Author's note:

Disclaimer: Of course I am not the owner of any IB characters mentioned in this story. I only own my OCs.

By way of explanation:

A vague idea for this story flashed through my mind several weeks ago, but then I did not treat it as a material for a ff.

Maybe, just maybe, the decision to finally develop the original idea is a kind of my organism's reaction to the heat wave that has been taking its toll in my region ;-).

This story has nothing in common with my second (the first in fact) IB ff – the OCs are different, the Basterds' characterizations is rather different and the only similarity is that the plot is – to some extent – built around Stiglitz and his reasons for changing sides in the war.

Warning:

However, I must loyally warn any potential readers that this story is going to be rather dark, including quite a lot of unpleasant situations, events, dialogues and descriptions.

Of course, both 'dark' and 'unpleasant' can be quite relative terms, but personally I think this ff should fall into a 'double M' category, as it includes various forms of violence, either real or implied, intimidation, mature themes etc. etc.

And the Basterds in this story do not always behave or act chivalrously, so it's probably not the best story for those of you who prefer their more idealized picture of good guys fighting against bad guys, where any boundaries between good and evil are precisely delimited. Well, in this story they may be not.

There will also be some swearing here, but, believe me, that's the least of any worries you may have about this ff.

If you still want to read it in spite of the warning, enjoy.

And of course your opinions will be appreciated much.

As I'm going on holiday next week (at last!), another update for this ff (and probably the other) will be possible at the beginning of September. But I'm planning to continue writing on holiday, during stops between one mountain and another :-)

XXXXX

(In)difference

1. A stormy night

The footsteps behind the bathroom door suddenly become louder; he must have come closer and she froze, her hand holding a hairbrush stopped somewhere mid-air, while she was anxiously listening to any sound from outside, almost sure that he would come in. To invade her only hiding place in their Parisian apartment. Or perhaps to drag her out by the hair, as he had done once, when they had been living in Berlin.

She could feel his presence on the other side of the door, but the only thing she heard was a distant echo of thunder. The storm was coming. But, no, he did not enter the bathroom, though she knew he was still there, as his fingers tapped the door impatiently.

'Are you going to spend the whole night there, Astrid?', he asked in a seemingly neutral tone, but there was a slightly dangerous edge to his voice and she flinched.

'Just a minute,' she promptly replied, not wanting to give him a reason to be angry with her and she hurriedly opened the tap, watching the steaming water flowing down the washbasin. Then she flinched again, looking at her reflection in the mirror mimicking her gesture and for a while this pale, fair-haired girl that was looking at her with wide, wary, blue eyes seemed to be almost entirely alien to her, like a stranger met in a street. A stranger. So this is what became of her after merely seven months of the wedded bliss.

She wished she could really stay in the bathroom long enough to make him get bored with waiting and go to bed. Their bed. She could even sleep here, on cold, brown tiles – that was definitely better than going out of the bathroom. Facing his looming figure clad in a long leather Gestapo coat. Looking into his face. Seeing his repulsive smile plastered on his face like a worn-out carnival mask. How she could ever find this smile attractive – well, find him attractive – was a puzzle she had not been able to solve yet.

Major Dieter Hellstrom of the Gestapo, at your service, as he said during their first meeting at Colonel Richter's party, where her mother took her so that she could finally find herself some handsome German officer, some good husband. Some good husband. It would make her laugh, if it had been someone else's story.

She should have left the party at the same moment when his eyes had rested on her. Yet she stayed; talked to him, danced with him, and even let him steal a kiss when he was saying goodbye to her that evening, so happy she was that the officer like him, the major, had chosen her of all the others, was adoring her, giving her so much attention. She was silly. Wrong, she had been silly. A silly, naïve girl who had thought her naive dreams came true. Now she could only smirk at her former self.

But when she finally left the bathroom, he was not standing behind the door and she stopped hesitantly in the middle of the shadowed corridor. The bedroom on her right was dark, which did not really mean anything; he could still be waiting there for her, lurking in the darkness to add to her fear of him. For a while she even thought she saw a movement there, but it was probably the play of shadows caused by a flash of lightning behind the window. And it was when she heard his laughter coming from the study and she felt a familiar stiffness somewhere at the top of her back, as if some giant hand clenched around the nape of her neck, threatening to strangle her, to squeeze her respiratory tract any time soon.

She went there reluctantly, her breath held, her footsteps so careful, that the rustle of her long silk nightdress seemed the only noise she was making when she entered the study. His study. Rows of shelves with books he had probably never read, but they looked nice. Impressive. A copy of "Mein Kampf" left on the desk like a frequently used handbook. His study. She hated this place most of all.

