Part 1
Unexpected (en)counter
"Bloody hell, where's my room?" Scowling, he didn't even try to ban the Australian accent from his growling voice. If his guide were still with him his wording would have earned him a stern reproach; but then – if his guide were still with him he wouldn't have gotten lost in one of the corridors with their identical looking stonewalls on his way back to his room. He had only arrived two hours before and it was past midnight now – the tour through his temporary home had been rushed and he had already forgotten half of it. The long passages and small hallways lay in darkness, only illuminated by occasional torches on the cold walls. As a hunter, his steps were light, yet he feared that their echo might wake the other – the real – monks.
x x x
He had been in a bad mood since he left the base for his new assignment, and the voyage itself along the Scottish coastline hadn't improved his attitude towards his new identity.
The larger cities of Scotland seemed pleasant enough with modern architecture and a solid infrastructure, rebuilt and enhanced after the damages of the war twenty years ago.
But the more rural parts were still backward and the roads downtrodden, even those areas that had been untouched by the influence of any war. He felt like he had been sent back to the Middle Ages, trapped somewhere at the sidelines of those chapters of the Arthurian Legend nobody wishes to read about.
The inner voice of the child born to the wild nature of Australia lectured him, accused him of being unfair – wasn't he usually the one who cherished nothing more than the rough beauty of an unaltered wilderness? He knew this was true. But during his journey in an old, drafty train without a working heating, followed by several hours in a slow carriage with a leaking roof, rumbling over gravel-paths and softened field tracks, he didn't feel like appreciating the countryside's bewitching charm.
If he had bothered to look to his right he would have seen the source of a never fading sound – the rushing of the North Sea, the restless ocean, churned up by the storm. A dark, merciless, liquid threat, promising death to any cocky sailors who dared to sail their ships too close to the bold cliffs.
The spray, carried by the howling wind, mixed with the thick fog coming from the inland, veiling fields and roads and travelers with a white, wet and untouchable cover, leaving an illusion of rain.
The sight offered to him when he looked to his left did not reveal much of the countryside, the fog was too thick and he could only guess how meadows, hills and mountains formed the land; he could neither see lakes nor green forests as they were promised in the few guides he had read – the world was well-hidden from his eyes by the hostile weather that greeted him while he half expected goblins, ghosts and wandering spirits to ambush them, luring him and the coachman into the other world.
Yes, he loved the wilderness; but the wilderness of the warm, dry Australia was so much different from this, and while he tried to learn the role he would have to play soon he wondered if he was able to adapt to this new land when he wasn't even allowed to be himself. For the first time he really acknowledged what the Spy did for his living – changing his personality so often and convincing, comfortable in every situation like he was born to it. And not for the last time the Sniper was certain that the Spy would have been the better choice for this job.
Frowning, he smoothed down the cowl of the black habit, his new, unfamiliar clothes he would have to wear for the next few weeks. Despite the darkness he already saw the massive outer walls of the ancient-looking monastery coming closer, as gloomy as the sky. His new home.
x x x
Tired and frustrated he turned around and walked all the way back. The last corridor had lead him to one of the apparently countless heavy oak doors, but unfortunately this one did only open the exit to the inner yard. As carefully as possible he closed the door. If this forsaken place only had more windows. Or some decoration, maybe a plant or a picture, then he would be able to find his way easily. But everything looked alike. He cursed again, this time louder than before, when he tripped over the long habit – skirt, as he called it – as it somehow had managed to wrap around his legs. Never would he have thought that wearing something like this would actually require practice.
A chuckle caught his attention and he bit his tongue. If he wasn't careful his mannerism would blow his cover before the first night was over.
"Zhat's a very clumsy vay to move for a monk."
The amused voice sounded awkwardly familiar. Slowly, he turned around. At the junction of two passages, maybe 16 feet away, a tall man, only a few inches smaller than himself, watched him through the lenses of steel framed glasses. He wore a black soutane – of the rank of a priest as the Sniper remembered from one of the books the Spy had given him – that only emphasized the slender frame. While he still tried to place the voice and the accent he frantically searched his brain for a suitable answer. What was the right way to address a priest... what was the right way to address an amused priest who had caught him stumbling through the building at night?
