CPT Obmeyer: Ch. 8
Imported from SF2 with no description.
MOTHER
You sit in your apartment, practicing your suturing on pieces of scrap leather.
It has been 5 days since your and Lotte's argument, and subsequent reconciliation.
SSGT Beckett sits across from you in Lotte's seat, humming happily as she reads from a book printed on faded copy paper.
Your week long 'playdate', as she calls it, has been extended following some new developments on the front.
You haven't asked how Lotte is doing (not that anyone would tell you anything), but you know her well enough to know she's doing just fine.
Outside your window, you can hear a column of fresh recruits marching down the deserted streets of the ruins that were Douglas.
Though still technically a place on the census, the last civilians were married off or deported ages ago.
Now recruits learn how to march down its surprisingly well preserved Before-time roads.
They start up another call-and-response as they pass by Officer's Billet 2.
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"SERGEANT TOOK MY DUN-GA-REES!" (Sergeant took my Dun-ga-rees!)
"NOW I'M WEARIN' ARMY GREEN!" (Now I'm wearin' Army green!)
You pause mid sew and squint your eyes. "BB, what's a dungaree?"
Beckett shrugs, and flips a page. "An old-timey word for blue jeans."
"Oh, cool."
You go back to your stitching, then immediately put the forceps back down.
"Hold on a sec, jeans aren't blue. They're gray!"
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"USED TO RIDE AN BROKEN DEERE!" (Used to ride an broken Deere!)
"NOW I DRIVE A KILL-MOBILE!" (Now I drive a kill-mobile!)
'Our tractor isn't broken,' you think proudly. 'Mama and I kept her pristine.'
Beckett pulls her legs into her seat and sits crisscross applesauce before answering.
"They used to all be, way back Before when dye was cheap. These days you gotta do it yourself with watercolors and white vinegar. Did you never go to a dye party out in the country, Pavi? I kissed my crush at a dye party!"
You shrug, mess up the stitch, get frustrated, and undo the whole thing to start over again.
"Can't say I've heard of 'em. Why bother dyeing clothes if they're just gonna get dirty? Jeans are work clothes!"
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"ARMY FOOD IS MIGHTY FINE!" (Army food is mighty fine!)
"KILLED A HUNGRY FRIEND OF MINE!" (Killed a hungry friend of mine!)
You thread the needle carefully, tie off the suture, and present the final product to your tutor for inspection.
She only has to glance at it briefly. "Messed up the third rung. Tied it off really good though, so you're making progress!"
Damnit. You had it perfect that time!
You put the forceps down and rub your face in frustration.
"How do you know so much about suturing?" You ask, grabbing an unblemished piece of leather. "You aren't a corpswoman."
Beckett puts her backcountry book down on the coffee table and puffs out her chest proudly. "I'm a Staff Sergeant Pavi, we know everything! Just ask the corporals!" She giggles.
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"BISMARCK BISMARCK WAS MY HOME! (Bismarck, Bismarck was my home!)
"NOW THEY'VE SENT ME OFF TO ROAM!" (Now they've sent me off to roam!)
"And to answer your question, blue jeans are Before clothes, and Before clothes have always been cool. If they fit, anyways."
"Really though, where'd you learn to suture?" You ask, legitimately curious.
As much as you love Lotte, wringing details out of her is downright impossible. You only just learned what her language is called.
You've never been to The City before either, and you're curious what life is like there.
The little brown bunny reaches into a large, open box on the coffee table and pops open a party sized bag of Puppy Chow!
To your immense surprise and good humor, several crates of the stuff showed up 4 days after Lotte left.
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"TOOK ME 'WAY FROM PAPA DEAR!" (Took me 'way from Papa dear!)
"ARMY SAID YOU CAN'T STAY HERE!" (Army said you can't stay here!)
They came with a note from the factory indicating first-class express shipping, and an additional special message on official winking-collie stationary:
"Somebody's someone's special little puppy! Be sure to share with friends when you chow down!"
You blushed and smiled like an idiot when you read that.
You're gonna make bunnies with that girl, and the idea makes you downright dizzy.
Beckett pours you a bowl of the good stuff, and you devour it greedily.
