Two
DeLisle
"You know that he has eyes in the back of his head, right, sir?" Morsberg just shrugs.
"Sure hope he does." Right. Of course he'd say that. By now, I've known him long enough to know that he'd say something like that after flipping the Major off behind his back and being reminded of the Major's special field grade powers. Sometimes, I still wonder what Matthias Morsberg is doing on this team if he obviously doesn't have much regard for its leader. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Sergeant. Just joking."
Ah, yeah, right. Joking. "Honestly not sure if it's the Major's sense of humor, sir."
He snorts. "Seriously, Dee? You guys have been working together for what, ten years?" Well… yeah. I nod. "I'm pretty sure you know what's the Major's brand of humor."
Saying no would be lying, and ever since leaving the CIA I made a point of never lying unless it was absolutely inevitable. I sigh again. "You're right, it's probably exactly his brand of humor."
Morsberg makes a ta da kind of gesture and then walks over to the monitor wall, plops himself down in one of the swiveling chairs. For a few minutes, he just watches the feed, browsing the monitors a little disinterested but suddenly… something seems to have grabbed his attention. He leans forward, murmuring something like, "Na, wen haben wir denn da?" and looks at one of the monitors with an intent gaze.
I know I should just leave it, stay where I am on my couch but damn, even after over a decade in Black and Covert Ops, I'm still too damn curious for my own good. I really shouldn't indulge my gossip loving side but what the hell, 'tis the night before Christmas and seriously, security and surveillance is a shitty kind of duty, sometimes you just gotta use the few perks it offers. I saunter over to the monitor wall and peer over Morsberg's shoulder, hands in my pockets. "Something interesting, sir?"
"Mh, absolutely," he says and points to one of the monitors in the middle row.
Well, look at that. Maureen. On a balcony. "She really has a thing about balconies, doesn't she?"
I can't see Morsberg's face but I can definitely hear the irritation in his voice. "Yeah, it was kinda annoying in that first year." I bet it was. "And look who's searching for her." He points to another monitor and then looks at me, grinning. "Do you think we should give him a hint?"
We probably should because that's what good teammates do. Then again, he of all people should have known why having to pull security and surveillance on Christmas Eve ticked off Maureen. I shake my head. "Nah, he's smart. He'll figure it out himself."
"Have I mentioned that I like the way you think, Sergeant?" Not that much, actually. Huh.
On the monitor, the Major seems to have had an epiphany, since he changes from standing around to charging off into a direction, looking like he knows where to look… "Well, that was fast."
Morsberg looks back at the monitor, this time the one with Maureen. She doesn't look happy on her balcony, more like she just realized that good Marines don't just desert their post because their commander pissed them off and… there we go. Major enters the balcony, can't see what he's saying as he's standing with his back to the camera… I narrow my eyes a little and lean forward. "Please, just get… something, something… with."
"Huh?" What? "Anything you want to tell me, Sergeant?"
Oh. Oh right, that. I shrug. "I think she just told him to "get it over with"." Raised eyebrows on Morsberg's side. "Lip reading. She taught me. Not a lot but it does help sometimes."
Morsberg gives a little whistle – respect? – and then turns back to the monitor gesturing and says, "Okay, Sergeant Jack of all Trades, do your thing."
Right. Should I remind him that technically, we're using government issued equipment to satisfy our curiosity or… Nah. That would be hypocritical. I lean forward again, trying to concentrate. "Okay, she… apologizes. Not sure for what but probably just running out like she did."
"Makes sense. I take it there's no chance to find out what he's saying?" Morsberg asks, a little hopefull.
I shake my head. "Not as long as he's standing with his back to the camera, no." Anyway, back to her. She lowers her head a little, which, damn, makes it harder to see her lips but I think… "Whoa."
"Sergeant?" Haha, you're gonna love this one, Stabsarzt, I promise.
"I think she just told him something like "You always think it's about you." Something really messed her up tonight." Because that kind of quip? Not her style, unless she's either drugged up to her collar – her lack of brain-to-mouth filter when being under the influence of anesthetics or pain killers is by now near legendary – or really pissed off at something or someone. Most times, it's the Major who pissed her off.
