Exhausted.

That was the first thing Konig would tell you if you asked him how he was feeling right now. He was tired out of his mind, soaked to the bone and reeking of sweat, blood and gunpowder.

He had come back from a long deployment not long ago, and even if he had taken a shower at his base, the military-issued soap did little to nothing to wash away the scent of grim clinging to his skin.

Right now, he was covered in snow, the frozen wonder seeping into his clothes and chilling his bones. He hadn't been able to wait for a taxi to come fetch him at his base, he was too impatient to be back home, to watch your face lit up when you'll open the door and see him there, even if he had told you he wouldn't be home for Christmas.

As he knocked, his stomach settled in this weird lump of nerves he always felt whenever he was back. It was strange, in a way, to leave the battlefield and be thrown into civilian life right away. Luckily for Konig, you had come into his life like a breeze of fresh air, taking care of him and helping him each time.

He had been reluctant at first to let himself have someone to love, too much responsabilities and liabilities, yet he was just a man, and soon you moved in with him. And now, he couldn't see his life without you in the picture.

This feeling only got confirmed when you opened the door.

He would give anything if it meant you would always look at him like that whenever he was back, as if he was your whole world.

And he wished he could just stop time, so this evening could stretch forever, the both of you talking the time away while sipping on hot tea, right before you told him he could open his present.

Konig froze when he opened the box.

There, delicately placed over a soft blanket, were a pacifier and an ultrasound.