Disclaimer: All rights belong to Philipp Kadelbach & Stefan Kolditz. Lyrics belong to their respective owners - no infringement is intended.
Rating: T
Warning: The subject matter covered in this story could be considered sensitive, but there's nothing graphic. It's just a story about what happens 'after'.
Authors Note: This story took hold of me, and wouldn't let go until I had written this story. This movie - despite it's flaws - was painful, bittersweet, and awful. This story is a kind of happy ending, which I feel like these two deserve, because although the ending was realistic, it did leave something to be desired.
You will notice that I did not discuss certain aspects of the film (I won't mention them, because: spoilers), but I didn't feel comfortable going into detail on one event in particular, because I didn't feel like I could do it any justice at all. It is mentioned, briefly, so I hope that will be enough, and that it won't take away from the story.
Any errors in translation are my own, as I used the Google. If it's really terrible, please PM me and I will change it.
If you happen to stumble across this story, please leave me a review. This was truly a labor of love, and I would love to know what you think!
By Tomorrow
"By tomorrow we'll be lost amongst the leaves
In a wind that chills the skeletons of trees"
Daughter, Tomorrow
By Tomorrow
It is nearly curfew before, with a final clink of the beer glasses, the bottle of scotch is empty, and they have no reason to linger in the pub any longer.
Charly brushes the stray hairs out of her face, and glances at the two men who are sitting beside her.
She doesn't know what to expect when she enters the pub, some part of her – the foolish part, had hoped that perhaps by some miracle it would be untouched. Perhaps one thing would be left unchanged by the war, but she knew as soon as she pushed open the door that the pub, as well as everything else, would be forever changed.
She pauses – maybe she ought to turn around, maybe this was a terrible idea. The thought of turning around, and disappearing back into the dusk, is so terrifying it physically hurts. They- she had promised, four years ago, that they would all meet again at Christmas, and Charly figured she owed them that much.
She meets Victor's eyes first; aware of someone else, she can smell the smoke from their cigarette. She glances over and sees Wilhelm. Her heart constricts in her chest, and where there used to be a pleasant thrill, it just feels heavy now. Charly remembers the last time they saw each other, and she feels heat rush behind her eyes, the betrayal of tears. She bites down on the inside of her cheek, and winces as her teeth cut into the tender flesh. She swallows and the taste of iron fills her throat.
She isn't sure what to expect when she looks at him. Wilhelm's eyes hold the same tired, haunted look that she sees every time someone briefly meets her eyes. There is another emotion there, something that dims his usual (green) eyes. But when he finally realizes that it's her, his eyes brighten the way that they always did when they shared a glance.
He has a small cut on his lip, and Charly wonders how it happened. It had already scabbed over, so it must have happened days ago. She turns her gaze to Victor, and takes a few tentative steps into the room; she keeps her eyes focused on Victor, for the first two, then she turned to Wilhelm again. He is still watching her, leaning against the counter and Charly wonders if it is holding him up, if he is shaking as bad as she is. Her breath catches in her throat, Wilhelm wets his lips, and they both looked away at the same time.
The air hangs heavy between them, and Victor, hunched by the piano, wasn't looking at either of them.
"We don't have to wait for Friedhelm."
His voice breaks the silence, steady and to the point. The pressure tightens in Charly's chest, and it is difficult to breath. The dark look crosses Wilhelm's eyes again and she suddenly understands.
Grief.
She feels the rush of tears behind her eyes, but this time she doesn't bite her cheek, she can't move.
Victor mutters, his words cut with bitterness, and he finally looks up from the dusty piano.
"Has anyone heard from Greta?" The words tumble from her lips, she is desperate to know. Did she know that Wilhelm was alive?
Charly looks at Wilhelm, not sure what she expects from him. She sees his lips pressed into a tight line, and she thinks how much older he looks. His eyes alone look decades older, his gaunt face and the dark circles that almost look like bruises make Charly wonder when he last slept.
He's no longer a young man.
Victor doesn't have to say a word. He glances away and she knows. If she thought pushing open the door to the pub was hard, this… it's almost impossible to bear.
Victor's face swims before her eyes; she doesn't understand how he is sitting there. How he can still draw breath. She sees Wilhelm move out of the corner of her eye, and the tears spill over, because with Greta there was no mistake. There would be no second chance.
