Hi everyone! Here is the new story I thought of. Sorry that I won't be around long enough to really do anything with it right away but I thought I should get it down before I forget the idea. It's another typical story of mine. Lots of OC in the beginning but then the BoB show up. I hope you like it.

Enjoy!

Things the Heart Survives

Chapter One: Explanations

October 1943
Swindon, England

She never really knew her father. He was often away on what he liked to call business trips which they knew meant women, booze and ample opportunities to gamble away what little they had saved. Despite everything he did, their mother would never leave him, even when his love became more physical than anything she stood by his side. All they could do was watch as their family deteriorated a little more each day.

The man she knew was not a father. He was an abusive womanizer with breath permanently laced with alcohol. She learned to hate him but when the moment of liberation came, she could not help but feel sadness and grief. It did not make sense to her. Then again, nothing in her life ever did.

The reason as to why or how he died was never given. She preferred it that way. The only thing that truly mattered was the fact he died away from home in a place that he was not supposed to be, spending his time with a rather attractive younger woman. Her mother continued to deny the last fact, faithful to the disloyal to the very end.

He wanted to be buried in England which seemed strange for he rarely made contact with anyone from his family except for the occasional drunken rant. But he was born there so they obliged his wishes though the trip was expensive, far out of their way and, needless to say, dangerous but they managed to make it across.

England welcomed them with the stereotypical look: clouds and rain. Her brother, sister and mother despised it; they had seen enough water already. She actually welcomed the weather; it matched her mood. The rain was the only thing she saw out of the window of the cab they took into town. Her brother and sister were fighting again, typical sibling squabbles, nothing serious but when she did not stop them, her mother threatened everything except death to keep them quiet. Everyone was tense that evening.

When the cab stopped at the hotel, she said nothing. The driver did not need to hear another argument. As soon as he left, she spoke. "I thought we were going to grandma's."

"Please do not start this, Rebecca." Her mother, Martha, said with a sigh. She was a woman just short of forty with the look of an older woman. She was thin too, terribly so but Rebecca had given up on her long ago.

"I'm not starting anything. I'm simply wondering why we aren't going there." She inquired though her voice held a tone of disinterest.

"Cut it out, Rebecca." Candice, her sister, cut in. "We're not in the mood." Rebecca kept quiet now but only because she did not want to make a scene in public. The day she listened to her little sister's commands would never come and she would remind her o that soon enough. Candice's twin, Frederick, could have cared less about what was going on. He was too preoccupied with the yo-yo he had recently acquired. The twins were both true redheads, completely different from their older sister's whose blonde waves only contained a hint of the color. The two could not have been more different. Frederick acted like a young child most of the time, despite his age of seventeen, while Candice attempted to make herself older, subsequently making herself less mature than her brother for at least Frederick knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Their check in was brief and the small family soon found themselves in an equally small room on the third floor. Two beds had been requested, which they did receive, though the room appeared to not have been built for that number. Her mother went to sit on the first bed, Frederick sprawled out on the second and Candice headed for the tiny bathroom to touch up her unspoiled make up. Rebecca remained near the door, watching them all silently. It was rather pathetic how far her family had fallen although she could not remember the last time it had stopped.

"Could you explain it to me now?" Rebecca asked, deadpan. "I bet she has more space than this, not to mention it's free."

"Do you really have to start this again?" Candice's voice echoed from the bathroom.

"I never finished. I was just saving people from witnessing another Bridge family argument."

Frederick finally spoke. "It only becomes an argument because you make it one."

"No, it only becomes an argument because mother can't answer a simple question." She now turned to the woman they had all been ignoring. "I just want to know why we are here."

Her mother said nothing. Rebecca sighed.

"I would take any answer. A simple 'because I'd rather stay in a hotel' would do, though I still won't understand."

"I am not getting into an argument with you." Rebecca's anger continued to rise. Her mother was always like this with her, unresponsive and assuming. It drove her crazy. She already hated one parent; she did not need to start hating another.

