one of them. They took my gear when they captured me. I’m SAS. A prisoner just like you. Skilled medics are valuable, so here I am.” Her voice was soft again, her eyes darting down to look into his before returning to his cut.
König's eyes widened, surprise flickering in his gaze as he stared at her. "So you're a prisoner too," he mused, a faint smirk growing on his lips. "I guess that makes us fellow inmates, huh?"
He took a sip from the water bottle, grimacing as the movement stung his split lip. He drank until the bottle was empty, so she pulled another out of her bag and handed it to him.
"I guess we're both stuck in this shithole then," His voice sounded clearer as the water hydrated his parched throat. He glanced at her curiously. "So how did you end up here, kleine Soldatin? They catch you on a mission or something?"
She was quiet for a moment, hesitant to speak about herself, but then she relented, “I had been hit in a forest. Stray bullet.” She explained, “They caught me while I was trying to patch myself up. I’ve been here for four months now, patching up their victims.” There was a hint of disdain in her tone, “They make me fix what they break just to break it all over again.” She dabbed a wet, sterile cloth over his forehead. Then used a fresh one to clean any remaining blood on his face.
König watched her quietly, his gaze never leaving her face, "Sounds right," he finally said, "But you're still alive. That's something." There was a brief pause as he took another sip from the water bottle. "And you're doing a damn good job at keeping me alive too."
The compliment, if it could even be called that, hung in the air between them. König wasn't used to praising people. In his line of work, praise was as rare as a peaceful day. But he couldn't deny the fact that she was good at her job. His wounds were healing, and despite the pain and discomfort, he was still alive.
He fell silent after that, his gaze drifting away from hers. He couldn’t deny that he held respect for her. It was a strange feeling, one he wasn't used to. But in the dark, cold room, with only the two of them for company, König found himself not minding it as much.
"Thanks," he finally said, his voice barely audible. "For what it's worth, I do appreciate it."
She flushed lightly, “Don’t thank me. Please.” She said, her hands pausing just before she wiped the blood from his lips. “Just promise me you’ll stay alive. Don’t tell them what you know, and don’t tell them what you don’t know.”