#chapter progress is moving at a truly glacial pace because i keep on going on tangents for the smallest tasks

[thesimperiuscurse]

— sunny / 20 / nutrition + health sciences / board

[missixo]

St Balderich Slays the Dragon [12/19]

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |(on tumblr)

This fic (on AO3)

Pairing: Balderich/Mondatta

Summary:  The humans are right to fear omnics and what they can do. What he can and will do to humanity. He is Jörmungandr, and he will see humanity fall.

St Balderich Slays the Dragon

Chapter 12

Over the next few months, every Crusader on base is deployed to some part of Europe or other to assist in a push back against omnic incursions. Jörmungandr isn’t overly worried, he’s heard them talking about how they’re still nowhere near destroying an omnium.

Halfway through the first month, Ozzie does indeed make it on base, thankfully with a matching foot, and into the communications center. Well, all of his regular patients are going to be in and out for at least a few weeks, now is as good a time as any to catch up. It doesn’t take much to convince her to let him on the fifth floor with her so they can continue talking while she’s on shift.

“Just don’t tell anyone I did this, ok? Your voice is different than what I remember.”

“My synth is locked. And I got punched in the head about a month ago, quite the story...”

The communications center is mostly staffed by omnics with one or two human supervisors, and he learns it’s kept on a completely separate network from the rest of the base. Explains his inability to remote hack it.

“Everyone has some access to it, but it’s all level one, or level two, which is the bigwigs.”

The ‘work stations’ are microscopic desks with stools all huddled in an empty area by the door, each with a port that allows direct access to the digital entry into the system. Jörmungandr quietly ports into the station next to Ozzie’s and starts scanning the firewalls he needs to get through. It’s a nightmare. The best he can do for now is leave a scrap of code that can slowly drill a small hole for him to use later. It’s going to take months. He wants to throw something out a window. Preferably whoever designed this, possibly after shaking their hand.

After Ozzie shoos him out citing a supervisor coming on shift, he heads for the service stairs and, for old time’s sake, sets off at least one fire alarm per floor. Petty, but it feels so good to inconvenience these humans a little bit after the news he got today.

***

A week later, MD is just back from bullying Ferdinand into going to his physical therapy appointment - the happy idiot can come back unscathed from a battle with bastions and OR-13s, but manages to pull a muscle in his hand opening a pickle jar of all things - when Balderich, Reinhardt, and Henri get back from their latest deployment almost three days late.

“... Lieutenant, would you like a razor for that thing on your face?”

He doesn’t know what’s so funny but Balderich and Henri break down laughing while Reinhardt looks wounded by his question.

“I’m trying to grow it out!”

***

Jörmungandr spends the months of back-to-back deployments taking shifts at the base hospital again, clipping loops of security footage - empty stairwells and hallways - and chatting with Ozzie and Broom when their breaks line up. He trades meaningless gossip back and forth, carefully nudging Ozzie for information on how the communications system works, porting in to a station each time they meet up in there and nudging his drill code that hundredth of a percent ahead of schedule.

During the occasional week that the colonel is on base, he focuses on this new bond the man seems to have formed for him. The flirting is strange, but he feels like he's improving as he goes.

***

Balderich levers himself slowly out of his bed, groaning the whole way. He's on two weeks mandatory rest after pulling something in his leg, and he has check-ups that need doing. Three months of these in-and-out deployments are taking a toll on him and his men, and he can only see more of the same when he thinks of the weeks and months to come. He rubs at a sore muscle in his neck and suddenly remembers his physical later this morning, a small point of pleasure in this mess the world is becoming.

MD still doesn't go easy on him when he's between missions, even with this budding... thing between them. He'd like to call it attraction, maybe a relationship on his more confident days, but some days he's not entirely sure; on those days it almost feels like an acting role the omnic is still figuring out how to play convincingly.

He scratches his jaw and makes a face at the heavy stubble he finds, effectively distracting himself from his contemplations. A quick pass over his scalp leaves the same prickling sensation over his palm.

'Get over it or get it over with...'

In the end, he can't get over it, so he hobbles into the bathroom, sits on the toilet lid, and blesses his long arms that can reach the sink so he can shave sitting down. His scalp is nearly clear when Reinhardt disregards proper decorum - it's becoming an 'as usual' thing, and it's becoming annoying - and enters his quarters.

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"MD wanted me to let you know he'll be making housecalls today because, I quote, 'I've seen geriatrics more mobile than you lot.'"

Charming as always. "Thank you, Reinhardt. Do the others know?"

"Mhm, you were my last stop." His desk chair squeaks as his former squire makes himself comfortable. Must be bored if he's willing to sit with Balderich on his off day. The younger man is recovering from a nasty concussion because he refuses to wear his helmet now unless Balderich shoves it on his head for him and a cracked clavicle. The sling pinning his arm looks a little worn, like MD had to scrounge around to find one the right size.