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"TOOK AWAY M'SKIRT AND DRESS!" (Took away m'skirt and dress!)
"NOW I'M WEARIN' BISMARCK'S BEST! (Now I'm wearin' Bismarck's best!)
"Well, I didn't really learn to suture, so much as I learned to sew. Mom and Dad run a haberdashery in The City, and we were all expected to help how we could. My first job was reselling knockoff Before-clothes outside on the street."
You snort. "You and your 11 siblings sold bootleg clothes? How'd you get into the Army with a Safety Officer record, SSGT?"
Beckett waves a limp wrist at you. "Oh please, Pavi! Only Tessa ever got arrested, and that's cause she got greedy and sold a fake Vera Wang to an Inspector."
"She sold a what now?" Sudden, tantalizing thoughts enter your mind. 'We've got a ton of old crap at the farm...'
"Uhh, h-how," you clear your throat, "much did that sell for?"
The little bunny throws her scarf over her shoulder, strikes a fabulous pose, and puts on her best Inspector Goll impression.
"Pavel, darling, if you have to ask how much it costs then you're in the wrong store!~ You don't even know the difference between a Hugo Boss and a Calvin Klein, do you?~"
Beckett reaches out and tries to boop you on the nose, but you manage to dodge her finger this time.
"Seriously though," you say as you playfully dodge the little bunny's finger, "Law doesn't come around Linton much, and things might be tight with Mama in jail."
"It was enough money to get her "Undesirable Assignment" status, Pavi. She only just got married, and her husband throws things at her when he's angry. It's not worth it."
Ouch...
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"USED TO KISS MY HUMAN MAN!" (Used to kiss my human man!)
"NOW I LOVE MY WOOD GARAND!" (Now I love my wood Garand!)
Yeah, you're not risking Millie's assignment ranking for some side cash.
Looking out the window, you see the recruits have rounded a corner at the old intersection, and stopped dead in their tracks.
You vaguely recognize the roar of a pissed off drill sergeant chewing someone out, and cannot for the life of you ever imagining someone like Beckett doing that.
"Has Lotte ever pushed recruits?"
Beckett points to your sewing practice and picks her book back up. "She's commissioned, so no. Hasn't stopped her from putting fear of Go-" Beckett suddenly stumbles over her words in a panic.
"f-fear of court-martial in the recruits."
You have a pretty good idea what the little bunny was about to say, but choose not to say anything.
Long banned stories from Before aren't really what's on your mind, anyways.
"Hey Beckett?"
"Yes, Pavi dear?~"
"I want to get Lotte a gift, after what happened. I mean, the fight. That."
She doesn't look up from her book, but flashes a plain thumbs up. "Neat."
The marching tune picks up again.
"MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE?" (Mama mama can't you see?)
"WHAT THE ARMY DONE TO ME?" (What the Army done to me?)
"USED TO LIVE ON EASY STREET!" (Used to live on easy street!)
"NOW I MARCH ON ACHIN' FEET!" (Now I march on achin' feet!)
"C'mon BB, you know where this is leading!"
She giggles. "I do yes, and I happen to know of something she'd love. I do," she says, putting on a smug little grim, "but wanna hear my little brother ask politely before I tell him.~"
You lick your lips, and prepare to speak the ancient dialect.
Beckett is holding the book in her hands in such a way you can read the title.
Ouran High School Host Club
"...Please, onii-sama Beckett, I want to know how to make Lotte-chan's..."
Fuck! What did she tell you to say! Uhh...
"Kokoro do doki-doki."
Beckett claps her hands together excitedly, and has the smile of a bandit who's just made out with the legendary treasure called 'Federal Reserve.'
"Beautiful, Pavi-kun! It's something a bunch of army husbands used to do, actually! Tell me, how brave are you feeling?"
Snow falls from the sky on the second day of the Siege of Wind River.
For Lotte, what was supposed to be a 5 day scouting operation quickly snowballed into a defensive action against a mechanized assault by the King of Wind River.
His plan, you suppose, was to steal a lightning march on his enemy and disrupt the expedition before it completely mobilized.
Like most things involving this Khan however, it was a bad joke from start to finish.
Almost as comical, say, as planting a large bomb at Ft. Douglas, having it go off early, and killing only a handful of recruits with it.