"You won't get one if you answer me. Why can't you ever do that? Why can't you ever admit things? Why do you always have to shut yourself up in the hole father shoved you in?" If it had been quiet before, it seemed even more so now Frederick sat up on his bed and Candice watched from the bathroom. They glanced at each other for a moment, wondering how bad it would get this time.

At the mention of her dead husband, life seemed to fill her mother. "Do not start this with me, Rebecca Marie. I will not let you dishonor your father's memory."

"You don't have to. He did it himself. Just because he is dead doesn't mean I have to respect him." Her mother said nothing but she stood and got closer to her eldest daughter, her oldest child, the only one who knew her late husband before he became a monster. Martha looked at her daughter and deep down inside she knew it was the truth she spoke but that part of her had not seen the light of day in ages.

Rebecca's cheek burned and her eyes lined with tears, from the sensation of the slap not the need. She had not cried in years.

She nodded, understanding that it was far too late for her mother. Grabbing the bag that had been recently dropped at her feet, she turned to the door. "I'll see you in a couple days."

"Where are you going?" Frederick asked.

"To the place we should be staying at!"

The taxi ride to Aldbourne was normally not a long one but it took forever for Rebecca. She had walked out on her family many times before. All the police officers of Sumter, Indiana knew her by name and she them, she had run away so many times. When she finally got to college, things were better. Her family was much more tolerable when seen only so often but at the same time, she got even angrier at them after every visit. She hated leaving her younger siblings alone but sometimes she felt that they deserved it.

Rebecca sighed. The man was dead and gone. She should not have to worry about him anymore. Her family should get better now, try to piece itself together but that was not happening. Maybe it was too soon but something told Rebecca that the wounds would never heal. It was mostly because of her mother. She may have been more of a problem than her father was.

"He hit me mom." A young Rebecca sniffled as her mother applied a wet cloth to the side of her face, bruises already appearing.

"Don't be silly, Rebecca." Her mother replied gently. "Your father would never do that. You must have tripped. Now tell me what happened."

"But I did tell you! Daddy hit me!"

Martha looked at her daughter with cooler eyes and slapped her wrist. "I will not tolerate lying in this household! Now I want you to go apologize to your father for the lie you just told about him."

"But Mommy…"

"Go!"

Rebecca sank lower in the seat. Her father was the cause and her mother only enforced it. Whether she believed her the first time or not was debatable but at some point she had to figure it out, though her reaction never changed. She never had anyone to go to. Her friends came and went, unable to tolerate her thick shell. Neighbors watched with eyes full of pity the little girl covered in bruises but never did anything. Her brother and sister were seven years younger than she was. By the time their age was appropriate for the beating, her father grew tired of it since he was home less and less but when he had a relapse, Rebecca always made sure she was the target. They did not know; she never told them. Perhaps the hatred of her family was her fault as well.

The taxi slowed, its brakes giving off a high pitched squeak, knocking Rebecca from her thoughts. She looked at her surroundings noting the little cottages, neat, perfect yards, and simple cobblestone street. This was not Indiana; it was the furthest from it. She liked this.

When the door next to her opened, Rebecca looked up in surprise. The driver had gotten out to open the door. He sat underneath his own umbrella holding out a hand to her.

"You did not need to do that." Rebecca said trying to sound as nice as possible.

"It's alright, Miss. I wanted to. From the looks of things, you've been having a rough day. A small act of kindness may not go far but it can't hurt."

Rebecca smiled. "No, it can't. Thank you." She dug in her pockets. "I'm not sure how your money works. Is this enough?"

The driver looked at the pile of coins in her hand.

"It's more than enough, really." He admitted.

"Take it all." She put the money in his hand. "I insist."

"Thank you, Miss." As the taxi drove off, Rebecca felt her smile fade but she was okay with that. She had not smiled in a while. It felt good. The fact that the driver was the kindest person she had met in some time was a different matter, one that she preferred not to think about.

Opening her umbrella, Rebecca gave the now deserted street another quick look. The empty feeling was nice. Maybe the trip would not be as bad as she thought.

