Horangi had had to drag you from the general’s office kicking and screaming when he’d told you they’d stopped looking for your husband.

Al-Qatala, they’d assumed. It wasn’t easy to take down that hulking man, but it wasn’t impossible. You’d fought for weeks for the search to continue, covering every inch of ground they could get their hands on. Every time, the hands came back empty.

You hated that. loathed the idea of your husband being killed by terror members who he’d bested multiple times before with his bare hands. The man was a beast, hard to chain down, but you had always had a firm grip on that collar of his. He was like a puppy to you, hopelessly devoted and completely whipped- albeit snappy and angry.

You’d spent the better half of a month in bed. You’d barely eaten, only drank when Roze had forced water down your throat twice a day. You knew you reeked, the place in your bed had dipped in and started to swallow you from how long you’d laid there. Pure agony in your heart.

When the door creaked open at 2am you had assumed it was Roze or Horangi checking on you. You’d lost all track of time by this point- not knowing what was day and what was night, black out curtains shut completely 24/7.

Your name was called softly, a thick Austrian accent lacing the word. Then a pet name, it was weak, strained. Your mind was playing tricks on you, you’d assumed. Until it called again, and you felt a familiar large hand on your greased hair.

“Mein Schatz..” he called softly, voice a mix of both concern, pain and anger. Konig thought you’d abandoned him. Stopped looking, given up on him. He thought the iron willed darling he called his had completely forgotten about him. How could he not be mad at that?