Russell Adler x Reader

Three

You still remembered the first time you've met Adler.

It was during the Vietnam War, some time during 1967.

Only the devil knew what month it had been, but you remembered the heat. This torturing, sweat dripping heat that gave you a headache whenever you raised your eyes to the sun.

As a born American, you had the pleasure, or honour, how they had called it, to serve your country as a field medic. The unit in which Adler had served had requested medical treatment and you had been unlucky enough to be transferred across half of the battlefield to join them.

This year would never slip your mind, because it had also been the very first time you've met Perseus in person. It had been the first time for you to meet your actual people, the ones that you did all this for.

Soviets.

"You're late.", Adler said with a quick glance. "Too late."

You frowned, confused by the sight of this tall, broad shouldered man in his early thirties. He was dressed in the usual tactical gear, some combat boots, camouflage pants and shirt, with rolled up sleeves. A pack of cigarettes was shoved between his belt and muscular chest. The top was torn off for easy access.

The military had one simple rule: if you did a good job during the war, you eared favours. Most Americans requested things like cigarettes or smutty magazines to kill time, but he was wearing sunglasses to hide his eyes and a silver watch with a leather band on his wrist. Both items looked expensive, so they must have been worth many favours.

A waste of good opportunities, you thought but shrugged.

"My apologies, sir.", you wiped the sweat that was shimmering on your forehead off. "I don't know how late it is."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't they have watches in your unit?"

"No, sir."

Again, his eyes looked you up and down before he nodded slightly and pointed at your head.

"They don't have hats either, I see.", he noted.

A low hiss escaped you as your hand slid over the burning hot surface of your head.

"We've got quite a shortage of supplies over there.", you tried to gift him a smirk to seem more friendly, but months of bullets raining down from the sky and Vietnamese locals trying to stab you with machetes made it look like you were done with all the shit the world had to offer.

Surprisingly, that look made him huff.

"Same here. But complaining won't help."

"I'm not complaining, sir."

He let out an annoyed sound and shook his head.

"Quit calling me sir. A bullet won't spare me either way.", he grabbed one of the cigarettes with two fingers and offered it to you. "Call me Adler."

For a moment, you looked at the white stick.

"I don't smoke.", you mumbled, but took it anyways. "The name's (Y/N). Not that it matters."

"It does to me. Pleasure to work with you."

A bitter laugh escaped you. Luckily, he picked it up as a sarcastic laugh rather than a hateful one.

"Trust me, it won't be a pleasure for long.", you said and let the cigarette dance between your fingers. "It will be a pleasure to get out of this shit alive though."

Agreeing, he nodded.

In that moment you noticed his lips.

He had nice lips, quite big for a man like him. They made him look a little soft, kissable even.

Blushing, you immediately shook off that thought and squeezed your eyes shut.

Curious, Adler tilted his head.

"What?", he asked and lit himself a cigarette.

"Nothing...", you huffed but couldn't hide a smile. "Thoughts wandered off."

He took a deep breath from the cigarette, let his head fall back and blew the grey smoke towards the bright, painfully blue sky.

"Ah. Got someone at home waiting?", he asked and casually leaned against one of the poorly build shelters in which the soldiers slept.

That was the second thing you've noticed about him.

He seemed relaxed yet composed at all times. There wasn't a single flaw in his movements and yet his body was at ease. He allowed himself to be relaxed, but was expecting something at all times. That way, he was cautious but never stressed.

Truth be told, that was the one thing that had scared you about him. Over the years, as you grew more into your role as Perseus tumour inside the American body, this fear had turned into admiration.

It wasn't easy to have this kind of self control. But it seemed natural for Adler to be this way.

"Nah.", you let yourself fall onto a tire. "I'm all alone. Probably the reason why they made me a medic. I die first and nobody will miss me."

You grinned, actually amused about it.

He let out an understanding sound and kept smoking his cig. As he let his arm fall, it slightly turned to the side and revealed a large, messy cut from the hem of his rolled up sleeve all the way down to his wirst.

Surprised, your eyebrows rose. Out of reflex, your hand reached out to grab his arm and turn it to get a better look.

He stopped smoking.

"What are you doing?", he asked, threads of smoke seeping from his lips.

He had white teeth. Surprisingly white. And straight as well.

Underneath the greenish dark face paint, he wasn't ugly either. In fact, the way that his jawline was shaped and how persistent his chin was, made him look intimidatingly manly.

It would have probably been worse if he would have had a beard. But he was fleshly shaved.

Probably another thing he had spent his favours on: razorblades.

"This needs to be cleaned and bandaged.", you said and looked through your medic bag.

"We didn't call you for me. Don't waste supplies."

"But you just said I'm too late anyways. It's not a waste if it saves your arm from getting infected and having to be amputated, no?"

For a moment, he looked at you from the brim of his glasses.

That had been the first time that his bright, blue eyes had pierced your soul.

"Huh. Sure.", he took the last drag from his cigarette. "Do what you deem necessary."