Chapter Text
You yawned, rolling over in bed. It felt like a boat out at sea, too much space between the silk sheets. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You stopped, staring at the alarm clock: 4:58 a.m., Wednesday, cloudy. Your alarm wouldn’t go off for another two minutes. No reason to dilly-dally; there was a lot to get done. The list started compiling in your head: chores, errands, planning dinner for tomorrow, feeding the rats, calling the telly company. Tomorrow: cook dinner and bake desserts. With a heavy sigh, you rolled out of the warm comforters and got your day started.
You threw on your fuzzy black robe and matching house slippers to shuffle through the hall to the kitchen. First, a cuppa tea, you sleepily thought. You put on the kettle and reached into the cabinet without looking for a mug. It was the white ghost mug you’d bought on sale during Halloween. “Fitting,” you commented with a smile, placing the cup on the granite counter with a tink. You grabbed an English breakfast tea bag, the sugar cubes, and the milk from the fridge.
Ghost will be home tomorrow. The giddiness was so overwhelming that it made you squirm. König wouldn’t be home for another two days. He’d gotten caught up in an intel retrieval side mission. That man couldn’t say no to a “small job.” You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, ticking away. You hadn’t seen your husbands in six weeks, three days, ten hours, and two minutes. Isolation was creating a gloomy wall around you, affecting your work. The rainy English weather in November wasn’t helping either, of course. Soap checked on you every few days over video chat, but it wasn’t the same as having someone physically here. He was on leave in Scotland, taking care of his mum.
You looked out the back kitchen doors into the yard. The warmth of the house made the windows fog as the morning dew settled. Cold, wet, misty. If you squinted, you could see a brown deer poking through the tree line at the edge of the yard. The whistle of the kettle made you jump. You frowned as you poured water into your mug and finished making your tea. Sweet and milky, a blasphemy according to Ghost. You couldn’t wait to hear his voice again. You traveled with the cup back up the hall to take care of your pets.
Before you reached the door, you heard the squeaks of your people — your babies, your pride and joy: four very fat, retired rats waiting for breakfast. Reaching to open the cage, they greeted you with the enthusiasm of Christmas morning. “Good morning, Teddy, Mole, Butters, and Ghost!” Squeaks and kisses on your hands were the highlight of your morning. You reached your arm out, gathering the rats and placing them on the floor. “Time for eggs, lads,” you said, turning to go back to the kitchen. The rats scampered after you.
When you got to the kitchen, they ran to the cat tower in the corner by the table. They patiently waited for you to make breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and some leftover fruit salad were on the menu. It didn’t take long to set everything on the table — a silverware set for you, and small bowls for your boys. You ate quickly, then put the dishes into the dishwasher.
The rats were then brought back to their room. You quickly tidied their little space, adjusting the camera, picking up papers, and refilling their water bottles. The small room held a big cage, cat towers, boxes, and various paper media for nesting. You smiled as they all piled into a homemade hammock, cozy and eager for a nap after filling their bellies. You stuck your hand in their pile, giving them all a nice pet before closing the door and heading to your room.
The room after the rats’ was your study, cluttered with tech and art supplies. Ghost and König each had a study across the hall. Your shared master bedroom was two doors down at the end of the hallway. You glanced at the clock: 6:20 a.m. Behind schedule already. You took a quick shower, three minutes exactly, then walked back into your room and sat at the vanity, towel-drying your hair. Reaching for a bottle of hair oil, the power went out.
Weird as fuck. You frowned, peeking out the window. It wasn’t storming yet. Must have been an accident in the neighborhood. You grabbed your phone and checked the power, remotely resetting the breakers through your homemade app. Not a minute later — exactly when the lights came back on, the phone rang. You immediately picked up, knowing it was Ghost. You’d set auto notifications to alert your husbands in case of emergencies or outages.
“Hi, dove. Is everything alright? Got the notif,” he asked immediately.
“Hm? Yes, Simon. Power just went out, is all,” you quipped, finishing your braid.
“Alright. I miss you.” His voice was tired but sincere; the mission had been too busy for anything more than a check-in text.
You beamed. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“Of course, love. Can’t wait for these damn meetings and medical to finish.” He sighed heavily, exhaustion evident. He was an hour and a half away at the base.
You chuckled. “Let me not hold you up, babe. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said before ending the call.
You walked to the closet and picked out cargo leggings, a metal band shirt, and an oversized black hoodie. You smiled as you got dressed. It's definitely König’s, too long with thumb holes in the sleeves. The fabric was cozy and smelled of sandalwood. It gave you the pep you needed. You walked out to the living room to gather your belongings.
You laced your black boots by the door. Bag, keys, sunglasses, face mask, cane — check. You always got weird looks for wearing sunglasses indoors, but direct eye contact was even worse. Double-checking your list, you locked the door behind you and headed to the car.
You parked back in your driveway with a shaky breath. Grocery shopping was miserable. It always was, but today felt worse than usual. The lights are too bright, the floors too clean, shoes squeaking. Too many eyes on you. People always stared at the masked woman with sunglasses and a cane. Your nerves made you forget things and circle back down aisles. Cheez-Its for Ghost, Oreos for König. A mantra. You couldn’t see who was watching you, but you could feel them.
You exited the car with a grocery bag in each arm and your music playing in one ear. Up the driveway and stepped in a puddle — reached the porch. You deftly unlocked the door, juggling everything. The door shut with a soft thunk.
You brought the groceries into the kitchen. The air felt wrong. Panic rose in your chest. Groceries, house check, security system check. The mental list is loaded in your head.
You set the bags on the table. You were suddenly tackled. The attacker shoved you face-first to the floor. Your cane clattered away.
His knee pinned your bad hip. Groceries were scattered, orange juice, eggs, and flour splattered across the tile. The cold floor against your cheek made you squirm. Panic rooted deep in your bones; you couldn’t breathe fast enough.
“Get the fuck off me!” you spat, teeth gnashing, trying to crawl free. Your phone — if you could just reach it. One tap would send an emergency alert to your husbands. The clock read 10:30 a.m.
“Stay down, bitch!” the intruder snarled. He yanked your braid, wrenching your head back. Pain bloomed in your lower back; your eyes watered. Civilian life has made me weak, you thought bitterly. He uncapped a syringe with his teeth and stabbed it into your neck.
You cried out. Ghost is going to be so angry. König is even worse.
Fuzzy vision. I should’ve known I was being followed.
You couldn’t move — your hands were zip-tied behind your back.
You passed out, breathing shallow.