And he was there, with his back turned to her, slightly leaned over a small table, and she heard glass clinking while he was pouring himself a drink, which did not bode well. Not at all. He turned around, slowly, as if he did not want to scare her too quickly.

'Good evening, Astrid,' he said, a glass of whisky in his hand and he took a sip, a smile slowly spreading across his face, but his eyes were cold, calculating. He had already taken off his coat, and his dark grey shirt contrasted sharply with his fair complexion. So sharply that he seemed sick. Or tired. Or drunk.

'Dieter,' she acknowledged him, her voice a bit hoarse, as her throat suddenly became insufferably dry. 'You're back.'

It was probably not the best selection of words, especially in the mouth of someone who was supposed to be a caring wife, because his lips twitched slightly in annoyance, but he composed his face.

'Come', he motioned her to approach and she obeyed reluctantly, which also did not go unnoticed.

'You're late,' he said and his smile increased, both innocent and playful on his face, but now she knew better than to believe this façade. To relax her vigilance. And he did not wait too long to prove her that she was not wrong.

He moved the glass to his mouth and emptied it in one gulp before he put it back on the table and turned to her, still smiling, but his hand shot towards her in an instant, his fingers digging into her hair, and he yanked at it, turning her around and pulling her to him until her back hit his chest and she shut her eyes, hoping it would be all. Yet it was not.

'You're late,' he repeated, his voice husky, dangerous. 'The minute has already passed. I return home after three days and you can't even find time to welcome me properly, so busy you are, Astrid,' his hand rested on her shoulder, caressing her skin, as if contradicting his words, but she felt a twinge of fear forming gradually in her stomach. She shuddered before she realized he was waiting for her to answer.

'I'm sorry,' she said softly, her voice strained, and his fingers moved up, to her neck, stroking it absentmindedly.

'You should be sorry,' he said almost gently and his fingers suddenly clenched around her neck in a gesture that seemed both threatening and playful.

'Just let me be, Dieter,' she asked quietly, when the pressure of his fingers became painful and he entwined his fingers in her hair again.

'And why should I do this, slut? You. Are. My. Wife,' he punctuated each word, yanking at her hair strongly enough to make her hiss in pain and he chuckled, putting his hands on her shoulders. 'Don't forget it.'

She closed her eyes. She did not, of course. He had made it clear months ago. She was his property. Mere property, like a dog, for instance. With the difference that he had never slapped his dog. And it was when he had hit her for the first time. When she had tried to argue, to be exact.

'Maybe you should give him a child,' her mother advised, frowning, when Astrid had swallowed her pride and come to her parents merely two weeks after the wedding, demonstrating a blue and purple bruise that was developing on her cheek. And that was all. Well, not exactly. Since then he had been careful not to leave any traces on her face, on her neck, or anywhere someone could notice them.

Luckily, she had not seen much of him in the weeks that followed, praying that his long business trips would never end, and when he returned home for a day or two, she carefully avoided anything that could annoy him. And, strangely, he seemed to appreciate her efforts. Was almost nice. But when he brought her with him to France and they began to spend more time together, things quickly got back to normal. That normal.

'Just let me go,' she burst out in sudden anger that surprised even her and she pushed his hands away, but that was only the mistake he had been waiting for. He turned her to him as easily as if she did not weigh a thing and slapped her face twice. Once would have probably been enough, but she was defiant, returning to her old ways from the beginning of their marriage, when she had thought she could rebel him.

'It seems I was away for too long,' he snapped, his eyes studying red traces left on her cheek. 'You've become insolent again.'

He grabbed her shoulders, turning her around before he pushed her towards the desk. Her palms hit its cold top painfully, but she barely had time to notice this when he leaned over her back, his hands sliding up and down her sides roughly, painfully.

'You'll learn how to be a good wife, Astrid. I can promise you that,' he hissed into her ear. She tried to struggle, to escape his hold, but he only laughed, pressing his body against hers. 'You know, darling, that this way you'll only be hurt more. Much more,' he promised.

There was a pair of handcuffs lying on the desk and she could only hope that he would not notice them. And would not use them as he had done once to punish her even more and for almost two weeks she had to pull her sleeves down to the middle of her palms to hide purple bruises around her wrists.

But he was not paying much attention to anything around them, his breath suddenly quickened and his hands slipped under her nightdress, ripping her panties off with a well-practised movement. And he was ready to punish her; while one of his hand was unbuttoning his trousers, his other hand yanked her nightdress up. It was going to be fun. 'Losing your will to fight, Astrid? Or maybe you like it this way?' he smirked at her shaking back, but when he undid the last button in his trousers, a sudden voice from behind made him freeze to the core.

'Guten Abend, Dieter.'

