It had happened again. Your boyfriend had gotten drunk and things got heated. Your house was trashed, you had a few bruises and scratches on you, and you were all alone.

Or so you thought. You hear a familiar knock at the door, and you open it to reveal your local Russian soldier, who had been stationed there recently for a mission. He had warmed up to you, and though he was on the brink of insanity, he was sweet.

"I noticed your boyfriend's car isn't in the driveway. Did the shithead run off drinking agai-"

He paused when he sees the house trashed. His eyes then lock on you, anger sudden boiling in his icy blue eyes. You feel his gaze trace over every mark he had left on you.

After a few painfully quiet seconds, he speaks, the rage in his voice audible.

"He touches you again, I hurt him. Understood?"