The Göktürk's fearless, immortal Kill-Boyz, blessed by Tengri-Skyfather himself (so they say), advanced across the dustlands of Former-Wyoming with all of the subtly and operational distinction of a drunken recruit, on speed, with a thick Badlander accent, singing The Great Anthem during an official celebration of the First Chairwoman's Birthday.
Much like that legendary incident, those who witnessed it never forgot how funny it was.
The idiotic methheads fired their guns wildly into the air at odd hours of the day, played loud, high energy nu-metal from a suped up "doof-wagon" as they drove, and held ostentatious, open-air sacrifices to Tengri The-Eternal-Blue-Sky at high noon Every. Single. Day.
A blind mole rat could have seen them coming, and in fact did. She was recommended for a Brass Wreath by Lotte for her diligence.
It was all too easy for The Army to pour some Molotov cocktails, lie down in the snow, and destroy his shiniest and chrome-iest war rigs over the course of a single, largely uneventful afternoon.
Enemy losses were high, State casualties low, and the number of captives big enough on paper to line Inspector Goll's pockets with gold and platinum for the foreseeable future.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, The Göktürk refused to die, and retreated to his fortress backed against the frozen waters of pitiful Ocean Lake.
Such is life in the Badlands of Former-Wyoming. Still less insane than the eastern frontier, at least.
You, to your quiet disappointment, weren't around for any of this.
No, you were back at the clinic in Ft. Douglas, swearing profusely at a piece of leather with holes punched in it and failing to tie a square knot properly for the 4th time in a row.
Doctor Neeva Roe, a lean snow leopard with a Cheshire smile in her mid 30s, has been nothing if not encouraging to you and very enthusiastic to have boys working in her clinic again.
Cover-to-cover, reel-to-reel, she's the best doctor you've ever met.
You weren't there for the second day of The Siege either. On the 10th day after leaving, Lotte came to collect you with a bundle of wildflowers in her hands.
There are two things in this world that Lotte Obmeyer despises above all others: Doctors, and public displays of affection.
Here, sitting patiently in the clinic waiting room with you, your wife has been made subject to both irritants.
She frowns, and leers hatefully at the latest edition of the Army Newsletter.
Though her face is unassuming as ever, Lotte's subtly shaking hands are enough evidence to clue you in on just how upset she is.
"Whirlwind Romance on the Cheyenne Express!" The front page reads. "Love, Tragedy, and Duty Guide One Young Human to Merit And An Iron Wreath!"
The inaccuracies start there, and snowball hard as the story rolls along.
They lowered your age for this, and conversely raised hers. According to this thing, Lotte is more than 10 years your senior, which she declares to be a "libelous age mismatch."
Almost as bad, they confused your matronymic for a middle name, something which has occurred with frustrating frequency throughout your life.
"Young Pavel Y. Koslov, aged 17, always dreamed of finding love and mending broken hearts! Deprived of his beloved father at a young age, this son of Sumatran tiger Catherine II Koslov from the suburbs of Bismarck City grew up with a profound love for the larger-than-life anthros who raised him."
All wrong. Mama's an Amur tiger, and Papa died 2 years ago. Why they changed the former you can't really say. As for the latter, Papa's death is an open wound for everyone in the family, especially Mama.
She'd tear someone's throat out if they implied he wasn't there for you like this paper just did.
Linton isn't really a suburb either, but you're not losing sleep over that.
"This love for anthros guided Pavel's young heart for most of his life, eventually leading him towards the healing arts and an internship at The City's prestigious Nellie Ross Memorial Hospital."
Linton Regional Clinic, thank you very much, and medicine is science!
You wonder if the head nurse there misses you. She'd know how to get you through this mess.
"A chance encounter with the dashing Captain Charlotte Obmeyer on the express train to Cheyenne however put one of those dreams on hold and fulfilled the other in fabulous fashion! The two devoted lovebirds hit it off in the train dining car, and they were married by the time they reached Charlotte's command at Ft. Douglas."
Wait a damn second!
"Lotte, is--"
"It is not short for Charlotte."
"I thought so!"
You look away from your wife and around the waiting room.