It was number fifteen, a small two level brick house with a yard hardly larger than her coat but it was neat with a lovely garden just against the sidewalk. Standing on the steps, Rebecca took some time to enjoy the small welcome mat. This and other small things gave the house a wholesome feeling. She was close to calling it cute.

For a moment she hesitated knocking on the door. Having never actually met her grandmother, she only knew her through letters written. Despite the distance, Rebecca had felt close to her grandmother, felt that the woman thousands of miles away was the only real person she knew. Then again, this woman was the mother of a man that the word monster could not even come close to describing. Could he really have become that way on his own? It seemed doubtful but it was all she hoped for.

Just before she knocked, the door opened. Standing before her was a small, frail looking woman. Her hair was pure white and curled, her glasses small, only for reading, and her clothes were rather out of date. She wore a warm, cheery smile which made Rebecca feel a bit better though she was still surprised when her fist landed on nothing but air.

"I was wondering when you'd get around to it." She noted her granddaughter's confusion. "You see dear, when you get to be my age, you have a tendency of doing strange things. I like to watch the street. It keeps the gossip fresh."

Rebecca's grandmother, Mrs. Dorothy Bridge, took a step back to get a good look at her. The blonde hair was back in a bun, red barely visible, but no matter how tight it was, the waves always managed to break through. Her deep blue eyes were tired in more ways than one. The clothes she wore were tattered and old and the shoes rather dirty. She was a mess and looked in need of sanctuary.

"Come inside, Rebecca, before you fall in." Obeying, Rebecca stepped into a different world. The house felt so warm, so full of happy memories it nearly overwhelmed her. The furniture was neat and in place, nothing was broken and there was no evidence that anything traumatic had happened within its walls, most likely because nothing like that had taken place. She could smell dinner cooking; no doubt a meal that was meant to be for more than two people. There were pictures on every wall and level surface, mostly family, save for hers for they had never been able to send any without their father knowing, which caused her to wonder something.

"How did you know I'm Rebecca?"

Mrs. Bridge smiled. "Your letter was always the best. Your brother and sister focused on themselves a bit too much for my liking, but you were different. You tried to keep attention off yourself as much as possible, and were very excited by my replies. I always knew you'd be the one to visit me." She paused. "Besides, you hardly qualify as seventeen."

Rebecca nodded. "So you don't mind if they're not here?"

"I've gone many years without seeing them. A few more days can't hurt." Mrs. Bridge stopped Rebecca before she replied. "Now, before we discuss anything else, you need to get cleaned up. You're a rather miserable looking creature. Upstairs, the second door to your left is your room; the first door to the right is the bathroom. Give yourself a nice, long bath. I'll keep supper warm for you."

A wave of relief washed over Rebecca. She instantly felt at home and safe. There were no problems here. "Thank you, grandma."

Without turning around, the older woman sighed. "I do miss being called that."

Rebecca found herself in a small but cozy room. It appeared to be not much bigger than the hotel room her family was staying in but she knew she had to be exaggerating to make herself feel better, not that she minded it. The small dresser tucked in the corner of the room looked like it could hold more than what she had brought with. She thought to buy some clothes but she was not sure how long she would actually be in the country. There was no one to impress anyway, at least, no one she cared to.

Deciding to ignore the pictures on the walls for the moment, Rebecca headed for the bathroom for some much needed relaxation. That would not be the result though. While the bath was warm and comforting, it was not as relaxing as she thought it would be. She was fidgety. The urge to move was overwhelming so her bath was brief. However she stood looking in the mirror for a long period of time. The circles under her eyes could have been from the long trip except she could not remember when they were not there. Her skin was pale; she had never gone out much. She was a depressing sight but she continued to stare at the mirror as she tried to imagine what she would have been like if things had been different. It was her favorite pastime.

Eventually Rebecca left the bathroom, wrapped in a robe that had been left hanging on the doorknob by her grandmother. Underneath she wore Frederick's old pajamas, finding them much more comfortable than anything she had ever owned. He had outgrown them in a matter of days, shooting past six feet in an instant. Rebecca did not even believe he actually had a chance to wear the things.

