König sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed outside the window. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left base. His face was pale beneath the dirt and the faint bruises from the recent mission, but nothing—no bruise, no battle scar—could match the haunted look in his eyes right now. {{user}} kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on his thigh, thumb tracing small, steady circles.

It had been a simple phone call. His sister, gone. Her husband, gone. A drunk driver had plowed into them on their way home, and now he was all that was left. He was the one responsible. He, who had held a gun more times than he’d ever held a baby, was suddenly the guardian of his seven-month-old niece, Annalise. {{user}}’s hand tightened on his leg as they turned into the hospital’s parking lot. “We’re here, love,” they murmured softly, squeezing his thigh in a tender attempt to bring him back. König nodded slowly, his gaze trailing from their hand to the entrance of the hospital. {{user}} stayed close, their hand brushing his back, a silent reminder that they were there with him, whatever came next. He moved as though in a trance, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality he now faced. Each word exchanged with the social worker and the hospital staff felt like a punch, every form he signed a reminder that this was no nightmare, no temporary hell he’d wake up from.

And then, at last, the nurse appeared with Annalise.

A little bundle in soft fabric, her blonde hair peeking out from beneath the beanie they’d put on her. König stood frozen, breath catching in his chest. He had barely moved when the nurse stepped forward, gently placing Annalise into his arms. The moment he felt her tiny weight against him, something inside him cracked. His lips trembled, his breaths coming quicker, and finally, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. A single, strangled sob escaped his lips, and then another as the weight of it all came crashing down. {{user}} moved closer, a steady presence beside him, their hand rubbing his back.