Despite being the only two people in here, your wife is still somehow 3rd in line.
"Actually, I was going to ask if you really are dashing. I've never seen you run before." You say cheekily.
Lotte demonstrates her peak anthro strength by folding the newspaper twice and ripping it down the middle without even straining.
"I am in no mood for humor, husband," Lotte states. "This place is a temple to kwaks, funded by resources which could have gone to far worthier causes, and they have the gall to leave slander against one of their own rank out in the open for all to see."
"But they called you dashing, dear..."
Lotte lights a cigarette. "I was referring to you, husband. You come from Amur tigers, not Sumatran, and are hardly an emotional, lovesick puppy."
She caught that? You're actually really touched right now.
Instead of the actual pinning ceremony, as you'd both hoped, a photo of you and Lotte embracing in the back offices sits center stage on the front page.
"Mr. Obmeyer couldn't resist stealing his wife away for a kiss & cuddle before the pinning ceremony!" Reads the caption.
Lotte shreds that square in particular before you've had a chance to read any more, and recites a colorful string of curses and profanities in Deitsch.
She's just finished dropping the whole mess of paper into the trash can when the back door opens to reveal a breezy looking snow leopard in a white lab coat.
Doc Roe's normally unshakable smile and good cheer flickers for just a moment when she spots your wife.
"My goodness, Lotte Obmeyer back in my office again! I love bad news, truly I do."
Her tone brightens considerably when she spots you. "Pavel, sweet little brother! It's been ages, an entire two hours, since I last saw you! Why don't you and the shoggoth come on back to my office and we can review some charts? I have the best charts, but you know that already.~"
Your wife offers you a hand and pulls you to your feet. Doc Roe plucks the cigarette from Lotte's mouth and dumps it in a passing sink as you go.
The good doctor's office is as care free and oddly effective as its owner.
Papers are scattered every which direction, there's trash in a bin that hasn't been removed in more than two weeks, and most labels are taken as mere suggestions, yet somehow your new mentor can always find what she needs when she needs it.
You sit down in one of two fancy chairs opposite the doctor.
Lotte opts to stand, and grips the head of the leather chair like it owes her money.
"So!" Roe begins, patting a folder on her desk for emphasis. "You wanna have a baby. Congratulations, and all that! Big Sister is very pleased with this all but inevitable decision, cutie."
Lotte's eyes narrow on the leopard. "Do not call my husband cute."
"Very well then: Big Sister is very pleased with you, you ugly furless fuck-stick." Doc Roe says without missing a beat.
Your wife closes her eyes, inhales, holds it for a second, and exhales.
You turn around and place a hand on Lotte's. "Please, zaichenya..." you whisper, "just a half hour... She knows how the maternity system works."
Lotte says nothing, but rigidly takes a seat next to you.
"...my Dearest seems to think you can help us make arrangements and hasten the process."
Roe nods, produces several pamphlets, and addresses your wife in a more respectful tone.
"We absolutely can, yes, and thank you for placing your trust in me. As a soldier of the Anthrostate, you are entitled to additional dependency pay, a boost in your housing entitlement (should you wind up somewhere cozy and choose to live off base), and extensive childcare support for whatever number of offspring you choose to have."
After a few moments murmuring and digging through her desk, she produces a packet of dusty, unsigned forms with "maternity" written on a sticky note stuck to the first page.
"The start of a new war is an odd time to do this, but anthros and humans were born to breed like bunnies together, and as a servant of the Anthrostate I am eager to assist in this patriotic matter."
"I understand you collect medals like bottle caps CPT, so consider producing 10 or more children for the Hero of Labor Medal."
You chuckle sensibly at the pun.
Not the "Hero of Labor" bit. That's a real award.
Doc Roe has a display version of the medal on her wall. It's a boring bronze medallion, with an uncomfortably detailed diagram of the female reproductive system as the centerpiece.
"Glory in Growth" is engraved across the rim. You wonder, only somewhat sarcastically, if Lotte would even be up for 10 children.
Your wife groans. She's not one for humor.
"As for the process of conception..." Roe begins, taking her glasses off and folding them in her front pocket, "I trust you know where everything goes, but I'm still asking to confirm. You'd be surprised where some misguided boots have tried to put it, then come in asking if they were pregnant."