For a long moment Hellstrom had a strange feeling that – somehow – time came to a halt, though he could still feel droplets of sweat developing on his back, as the first wave of fear swept over him. Mixed with utter amazement. It was impossible. It. Was. Impossible. Practically, physically and really impossible. There was no possibility that someone could get here unnoticed and at first he thought that it was his imagination playing him a trick or perhaps a side effect of alcohol he had drunk earlier this evening. But a cold touch of metal between his shoulder blades told him two things in an instant. First, the visitor was real. Second, his intentions were far from good.

Astrid froze as well, for a while too terrified even to move, but somewhere among hundreds of thoughts that were flashing through her mind right now, there was one that surprised her. Gratitude. Whoever was standing behind them making Dieter so scared that he did not dare to turn around, whoever it was, for a moment she was grateful to him. Before her fear prevailed.

'I regret to disturb you in such an urgent moment, but we have some business to discuss,' the voice mocked, and the hem of her nightdress suddenly slipped out of Dieter's fingers, though they seemed still immovable like the rest of his body was, whereas the gear wheels in his mind were turning with an increasing speed while he was desperately trying to figure it out. To match the voice with a face. To consider all possible options.

And suddenly the realization dawned on him and he licked his lips nervously. 'Stiglitz.'

The man behind chuckled and this sound was followed by two guffaws, one coming closer and she realized there were more of them than just the one who spoke.

'I'm really touched that you recognize my voice, Dieter,' he jibed again, this time in English, and Astrid gasped, her fear mixed with surprise again. 'So I'm even more sorry for what I have to do right now.'

A sudden noise that followed these words, something like a thud and then a sound of body falling to the floor, made her flinch, but before she had time to think what it meant, someone grabbed her arm in an iron grip and pulled her backward. She cried out in pain, but the grip didn't loosen and she was spun around before she could protest more, until she stood face to face with a demon. A real demon that seemed to come out of her most terrifying nightmare, although this one was impossibly tall, clad in a German uniform and his black eyes bore into her menacingly.

'Quiet,' he snarled in English and she became completely motionless, completely dumb, her eyes locked on his in horror. 'One scream or one move and I will break your neck. If you wanna live, you'd better shut up.'

The message was clear to her even in spite of his strange accent, so she did not make a sound, watching him vacantly, until he sneered nastily and she averted her eyes. His grip was still strong when he moved to stand just behind her, forcing her to face the room. She looked around warily, uncertain if she was allowed to look around at all.

Whoever they were – and she did not have the faintest idea about that – there were two more of them in the room, just as she supposed, and that knowledge just added to her fear. One was standing near the door, a machine gun in his hands, and his face could seem even nice in any other circumstances, but now he gave her a dirty look and she looked away at once. The other one was now kneeling over her husband's unconscious body, twisting his limp arms back and tying them with a piece of rope. There was blood on the side of Dieter's head where, she guessed, one of them must have hit him, but this did not scare her at all while she was watching the man finish his handiwork. And even before he spoke again, she was sure it was the man who had talked to Dieter. Supposedly their leader.

'You can be quite convincing, Donny,' he said, the same mocking tone perceptible in his voice.

And then he looked up at her and for a while she was petrified with terror, unable even to look away. His eyes were blue, just as her own, but cold, piercing, hateful, and a nasty smirk that lit his face did nothing to tone down this effect.

Stiglitz. She was sure she knew this surname, although she could not remember where she had heard it and her desperate attempts to remember were only blocked by sudden panic that paralysed her body and clouded her mind as if she had plunged into thickening grey fog.

'Maybe we should gag him,' he spoke again, his eyes searching the area until he found a piece of torn cotton on the floor and he looked up at her again, sneering.

'Quite fitting,' he said and the other men laughed nastily when he picked it up, whereas she averted her eyes in mortification.

'Now it's time to wake up our host,' he announced, standing up and going out of the room.

He returned quite quickly, carrying a big vase that, she supposed, he must have taken from the sitting room. He pulled out a half-withered bouquet and simply threw it to the floor. And then he poured greenish water out of the vase straight onto Hellstrom's head.

That seemed to work; Dieter flinched and then moved slightly and Stiglitz chuckled before he nudged his ribs with the tip of his shoe and when it did not cause any immediate reaction, he administered a solid kick to Hellstrom's side.

'Wake up, Dieter. It's rude, very rude to keep your guests waiting,' he sneered and the other men cheered on.

Hellstrom first blinked, then opened his eyes and looked around unconsciously, but before he could do more, Stiglitz pushed the torn cotton fabric into his mouth.

'Omar,' he said, motioning to the defeated major and the third of the assailants left his post at the door and approached Hellstrom obediently. But before he yanked the German up, forcing him to kneel, he gave him a kick in the stomach.