Morsberg leans forward a little, too. "He doesn't look happy about it." Yeah, that's what his body language says. He does this thing with running his hand over his face and then through his hair, then shortly puts his hands to his hips and ends up with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Classic "I hate it when this happens" Major.
Too bad I can't see what he's saying. Maureen for her part just give him a single "I…" and turns to fumble around with her flak vest before she finally goes to sit down on the floor, her back against the balcony's railing. There's a short, weird moment of the Major just standing there, looking down at her and I wish I could see the look on his face. "Bottle of Astra he's going to throw up his hands and leave her sitting there."
Yeah, no. I've known the Major too long and I've seen the beginning of whatever weird thing Maureen and he have going. "Bottle of Jack he's not."
"Done," Morsberg just agrees and we both keep staring at the monitor. And yep, after another weird moment, the Major goes and sits down. Right next to her.
I grin at our medic. "You owe me one of those weird mini-bottles, sir."
Morsberg makes a face. "Looks like I do. Pity it's my last one for the next three… wait, what did they just talk about?"
I concentrate again, mentally walk back through the conversation and frown. "I think he just asked her why she doesn't like Christmas," which, depending on how much she calmed down by now, might be a genius or a really fucking dumb move, "and I think she said that it was… her mother's fault?"
On the monitor, the Major seems to repeat what she said, apparently asking for clarification and I look at Morsberg. He looks at me, we look back at the monitor and something… "You know what? I think that's enough lip reading practice for today."
What… yeah. Yeah, I guess he's right. What I could catch – apparently, her mother used to be married before she met Maureen's father? – is something she has never told me before, and if I have learned anything about Maureen it's that she doesn't volunteer personal information just like that, to about anyone. If she tells you something personal about herself, it's because she wants to tell you, and really only you, in that moment. Spying on her like that suddenly really doesn't feel right. I turn around, sit against the desk in front of the monitors and look at Morsberg. "You know what? I think you're right, sir."
Our medic just nods and turns his chair away from the monitor as well. He clears his throat and takes great care not to look at any of the monitors, not even by accident. "So, Sergeant… got anything interesting for Christmas?"
I raise an eyebrow. "It's not Christmas Day yet, sir."
He rolls his eyes. "Ah, yeah, right, Americans. But you did get a package or two, right?"
Huh. As a matter of fact… I did. I shrug. "Sure. Gonna open it tomorrow." It's from my last foster mother, and I'm pretty sure it's gonna hold the same thing every other Christmas package from my foster mother held. A big box of homemade cookies – my last foster parents have a farm, what did you expect? – a new sweater and a pair of socks. I have no idea why the socks but I guess maybe it's some Vietnam Vet wife thing? Anyway, "What about you?"
His first reply is a snort, pretty much derisive, then a growl. Then: "Yet another THW Kiel jersey and, to top it off a goddamn, THW Kiel scarf." Wait, he already opened… ah, right. Christmas Eve. Our shift started two hours ago, early evening and I think I remember that the Germans open their presents on early evening on Christmas Eve.
One thing I don't get, though… "What's so bad about that?"
"It means my parents don't know a thing about me." Okay. That's actually not really news. After working two years with him, I do know that Morsberg and his father don't see eye to eye and that the one thing he resents his mother for is that she never really took the time to actually get to know him. But what does that have to do… "Sorry, you couldn't have known that. Remember that I played handball until I finished university?" I do, actually. "THW Kiel has a very successful handball major league team. I played mostly for HSV, a rival club. I hate THW Kiel. The only people who like THW Kiel are THW Kiel fans."
Huh. I frown. "And your mother doesn't know that?"
He shakes his head and then makes a helpless gesture. "I honestly don't know. I mean, she came to my games and everything. How anyone could think I'd voluntarily wear anything… Anyway, doesn't matter. Fucking Zebras." What the… "THW Kiel's mascot is a zebra. Don't ask."