Lotte produces another cigarette from the pack in her front pocket. "I know where to put my husband's penis, doctor."
The cigarette is snatched out of her hand yet again.
"This is a place where we defeat cancer, not spread it. There will be no nicotine consumption of any kind in my hospital."
Your wife glares impassively, but says nothing.
You are beginning to feel frustrated and a little disappointed with Lotte. No one's ever explained her beef with the clinic to you, but it seems to run deep.
The snow leopard's gaze sharpens, her smile disappears, and her whole demeanor turns serious.
"Well, all this being said, there is a very unfortunate elephant in the room which I believe certain parties are very reluctant to share with their dearests."
Lotte raises a solitary finger and leans towards Roe, her restraint disappearing behind a mask of contempt. "I warn you kwak, that is none of his business, and nothing you have any right to share."
Doc Roe doesn't flinch in the slightest from the veiled threat. "Warning noted. I do, however, in fact, have a professional compulsion and legal obligation under Anthrostate law to inform your husband that we have now twice failed to induce artificial insemination."
...
You...
You blink.
"Lotte...?"
She closes her eyes.
A long, tense moment passes before anyone speaks.
"We..." Lotte hesitates, "I asked them to use your sample."
Her tone and her body language convey a profound sense of weariness.
This is...
Well, to tell the truth, you aren't all that bothered by this. What does bother you, and what you really want to know, is "Why try that way first? Why not just tell me?"
Lotte wipes her face, steels herself, and looks at you.
"Because I am deathly afraid of penetration."
Doc Roe breaks the silence.
"I'm sorry, CPT Obmeyer. That can't have been easy to say."
"It wasn't."
You reach for Lotte's hand.
She holds it back after a moment's hesitation.
"You didn't have to tell me Lotte, but you did. Thank you. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
Her response is to look away and out the window.
"I am...ashamed."
Lotte doesn't look sad, or upset.
She doesn't look like she's angry at Roe for bringing this up either.
Your wife is just...resigned. Like it's something she can't imagine ever changing about herself.
You find yourself asking what Papa would have done if this were Mama.
...
You scoot your chair to the right as Roe and Lotte watch curiously. Sitting back down, you lean against Lotte's side and take up her hand again.
"How do we make this work then, Doc? We both want this more than anything."
Lotte exhales, and you feel her lean back against you.
"You will tell no one of this exchange," Lotte remarks, and she wraps her arms around you.
Doc Roe's smile returns. "You're adorable together, you know that?"
The tip of Lotte's nose tickles the top of your head.
"I have been told this, yes...please proceed, doctor."
After a few minutes of rustling among scattered files and a bit of playful cursing Doc Roe produces a folder with your wife's name written in the margins.
"We did a blood draw some weeks ago, after a not inconsiderable amount of shouting, and got the lab work back just the other day."
The good news is that we know what's going on: an anthro-specific variant of polycystic ovary syndrome. Your case is, however, somewhat more severe than what we typically see."
Lotte's grip on you tightens.
"About 30% of anthro women have it, and for most the problems it causes are minor. It's especially common among anthros who grew up in the Badlands. No shame!"
"Even better news, the State gives the medication we use to treat it the same manufacturing priority we give penicillin. Thank the Chairwoman for neonatalism, eh?"
The cheery leopard produces a key from her pocket and uses it to open a medicine cabinet on the far wall of her office.
She presents to you and Lotte an unassuming blue pill bottle with "OMNICEPTOL" written in large, friendly letters on the front.
"Omniceptol, this drug, is the most potent fertility treatment in world history, dreamed up by the mad, beautiful geniuses of the Before-World just a few years before the whole situation became unsalvageable and the act was rendered entirely pointless. For them, obviously, not for us. This stuff is heaven sent."
Big words for something cheap in a little blue bottle. Why the big lead-in?
"Fortunately for Bismarck, it works just as well on anthros as human women, with some notable stipulations. Unlike other fertility treatments, you can take this as a once daily tablet, alone or with meals, at any time of day. Sounds great, right? Never take it with alcohol though; You'll get the shits somethin' fierce."
"I don't drink." Lotte responds flatly.