But then he lifted his head and pulled back the hood to get a better view. Suddenly, he remembered.
Half surprised and half amused now himself he took a few steps forward.
"YOU are that Medic from the other day! The nurse that got me into this bloody trouble!"
The smile on the other man's face froze the very moment he heard and remembered the mocking voice. He, too, walked up to the monk so he could finally see his face.
"YOU!" He almost spat the word when he recognized the Sniper. "Vhat zhe hell are you doing here?" he hissed, seizing the Australian by his collar.
"Wonderin' if ya just look like a woman in this dress of if ya are one after all." With a grin, he put his hands on the man's upper body and patted along his chest.
The Medic's cheeks turned crimson and he pushed the man away, raising his arm, ready to hit him – but then he stopped. Instead, he turned on his heel and stomped away in a manner that didn't suit his dignified clothes at all, fuming with rage. And, as the Sniper noticed with a raised eyebrow, dragging his left leg behind.
"Arschloch."
"Hey, wait, ya wanka! Come on, help me finding my bloody room!" the Sniper called after him, seeing his chance to finally go to bed any time soon disappear. Besides, he burned with curiosity – what could be the reason for the Medic of the rival team to be here? And why did he have a higher rank than him?
But the Medic didn't even bother turning around.
x x x
When the unexpected encounter with the German put him into a better mood – the night and the breakfast didn't. He didn't know what the time was when he had finally found his own room – actually nothing more than a larger cabinet with nothing but a narrow bed, a small table and a wooden chair. The only decoration was a large cross on the wall, made of the same dark wood like the few pieces of furniture. The thin mattress wasn't very comfortable, but he had seen worse, so he fell asleep at once.
When he was woken up by the deafening sound of a bell he felt tired like he hadn't slept at all.
He almost appeared late for breakfast because it had taken him too long to dress; he felt still unfamiliar with the different layers of his clothes.
The food itself was plain, consisting of bread and weak tea only. A monk he asked explained him that on ordinary days food that stilled their hunger was enough - as long as they had the strength to fulfill their daily tasks in the name of the Lord it was all they needed to satiate their souls. The Sniper didn't know what to think of that. To live this kind of lifestyle and to be happy with that sure impressed him; he doubted he would really be able to endure this for the next weeks. But he definitely knew that he was looking forward to Sunday.
Occasionally he glanced at the other end of the table, were the members of the higher ranks had taken seat. The Medic had already been there when he had entered the hall and talked with a few monks who wore a badge over their right sleeves with a medical symbol – so did the Medic, as he noticed. Was he working here as a doctor? He had been told that this monastery was renowned for their skilled doctors, people from all over the country came here to ask for care and advice. For a moment he feared that the German really belonged here. In this case he was in danger. What if the Medic gave him away?
After breakfast he had intended to follow the monk sitting next to him, but the prior gently tapped on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Brother Nathan." the older man greeted him with a friendly, encouraging smile.
The Sniper squirmed inwardly. It had been some time when he was called by his name, this alone was strange enough, especially when a title was added. But he feared that his mission already ended. In this case he wasn't eager to return to the base and face his boss anytime soon.
"I'm glad to welcome you to our little, humble home, Brother Nathan. I hope we can ease the pain of your soul and heal your mind from the memories of your old life."
Right, that was his story. A man so traumatized by the events of his life that he had just recently heard and followed the call. He smiled and nodded.
"Thank ya, Prior Michael. Glad to be here. Nice country ya got here." That's good, always be polite.
The old monk gave an amused chuckle and waved – at the Medic.
'Oh dammit.'
"This is Father Sebastian." Prior Michael explained when the German joined him. "He arrived about a week ago, to exchange his skills with our doctors and healers and to seek healing from us." The German nodded coldly and the monk continued. "We talked about you before breakfast, my friend, and he offered to speak with you about your sad experiences, and help you finding the way to your search of salvation. This is very generous, as he is very busy with his daily work with us and taking care of the villagers."
The Sniper suppressed a growl, knowing he was expected to say something grateful and humble.