Okay, I won't. I also won't ask him how the hell a mother could get her son's favorite sports club as wrong as that and keep doing it for years. Even my foster mother, who has only had me for four years before I turned eighteen at least knows my favorite color – Air Force blue, I'm not even joking – and knows what kinds of cookies I like – raspberry white chocolate, for the record, but don't tell anyone, it'll totally ruin my reputation – so how could… okay, you know what, I'm not going to keep thinking about it. At least it does explain a little about our medic.
"Okay, uh, how about we… oh, huh." Mh? Oh, he turned back towards the monitors. And… "Damn, sneaky bastards." Sneaky bastards indeed. They both left the balcony while we weren't watching. "Where are you, guys?"
I blink and watch at the monitors again. Ah, there they are. I point to the one connected to the camera in the corridor adjacent to the balcony. Morsberg's gaze follows my finger and he sees them, too. They're walking along the corridor but I can't make what out what they're talking about because they're both with the back to us. They're walking along and whoa, physical contact? Seriously, sir? You never… "Echt, jetzt? Whenever I do that, I get a fucking punch to the gut and he just gets to fucking squeeze her shoulders and walks off free? Not fair."
I know he wants some compassion or whatever but all I can do is snort and tell him, "It's not like neither of us knows that she's got a soft spot for him."
"Yeah," he says while the Major and Maureen walk along the corridor, still just a little bit too close to be completely proper, "tell me about it." Then he takes a deep breath and mutters, "Not like no one knows she's got a soft spot for him."
Huh, that's weird. I know it can't be jealousy but I don't think I've ever heard that weird note of disapproval in his voice when it's about Maureen and the Major. I frown. "You got a problem with it?"
I almost expect him to answer something like "I've got plenty of problems with it," and honestly, he would have been right. There are a lot of problems with the way the Major and Maureen treat each other, all the things they don't tell each other, all the things they don't do with each other… well. In the end, however, Morsberg just shakes his head and murmurs, "I'm just worried for her."
Mh, right. I roll my eyes. "I'm worried for both of them." Because honestly, what they're doing there, have been doing for almost four fucking years, that can't be good for either of them. Morsberg's throws me a beaten down look. "And she can take care of herself."
Morsberg raises his hands in defeat. "Alright, good point, Sergeant. As always, I defer to your superior judgment."
Right. I roll my eyes again. "That would be a first." An officer. He's still an officer. "Sir."
Thankfully, he's not the Major so instead of at least giving me a dirty look all he does is snort and quip, "You love us anyway, don't you?"
God, I hate that guy. He's being all "I'm just a random foreign officer, don't mind me" and lulling you into a false sense of security and then he comes up with crap like that. I don't want to grin but I can't help doing it anyway. "With all my heart, sir."
"With all your heart what, Dee?" Oops. Should have kept watching that security camera feed.
Both of us turn around, trying to look innocent, to the sight of the Major and Maureen back in the room, a canvas bag in the Major's hand. Huh? "Okay, never mind." Never mind… He holds up the bag. "Be… what do they call this again in Germany, Kid?"
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Bescherung… Tom." Tom? I resist turning to Morsberg but I'm positive that he just thought the exact same thing. Since when is it Tom on duty?
"Bescherung, kids!" Right.
What?
There's an expectant look on the Major's face, like he just told a joke and waits for the punch line to hit us or something. In the end, it's Morsberg who clears up the confusion. "Finally! You came around. I converted a bunch of Americans to the correct way to do Christmas. Oh happy, happy day!" I still got nothing. He sighs. "Presents. We're getting presents. That's Major Santa Claus over there."
Oh. Oooh. We get presents?
The Major nods and puts the bag on the coffee table in front of the two ratty couches in the far corner. "Yep. You get presents. Come on guys, let's get it over with before first solo shift."
I share a look with Morsberg and Maureen and well, it might not have been the most graceful invitation but hey, presents. That doesn't happen too often. We all move over to the couches. Bescherung. Woohoo.