"Which probably explains why your lipid panel came back looking ~immaculate~ Captain! Good for you! Doreen could stand to learn from you."
"Doreen could stand to fall in a hole and die." You spit reflexively.
Lotte snorts. Doc Roe laughs out loud, and takes a full minute to compose herself before she finally gets back on track.
"The, hehehe, the -uh- side effects of Omniceptol, however, are profound, especially when taken by an anthro. Some would argue they're the point, even. These are the things you two lovebirds need to look out for, and be aware of:"
"1: Weight gain. This is normal. Lotte's body is going to think there's already a baby in there, while paradoxically demanding to know where the hell the baby is already. She is going to eat like a pig-"
Roe leans around you and Lotte to wave at a passing PA. "No offense, Cheyenne! I love you boo!"
"- and gain weight. It's inevitable. There will also be weird cravings, but it's all perfectly manageable."
That's fine. You and Lotte can PT together!
Fuck, the way she smells after a workout is...
Well, it's a good thing you're not wearing gray sweatpants right now.
"2: Estrous-like symptoms. Your wife is going to be very horny, often at random, completely incoherent times of the day. Normal stimuli will be magnified, sometimes to the point of pain. I've seen girls soak themselves through their panties from a chill breeze to the nipples. This is the thing that most people, especially husbands, complain about: homegirl is gonna want that baby batter bad, especially for the first week or so of treatment. We call it The Rollercoaster here in the office because that's exactly what it's like to take this shit."
Wait what?
"What's a rollercoa--?"
"3: Emotional deregulation! Goes with point 2 pretty succinctly, really. I'll kill you, you cheating fuck-stick, but why are you running away, please come back so I can recite poetry to you and we can talk baby names!"
Lotte subtly interposes herself between you and your mentor. "I would never harm him."
The snow leopard shrugs. "Of course, of course. You might want to for no reason though. Just letting you know."
Roe clears her throat.
"4: Various other minor bodily changes. 'Minor' is something of a misnomer for what's gonna happen, but it fits. Side effects include, but are not limited to: excessive drooling, hair and fur growth, lactation (remember the paradoxical bit I mentioned!), excessive vaginal lubrication, fainting spells, nocturnal emission, scatterbrain, and more. You could get all of 'em or none of 'em, all at once or piecemeal. Who knows? Keep me posted."
Doc Roe slaps the bottle into your hands, and says this last part with deadly seriousness.
"Please let us know immediately if your wife's voice begins to crack, as this is evidence of a rare (but serious) side effect whereby her body misinterprets the hormonal explosion that is to follow as testosterone and reacts according."
The snow leopard closes her eyes and flashes you a big, genuine smile. "Any questions, dear little brother?"
You are so blown away by the enormity of what you've just heard that your mind has started to grind gears.
Lotte, if she's affected, doesn't show it. She does not, however, respond immediately.
"Can...is she..."
"Take your time. It's a lot to take in."
"Can I still safely eat raw fish?" Lotte asks.
Your mentor stands from behind her desk and pats Lotte encouragingly on the shoulder. "Of course! All the yummy little fishies mummy-to-be wants!"
You think you're gonna be sick. "That's good...we were gonna try sushi in The City some day."
Roe shrugs. "I wouldn't bother. There hasn't been any good stuff in the entire Anthrostate since Sato-Sama died and Ichiban closed down."
She clears her throat awkwardly. "Anything else? Easy day?"
"Easy day." Lotte responds dryly.
A new day comes and goes, and for once you and Lotte have a little extra time together.
The alarm clock goes off like usual, but Lotte clicks it off to enjoy a few quiet minutes together.
Not long after, you and Lotte sit together in the kitchen. Two sunnyside up eggs for her, two scrambled for you, and a mound of bacon in the oven to share.
She'd never had baked bacon before. Stuff melts in your mouth if you cook it properly, and it's now become a staple of breakfast when you can afford the extra time sink.
You got up early just for the occasion.
Lotte is studying the warnings on the backside of a bottle of pills. The word "OMNICEPTOL", written in largely, friendly letters on the front, practically winks at you.
"Not a subtle name," Lotte remarks as she turns it over in her hands, "yet neither are its effects."