"Thank ya, mate – I mean, Father Sebastian." he finally replied, forcing a smile. 'Damn you, nurse.'
x x x
"iFather/i Sebastian, eh?" He examined the squared room which appeared to be an office of some sort. The walls were covered with posters showing pictures of the human body – muscles, bones, organs - and of course the omnipresent cross. When he didn't receive a response he sat down on the desk the Medic was already sitting at.
"What of that is real? Title? Name? What the fuck are ya doin' here? Don't tell me ya really a monk." Then he remembered something he had observed when he was walking behind the Medic.
"Or is it 'cause of ya leg? Can't ya recover that at home?" Behind his mockery he felt a pang of guilt. The Medic limped on his left leg and he somehow knew that his arrow was responsible for that. Not that he minded to kill, otherwise he would have chosen the wrong profession. But for some reason he didn't like it when people survived his assaults with permanent damages.
His last question finally provoked a reaction.
The German snapped the pencil he was writing with in two and he scowled at the Australian.
"Shut up, sit down over zhere and don't speak vizh me."
"Okay, okay." The Sniper raised his hands in a defending gesture and jumped off the table, sitting down on the stool standing next to the door.
"What now?" he asked when nothing happened. The Medic didn't lift his head. He had picked up another pencil and simply continued his writing.
"Nozhing. Don't bozher me zhe next hour and I von't tell zhem vho you are."
"Fine. Ya not really interesting to talk with anyway." Leaning his back against the wall he pulled the hood over his head, closed his eyes and, with crossed arms, dozed off.
x x x
"Wha... eh... yes, Sir." It took him some effort to keep his face straight and demure. Inwardly he was about to explode – after he would have strangled that damned nurse.
"Well then, this sounds like a very good idea." Prior Michael nodded approvingly and smiled at both of them. "Well done, Father Sebastian."
"Zhank you. Our poor brozher, he has suffered so much in his past but he can't face zhe deep spiritual abysses of his soul. He shields from his pains wizh his rough manners and rude tongue." the Medic explained matter-of-factly, but the Sniper caught the triumphing glint in the man's eyes.
'Damn you, German nurse and your damned Schadenfreude.'
But he tried to focus on the words of the old monk.
"And then you thought it would be a good idea if he takes the vow of silence. This way, he could face his inner demons with all force and open his eyes for the ways of our life here, undisturbed by his fears and inner barriers. Splendid, dear Father, splendid." the old man praised. "But I think four weeks would be enough. We can see how you feel then, Brother Nathan, and decide if it's better for you to prolong the vow. I'm very proud of you, not many of those who have just heard the call are brave enough to undergo the trials of conquering their own weaknesses."
"Thank ya, Prior. Thank ya, Father." Pressing the words through his clenched teeth, the Sniper tried his best to sound grateful.
"Well then, Father, please continue your good work, don't bother with explaining him the rules of the vow, I will see to that." Bustling through the documents stowed away in the drawer of his desk, the Prior didn't see how the Medic bent down to the Sniper's ear before he left the room.
"Never underestimate zhe power of a nurse, bushman. Enjoy zhe silence. I vill." he whispered, grinning at the man's glare, his mouth still twitching when he had closed the door behind him and walked down the hall, back to the hospital wing to meet the other healers.
x x x to be continued x x x
Maybe now the title makes a bit more sense? ^^
Yes, I admit it, it's not only OC, but also rather OW (original world, if there's an official term please let me now).
As I told you before, the hunt-theme was something we had in our minds for a while. And my personal wish was to write something about Medic wearing a soutane since I first saw a pic on Deviantart (if you have an account there – I put a link to the pic in the description, as well as two links to the clothes, how I imagine them)
So, while I smashed my head against the wall, hoping to find a reason for the hunt, or consequences I suddenly had the idea - why not combine both fantasies?
Problem: I don't know much about Scotland (but I chose that land for a reason I might explain later, maybe) and even less about monasteries. All I know is from movies like "Sister Act" or "The name of the rose" ^^ Please forgive me if I got the words wrong, this is really just fiction for me and I hope I don't hurt anybody's feelings -_-