Stiglitz muttered something approvingly and waited until Hellstrom was able to raise his head again, and only then he started to speak in a casual tone. 'You've got a nice flat, Dieter. A quiet district. High society. But, honestly, you should have chosen something in the city centre. Did you really think that three soldiers with guns in front of the house are enough to stop us if we decided to pay you a visit?'

Just as he had thought, the gag muffled the response and only the blonde doll on his right let out a yelp, which simply delighted him.

'I've heard you got married,' his eyes were on Hellstrom again. 'Congratulations, my friend. Believe me, I would have come to the wedding reception, but I might have been busy then,' he smirked, his eyes moving to the man behind her and they both chuckled.

Then his gaze moved to her face and she shuddered. He slowly approached her and she tried to struggle against the grip still holding her mercilessly, but the man behind her twisted her arm painfully. 'Stand still,' he growled irritably into her ear and she obeyed, only her mouth were trembling, when Stiglitz stood in front of her.

'Is it Frau Hellstrom?' he asked, grabbing her chin and tilting it up until she met his gaze. 'I must say your taste in women is amazingly good, Dieter,' he said, studying her face, and he smirked even more when he heard Hellstrom struggling violently. She shut her eyes and he gave a short laugh, when a thud came from that direction.

'Omar, I'm afraid you've hurt our host,' he said chuckling and her eyes opened and warily followed his gaze towards Dieter, who was now squatting on his heels, with his head hanging down and there was blood on his forehead. A part of her was scared to the core. But another part observed this scene impassively, a surge of cold satisfaction flowing through her in an instant.

'I guess you're ready to have a little chat,' Stiglitz crouched down in front of Hellstrom, removing the gag dexterously. 'In your place, however, I wouldn't scream. No one to help you anyway and you'll only make us angry.'

Hellstrom was looking at him furiously for a long moment, before he spat in his face and Astrid froze, now absolutely positive that the men would shoot both of them with no hesitation.

Yet it did not happen.

'That was the most stupid thing to do, Dieter, my dear,' Stiglitz wiped his cheek calmly, a dark edge to his voice being the only manifestation of his anger at Hellstrom's action. 'And I'm afraid you'll have to pay for this separately.'

He stood up and took a step right to the middle of the room pensively.

'Like I said, I'm quite impressed by your choice, Dieter,' he looked at her again and she held her breath. 'But maybe I'm wrong about her,' he smirked and she looked away. 'Maybe we should first check the value of this fine lady, before we voice any opinions.'

The man behind pressed her against his body, one of his hand travelling up her thigh, quite unhurriedly, pulling the hem of her nightdress upwards and she yanked away on pure instinct. But that only made him laugh and he drew her to himself fast.

'You've heard that? Should I check it right now?' he asked derisively, his mouth close to her ear, and a moment later she felt his tongue on her cheek, slowly moving along her jaw line and then up to her ear, leaving a wet trace with cruel precision, and she gave a helpless sob.

'Don't touch her!' Hellstrom growled and the man called Omar silenced him with another blow to his head.

Stiglitz observed this with a smirk. 'Ah, you have found your voice again. And quite possessive are we. That's really good,' he admitted. 'I was afraid that your wife's fate could be unimportant to you. Nice to see it's just the opposite.'

He came up to the small table and poured himself a large whisky and he turned around unhurriedly. 'Here's to you, Dieter, and your pretty wife. I'm sure you would propose it yourself, but you still seem a bit confused about the purpose of our visit.' He took a gulp from the glass. 'So I'll come straight to the point.' He put the whisky back on the table and for some reason this gesture terrified her more than anything else. 'You know, Dieter, I'm just wondering what you would say,' he drawled, his lips curled into a cold, sadistic smile that made her freeze again, 'if I took something that belongs to you to finally settle that old score between us.'

Hellstrom was only looking at him hatefully, his eyes burning with helpless rage, but he did not reply. Nor did he move. Probably now he understood that by struggling he could only earn a new bruise and he remained silent, motionless, his clenched jaws being the only sign that he was listening.

'You're unusually silent, Dieter,' Stiglitz voice was soft, almost regretful. 'Pity. Frankly speaking I expected a more spectacular response. So now I guess my friends will take care of you while I'm going to become better acquainted with your wife,' he eyed Hellstrom's face before turning his gaze to her and the smirk he gave her made sobs start to form in her throat again. He gave a short, barking laugh at her reaction before he addressed his fellows. 'Donny, Omar, I'm leaving you with this scum. Do as you think fit. You can even castrate him for all I care but make sure he'll stay alive.'

He swiftly approached her before she could react to these words and he smiled spitefully, grabbing her arm not too gently and the man behind let go of her at once.

'Now, Frau Hellstrom, it's time you showed me around your beautiful flat. I suggest you began with the bedroom.'