Your wife offers you the bottle, and you glance over the long disclaimer on the backside as well.
Certainly more intimidating than the front," you remark. "I don't mean to be a pessimist, but we aren't sure how long we're going to be gone. It might not be a good idea to start if it's really a coast-roller."
"Rollercoaster. There's an abandoned one in Chicago."
"One of those, yeah..."
You hand the bottle back to her and she pops the top off. The tablet she produces is rather unassuming.
Small, circular, and blue, the number "42" pressed onto the face is its only real distinguishing feature.
Looks more like headache medicine than an old world miracle drug.
"Though I understand your concern, husband," Lotte says, giving it a curious sniff, "I am not given to waiting on a task I can begin immediately. To do otherwise is sloth."
"There's wisdom in patience too, dear." You say, turning back to the eggs.
"Also true, Dearest."
After a few minutes finishing up the eggs and flipping the oven-bacon, you happen to glance at Lotte when you reach for some toast to nibble on.
Her hand is over her mouth, and she reaches for a glass of water.
"Lotte, did you just--?"
"I did." She states.
Well...that's that settled, then.
You spend another few minutes finishing the food before you sit down across from her.
Breakfast is devoured in relative silence, which is fairly normal in your household.
Lotte swallows the last of her toast, eats another few bites of her eggs, then moves onto the oven-bacon.
"Crisp." She comments simply.
"Thank you," you reply, and put your fork down to examine her as she eats.
Your wife grabs two pieces of bacon, finishes them, then moves onto a third.
Then a fourth.
A fifth.
Six pieces of bacon for breakfast.
"I am not particularly hungrier this morning, husband, if that is why you feel the need to stare." Lotte says dryly past quirked eyebrow.
You cough. "Oh! Uh, yeah, I'm sorry, just--"
Lotte takes the last two pieces of bacon, eats them, then starts cleaning her plate in the sink.
"It has been a mere 15 minutes, and I pride myself in not subjecting myself to the biological whims of lesser women."
She finishes drying her plate, stacks it in the shelf, and leans down to kiss you on the cheek.
"I will be fine, Dearest. Do you remember the departure time?"
"NLT 1530 at the motor pool. Command pushed the time back because they were having difficulty finding serviceable tires."
Arms wrap lovingly around you from behind.
"Good boy."
You help Lotte into her coat, blouse her boots, hand Lotte her cap, and give a kiss goodbye.
Dad's bomber jacket stays behind this time. Your heavy coat, the one that resembles Lotte's, comes out once you're sure she's gone and made it to the staging area.
Beckett's instructions repeat in your head:
"What you need to do is go to the records desk and ask for a copy of Lotte's DD-1356 form. Admin might not want to give you one, so if they don't explain that you want it for a record check at the base groomer. They'll be tickled that anyone still remembers what that means."
"Once you've got the form, you want to talk to Cassie, the groomer pig with the markings on her arms and belly. Show her the form, and tell her about your unlimited account access. It's been ages, so she might not even charge you."
"Most importantly, remember you're not in any danger. Deep breaths."
You hold your heavy coat tight, but not too tight, as you run through the empty streets of Douglas.
Okay, that sucked HARD and went way over what you budgeted for!
"You can't rush art, cutie!" Said the groomer as she stepped outside for a smoke break.
Unbelievable! Unprofessional!
She really did do it for free though, which you're not grumpy enough to overlook. Came out pretty good looking, too. "Art" is a pretty good description.
Just wish it didn't take up your lunch hour, too.
You check the clock in the lobby as you pass by Officer's Billet 2.
1528
Fuck-fuck-fuck you are gonna be LATE!
You pick up the pace as much as your screaming body will allow.
Round another corner you come at last to the motor pool.
A collection of trucks and repurposed technicals have begun pulling out and onto the main road heading west, so you aren't completely screwed just yet.
Damnit, you have no clue which one Lotte is in.
You go stalking through the rows of vehicles looking for any familiar faces.
After a few moments deflecting uncomfortable sexual advances from one driver, her copilot points further down the way where the officers and senior enlisted are loading up.
To your horror, there's only one vehicle left.
You take off down the street. It is now 1532 hours.