She thinks back to the last time they spoke, but the past few weeks have all slid into each other, and she can't remember – had Greta said something to her?
"You've changed."
Did she hug her? Tell her that she loved her? Surely…
Charly opens her mouth, hoping to release some of the pressure, but instead she heaves a silent sob.
She hears glasses clinking, and Charly closes her eyes, as if that would make things easier, as if that would allow her to hide. She hears something drop, and opens her eyes, Wilhelm is pouring amber liquid into three glasses, miraculously untouched in the blast that rocked the small pub.
"I'm glad you're alive." He toasts Victor, who finally unfolds himself from the piano bench to stand. He takes the glass that is proffered, and Charly closes the distance between herself and the bar in three strides.
She grabs the last glass and raises it, even though it feels like a dumbbell in her hand. She can't stop shaking, and Victor is staring at the glass as if he's not quite sure how it came to be in his hand. Charly nearly came undone. She feels Wilhelm's gaze, and is glad of it, she purses her lips and clutches her glass.
"To Friedhelm and Greta."
Charly lifts the glass to her lips, and took a large gulp. The scotch burned down her throat, leaving warmth in its wake, she swallowed.
They took their time finishing the bottle, eventually pulling two chairs up to the piano bench. The three of them sat, knees touching, taking small sips, as the night went on, the pub getting darker. It was Victor who made the first move. He placed his empty beer glass on the top of the piano, and stood his hand heavy on Charly's shoulder.
That movement brought all of them back to the present. Wilhelm made no move to stand and Charly took a deep breath, she couldn't bring herself to break contact. It was only when the door of the pub banged closed that Wilhelm shifted.
Charly couldn't help but to feel her heart drop, it was the first time they had seen each other since the Russians had invaded and he couldn't wait to get away from her.
Why should that surprise you?
She glanced down at her hands, her face flushed with heat that had nothing to do with tears. Even now, so many months later, she still felt sick when she thought about Dr. Jahn. It felt like a lifetime away, and he had been dead.
"You can wait for me back there."
There was only one man Charly had ever intended to wait for, and she had thrown it all away in a moment of weakness. That was why she had hit him when she met him outside of the hospital that day. The realization that his arms were wrapped around her and his breath was hot against her neck that he was there and he was real cut her heart in half.
She couldn't bear to have him touch her, to have him say her name, and tell her that everything was going to be alright. She couldn't bear it; she had thought he was dead.
She never would have gone to Dr. Jahn if she had known, if she had of thought that Wilhelm was alive. But she had gone to him, kissed him – even when the doctor hesitated – she offered herself to him, like some common harlot – and he was alive.
He had looked confused at first, and then hurt. Even when she said I love you.
The look on his face was imprinted in her mind, and it had visited her dreams and thoughts daily since she had fled across the field – someone had shouted something at her as she ran past, but she hadn't heard him.
If only she hadn't waited so long, if only she hadn't run away, if only…
"Charly."
Wilhelm's voice was so quiet, for a moment she thought she had imagined it, and that she was alone in the pub. A match flared, as he lit a cigarette, and his eyes flashed.
Charly's breath caught, and for a moment she saw Wilhelm as he was before the war. Eye's bright, young, and whole.
He was waiting for her.
Worried that if she hesitated he would leave, she stood up, and they both made their way through the rubble and the furniture to the front door. The night was cool, and wet – promising rain.
They walked together in silence for a while, along the street, that was not yet fully deserted. People were still rummaging through the rubble, with their children holding candles, as they kicked at rocks and mortar.
Charly was so engrossed with the flickering lights, that she didn't realize that Wilhelm had asked her a question.
"Charly."
She stopped, his voice wasn't annoyed, and if she didn't know any better she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth quirk up.
"Sorry," Charly muttered.
"Where are you staying?" He took a drag of his cigarette, "with your parents?"
Charly reached out and took the cigarette from Wilhelm's fingers; she took a drag to avoid answering and shrugged.
Charly had written her parents as soon as she had gotten back to Germany, hoping that it would reach them, but Charly had no idea what the state of the post office was – would there be any post delivered?
Charly could have stopped by the apartment, her mother would have wept openly, and her father would have stood silently, nodding twice, holding her hand so tightly that it would hurt. When she finally made it to her old apartment building, she couldn't bring herself to walk up the three flights of stairs.