He finishes making himself feel human again and slowly makes his way back to bed. Reinhardt is badly suppressing a grin. "You look too happy, what's going on?"

"I can't wait to see your face when he stops by, that's all."

One eyebrow rises to his newly-removed hairline. What the hell does that mean?

***

Reinhardt ropes him into watching some awful American 1980's TV show because David Jackenoff - "Hasselhoff!" whatever - is in it. They're three episodes and one and a half hours of regret into it when MD comes to the rescue.

The lieutenant does indeed burst out laughing at Balderich's face when the omnic walks in wearing nothing but his plates, not even his ugly flipflops. MD notices and pokes his shoulder.

"Everything alright, Colonel? I didn't realize American TV was truly so effective at brain rot."

"I-- Where are your clothes?" Genius response there.

"I didn't feel like wearing them today, and as I'm only 'government property,' there's no dress code I'm required to observe." The loathing and disgust reassures him it is indeed MD standing nude in front of him. And about to examine the pulled muscle in his leg.

'Someone somewhere hates me.' Talk about look but don’t touch.

The presence of an entirely unwelcome audience keeps any swelling down, at least, and the exam goes smoothly. The pair of them share a look and Balderich envies MD his unemotive face as he forces down laughter.

"You're recovering well, which is good news. I'd be disappointed if a pulled muscle was all it took to remove you from the picture."

"It'll take more than this to keep me pinned. How much do you weigh, again?" He curls his hands a little to keep them to himself. MD's been allowing him liberties with touch the last month or two, but he gets a feeling he'd be pushing it right now with Reinhardt in the room.

Reinhardt's face nearly breaks his veneer of calm. He's getting old, but he's not dead yet.

"Not enough to keep you on your back unless you wanted." MD drops a reusable cold pack next to him. "Until the next time you can't keep out of trouble, then. Honestly, this is the only way you can think of to get me in your quarters?"

"It's certainly the easiest, give me credit for that much."

"I won't because it just makes more work for me, which is hardly my idea of a good time. Lieutenant, I'll see you later to check on that break."

Reinhardt nods dumbly as MD gathers his things. His jaw drops when Balderich blatantly watches the omnic's silicone padded ass as he leaves. Once the door clicks shut, he finds his voice again.

"You're a cruel, dirty old man."

Balderich laughs so hard his face almost hurts enough to match his leg.

***

Jörmungandr can't help a quiet laugh as he slips into the safety of the med bay.

'His face! Maker, that was priceless.'

Circuits buzz pleasantly under his chassis, a fairly normal occurrence since he decided to pursue this distraction with the colonel. It settles down enough after an hour that he can ignore it and check on his little scrap of hacking code.

It moves at a glacial pace, but it makes progress all the same. It's so close now, the buzzing in his circuits returns with a slightly different feeling, no less pleasant for that extra edge to it. He has months invested already, he can wait a few more days...

***

MD isn’t sure how, but one night almost six months after he first gained access to the communications room, he gets roped into playing ‘referee’ - glorified audience - for a few rounds of competitive drinking between the men - all on base at once for the first time in four months - while he nurses a bottle of oil. At least he gets to claim one of the couches in the rec room to himself while they get hammered. Balderich opts out early on, something about the whiskey affecting his plans for later? They’ve slowly been getting more physical lately, when Balderich asked him to his quarters later this evening.

Reinhardt gets knocked out in round three and collapses on the couch next to MD so heavily the omnic bounces a few inches and almost spills his oil. He barks a rebuke at the inebriated lieutenant, who drunkenly laughs through an apology. MD is reminded of Balderich’s complaints that Reinhardt is getting cocky on deployments recently. And he still wishes Reinhardt would shave the beard he’s slowly trying to grow out from its original goatee.

“How any of you still have your liver is beyond me.”

“It would take more than a few pints of beer to finish off a mighty Crusader!”

“Perhaps, but those few pints could make you an easier target for a bastion if you get deployed tomorrow.”

Reinhardt laughs, “You have a good heart, my friend! Always concerned about us.”

“I have a core, lieutenant.”

“Hey hey hey, we’re past this lieutenant nonsense. It’s Reinhardt, remember? And ok, yes, but a core is like… like a tech heart, ah?” The German’s speech was so slurred from drink, the last words almost sounded like one long one, and it took the omnic a minute to parse out what he said.

“You clearly need sleep, my friend. I think I’ll let you have the couch for the night.” He carefully but firmly takes the stein of beer the man is still holding and dumps it in the sink before heading to Balderich’s quarters. He has an idea of what the man meant, though he’s not sure how it’s going to play out.

The man greets him at the door with a kiss, answered with a spark of omnic energy he only recently figured out.

“You took your time getting here.”

“Your men are very distracting.”

“Not too distracting, I hope?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That you are.” Balderich startles a squeak out of the omnic when he picks him up, MD’s arms wrapping snug around his neck.

“I should kick you for that.”

“Ah, but you won’t.”