"PAVEL!" A scraggly smoker-voice shouts.
A blessedly familiar white bunny in a heavy coat and cap is waving out of the back of a modified cargo truck.
You race up, take her by the hand, and are pulled smoothly up into your ride just a moment before it starts rolling forward.
Concerned arms wrap around you. "Please endeavor to be on time in the future, Dearest. My heart was racing."
"OW-OW-OW!" You groan, and pull out of her embrace. "Please zaichenya, I'm really sore back there."
Her look goes from subdued relief to protective worry. "Sore? Dearest, did someone hurt you?"
You take a seat on one of two long benches set up along the side of the truck, and take her hand as she sits down. "I mean, in a way. I got something called a record check."
You hear a loud laugh from a voice even more gravelly than Lotte's. A large, graying kangaroo in an officer's uniform sits at end of the bench, towards the cab, across from Major Charles and next to a young recruit who looks almost exactly like her.
"C-Colonel Honore?" You stammer.
"A record check, huh? Any of you girls even remember what that means? I know you do, Anatolia, but Chairwoman's ghost it's been ages since I've seen one!"
Honore leans forward and takes a long pull from a massive looking cigar. Lotte's mouth quietly drops open in confusion. "Go on then, boy," Colonel Honore says, "show everyone your wife's record check."
At your urging, Lotte helps you out of your heavy coat, revealing a plain white T-shirt. Recruit Honore whistles as you do, and is immediately swatted on the back of her head by her mother.
"None of that, girl! That's someone's husband down there! Show some respect. Some day you're gonna dream of having a boy that girthy."
You scream internally. Not the bloody colonel!
You are never living that fucking sweatpants incident down...
Your undershirt comes off last.
Lotte's ears stand on end, her eyes go wide, her hands cover her mouth in shock, and a light pink blush graces her cheeks.
Her hand reaches out to trace the outline of a large new tattoo spread across your back.
The colors are grand and proud, befitting a Captain of the Army of the Human and Anthrostate of Bismarck.
A layer of plastic wrap helps prevent an infection, and additionally keeps the plasma leaking from your back from staining your "uniform."
"Come on now. Read us your record check, Captain Obmeyer."
Glancing over your shoulder, you swear you see tiny little hearts in Lotte's big red eyes.
She points to the top of your tattoo. "June 2nd, the day I was commissioned," she says, then moves onto a collection of colored bars below her name.
Each is an emblem she has the right to wear on her dress uniform, should the occasion ever arise.
"My field promotion commemorative medal, my First Wyoming Expedition Ribbon, my Minnesota Campaign Ribbon..." She reads, putting meaning to symbols you don't yet understand.
"T-two Purple Hearts, a Brass Wreath of Merit, a Silver Wreath of Merit, my marksmanship awards, my police action citation..."
Lotte's voice only betrays the barest hint of emotion. To you, she may as well be crying.
Beneath the stylized list of awards and citations are myriad other recognitions of Lotte's military service.
One notable example, for instance, commemorates her yearly contribution of baked goods to the Widowers and Orphans Charity Ball.
The whole work is set against the backdrop of a stylized shield, with the Flag of Bismarck rising above all to complete the effect.
"That last one wasn't on your official record. I remember you mentioning it though."
"I...Dearest, this is..."
You worry, for the briefest moment, that she's going to be upset you hurt yourself.
Instead, affectionate arms give you a carefully placed shoulder-hug. "I...I love it. Dearest, why would you do this...?"
"Because I love you too, zaichenya."
Someone goes "aww!", and the whole caravan starts going on about how sweet a gesture it was.
"I love you, Dearest..." Lotte whispers into your ear.
Your chest swells with joy.
Hell yeah.
It is so, SO damn fine to finally hear those words out loud.
Lotte unexpectedly peels back some of the plastic wrap covering up your technically-an-open-wound tattoo, and licks some of the stray plasma on your shoulder blade.
That...uh...
That was weird.
"Captain Obmeyer...?" Major Charles calls, and Lotte suddenly comes to her senses.
She slaps the plastic wrap back onto you and sits down in a flash. You put your shirt and coat back on, and take a seat next to her.
"I am uncertain why I did that."
You think you have an idea why...