"You?" She finally asked, she took another drag, this time breathing deep. Wilhelm didn't comment, but simply lit another cigarette.
This time he did smile, but it was all teeth and sharp edges. "There's a reason they transferred me to Bewährungsbataillion 500." He laughed a huff of air and raked a hand through his hair. He glanced at Charly, "I don't know," his voice was quiet again. "I honestly don't remember how I ended up at the pub in the first place."
Charly reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but dropped her hand.
He glanced up at her, his eyes so desperate that Charly nearly dropped what was left of her cigarette.
"Is that normal?" His eyes begged for an answer, and he looked so helpless that Charly was worried that she was going to cry again. He moved to toss his cigarette, and their shoulders connected.
Charly froze, and they stood together for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. Her skin burned at the contact, and for a moment she wondered if she was the only one who felt it. Until she felt Wilhelm give a shuddering breath.
She spoke before she had a chance to second guess herself, "I've a room at boarding house." Wilhelm glanced down at her, and she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck. Perhaps she had spoken in haste, been too forward–
Wilhelm nodded once, and Charly felt something loosen in her chest.
They walked together in silence, Frau Braun's was not far from the pub, and even if it hadn't been the first boarding house to have a room free, she likely would have chosen to stay there regardless. It had been a large home before the war, but half of it was bombed out now, save the summer kitchen and a few of the bedrooms.
Frau Braun had looked haggard when she opened the door, but when Charly explained that she had been a nurse, recently returned from the front, Frau Braun's stern face, softened, and the older woman enveloped Charly in a crushing hug. Charly was surprised at the Frau's reaction, but found that the hug wasn't unwelcome.
The room that Charly was staying in was behind the former kitchen, the maid's room. It was big enough to fit a bed and a milk crate with an oil lamp, and Frau Braun served two meals a day, so Charly wasn't complaining.
Charly was so absorbed in her thoughts that they nearly stumbled over the front steps. Wilhelm glanced up at Frau Braun's house. It was dark; save for a single oil lamp upstairs, Frau Braun was likely preparing her evening toilette.
Charly fished a key out of her pocket, and quickly unlocked the door.
Wilhelm hesitated at the threshold, and Charly's heart dropped into her stomach. She would understand if he changed his mind, she knew what people would think of a young girl inviting a young man into her room. She could picture Frau Braun's pinched face, and wondered how long it would take before she made an excuse as to why Charly was no longer welcome to stay in her tiny room behind the kitchen.
She quickly stepped into the dark kitchen, and Wilhelm called after her.
"Wait for me. I wouldn't want to stumble into the wrong room."
"I don't know…" Charly quipped, the rest of her reply dying on her lips. Although she no longer minded small talk, she still felt guilty when someone made a joke and she laughed. She often wondered how long it would take before she would stop catching herself.
She was so lost in her thoughts, that when she felt Wilhelm's fingers brush her lips she gave a small gasp.
"I always loved your smile."
Charly's breath caught in her throat, and Wilhelm looked startled himself, as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"It's just through here," her voice was just above a whisper and when she stepped forward to lead Wilhelm to her small bedroom, she longed to step closer to him again, to have him touch her.
They both made their way through the small sitting room, and the small summer kitchen; their shoes on the hardwood and their breathing were the only sounds. As Charly reached for the doorknob, she heard Greta's voice in her head.
You can use my bedroom.
Charly had scolded Greta, and blushed; she had never even had a boyfriend, but she was secretly thrilled at the idea of inviting a man to her bedroom, although she didn't have time to dwell on it for long.
How things change.
Charly's hand shook as she turned the knob; the only man she had ever been with had meant nothing to her. The first time she had been blinded with grief, realizing what she had lost, she had wanted to know what it felt like to be held, to be with a man. It had been in the pitch black, painful and brief, and it was only when Dr. Jahn's breaths evened out, and she was sure that he was asleep that she allowed herself to cry.
They never spoke about it, and met for brief encounters in the store room upstairs, but Charly had preferred it that way.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. She stared into the darkness, and wondered what Wilhelm was thinking about her invitation.
She glanced at him, realizing that this was Wilhelm, whom she had known since she was six years old. He had always been constant, considerate and kind, so why should that change now? Did she really believe that once they were in the confines of her room, that he would take liberties with her?