Walking down the stairs, Rebecca hummed a tune, trying to improve her spirits though it was hardly working. She struggled to brush her strawberry blonde hair, knots having found their way into every inch of it. Her hair went past her shoulders; it was going to be a long night.

Mrs. Bridge stepped out of the kitchen to observe her granddaughter. "Yes, that is much better. Oh, and what lovely hair you have, much like your father's." She knew she had said something wrong when a strange look crossed Rebecca's face. The girl looked to be holding something in. Mrs. Bridge retreated into the kitchen.

Rebecca felt the urge to say 'don't remind me,' but she kept that thought to herself. Her grandmother did not know much about what her father did. She was certain she would have to fill in the woman eventually but for right now she could wonder. Rebecca did not feel like talking about it.

Sitting down on the living room couch, Rebecca continued to fight with her hair. When she had almost finished, there was a knock on the front door. Curious, Rebecca looked at a nearby clock. It was almost nine.

"Could you get that for me, Rebecca?" called her grandmother from the kitchen.

Rebecca looked down at herself, hardly believing she was appropriately dressed to greet a stranger. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes. No one is going to hurt you."

Standing, she headed for the door. "Do you always get visitors at this time of night?"

"It is not a visitor," was the calm reply.

Rebecca shrugged. Perhaps it was a close family friend or even someone within her family, though she thought that they would still be considered visitors. Maybe they stayed with her as well. She looked back toward the kitchen. Surely her grandmother would have told her. It did not matter anyway. If it was family, it gave her a better opportunity to get to know them.

Opening the door, Rebecca saw the last thing she expected to. Standing before her was a man in uniform. He was looking down at the time so he had yet to see her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bridge. I was in a rush this morning and forgot my key. I hope I didn't-″ Now the man looked up and locked eyes with Rebecca. No one moved, and if Mrs. Bridge had not interrupted, they probably would never have.

"Don't just stand there, Rebecca. Let the boy in." Without taking her eyes off him, Rebecca stepped to the side and allowed the soldier in. He was American, she could tell from the way he spoke. He was an officer according to the bar on his shoulder. His hair was red like her brother and sister and he was quiet like she was. Then again, it could be the shock.

Mrs. Bridge approached the two. "Lieutenant, this is my granddaughter, Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Lieutenant Richard Winters. He is boarding with me for the time being."

Rebecca nodded slowly, arms crossed. She had not moved or even made an effort to shut the door. "Don't you think you should have mentioned this earlier?"

"My memory isn't what it used to be. I forgot." Her grandmother replied with a smile. She turned back to the kitchen. "I made supper late for you, Lieutenant. I hope you're hungry."

Rebecca leaned against the door, finally closing it, and put her hand to her forehead. "Oh God, she planned it."

Winters watched Mrs. Bridge leave and then turned to Rebecca, a girl he hardly knew now staying with them. It felt inappropriate to him. He thought to ask to board with someone else but with all the men coming in, space would be hard to find. This was hardly an excuse to leave. He knew he had been staring too long when Rebecca looked up at him; he felt suddenly tense and wished she would look somewhere else. Her blue eyes were overwhelming and even he could see things were hidden behind them.

Rebecca stood up straight. "This is unexpected."

Winters cleared his throat. "Yes…yes it is."

"Well…I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." She looked down at herself again. "I'll just change first."

"You don't…you don't have to. I mean, if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay. I'd rather change." Rebecca burst up the stairs at an impossible speed. Winters finally let go of his breath. He turned his head back to the kitchen and found Mrs. Bridge standing there with a grin plastered on her face. He tried to smile but somehow felt caught and was not able to.

Mrs. Bridge walked closer to him, still grinning. She stopped and said to him something that nearly knocked him onto the floor, something that he would think about often, something that would only make talking to Rebecca worse.

"I look forward to calling you grandson."

Ta dah!