When she fumbled for the match box, she cursed herself for being so foolish. She felt Wilhelm move to stand beside her, reaching out and stilling her hands. She let him take the match box, and light the gas lamp, and when the soft light filled the room, Charly saw that he looked uncertain, much like he had that time before, when he had made up some excuse about why he couldn't stay and celebrate with her and Friedhelm.
He finally met her eyes, and she turned her mouth up into a soft smile. She wanted him to know that she didn't expect anything from him, that having him near, right now, was enough. It was something she never imagined would happen again. She wanted him to know that she had meant what she had finally admitted at their last meeting, but that she didn't expect anything from him.
"It's not much," Charly said, to break the silence, "but it's private."
Wilhelm didn't reply, but continued to watch her.
He felt as if he were in a dream. It had been so long since they had seen each other. When she first looked at him, he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, fear pressing her mouth into a tight line. She looked at Victor, and her mouth softened.
Victor had looked so lost, huddled by the piano, Wilhelm was thankful that his old friend hadn't demanded that he leave as soon as he walked into the pub. Victor looked haunted; Wilhelm could see his shoulder blades, through his jacket, he took a deep drag on his cigarette.
When Wilhelm looked up at Charly she was watching him, standing still in the rubble with her hands clenched at her sides. He didn't mean to stare, but he couldn't help it. She looked older, and it was more than just her hairstyle, which she had kept pinned back, in a bun at the nape of her neck. It was in the way she carried herself, a frailty that had not been there before.
But she was still beautiful.
The thought had startled him at first, it had come to him unbidden, but he didn't try to push it down this time. He tired of pretending that he didn't care for her as anything more than a friend. He had been so happy to see her, outside of the hospital that day. So happy that he could have kissed her – why had he waited so long to kiss her? Why had guarding his heart been so important to him? If he was really honest, he was protecting Charly as much as he was protecting himself.
He didn't want to get his hopes up.
After the bottle of scotch was finished, and the pub was dim, he had expected her to leave when Victor had finally pushed himself to his feet, but she sat in the near darkness with him, staring at her hands, and when she looked up at him, he felt his heart flip inside his chest. He wanted so desperately to reach out and touch her, but he didn't want to spook her, so he had lit a cigarette instead and they had walked out of the pub together.
When she asked where he was staying, he didn't mention that he had already been home – his mother had dropped her tea cup with a crash on the floor, and the newspaper had crumpled in his father's hands.
His mother had let out a sound that he could only describe as a keen, and he couldn't help but feel like he had failed her. It should have been Friedhelm standing there, not him, the ghost; he refused to meet his father's eyes – the coward.
He allowed his mother to push him into a chair, as he father stood and the door to his office slammed. He allowed her to press a cup of tea into his hands, and he had sat with her while she wept, ignoring the wetness of his own cheeks.
Wilhelm wasn't sure how long he had sat at the kitchen table before he set his tea cup down and told his mother that he had somewhere he needed to be. He told her that he didn't know when he would be home, and he promised that he would come back but he could see in her eyes that she didn't believe him.
He hadn't lied when he had told Charly that he didn't remember how he had gotten to the pub. It was as if his legs carried him there on their own volition.
Wilhelm had had every intention to go back to his parent's apartment after he had let the pub door bang closed but instead they had stood in the middle of the street, shoulders together, clinging to the cigarettes in their hands.
She was so quiet when she spoke next, that he almost didn't hear her, and when he realized what she had said, he figured that he must have heard her wrong.
He saw the look that crossed her face when he didn't answer, and he did the only thing he could, he nodded. At that moment, he forgot that his mother was waiting for him at home, at that moment he only wanted to be wherever she was.
He heard Friedhelm's mocking voice in his head; and you say I'm the romantic. There was a smile in his voice, his younger brother's eyes would have been twinkling with mischief.
He was lost in thought, as they began to make their way to the boarding house, and Wilhelm's throat was so full, that he wouldn't have been able to speak anyway. He kept pace with Charly, wondering if he should take her hand – he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
The first thing Wilhelm noticed when they reached the (boarding house) was the gaping black hole that swallowed up the fading light. He paused too long, and saw Charly dart inside. He cursed himself, and called after her, hoping that a joke would bring her back to him.
When she responded before she could catch herself, and smiled without meaning to, he couldn't stop himself from reaching up and brushing his fingers against her face.
He had always loved her smile.
He didn't realize he had actually spoken those words out loud until Charly looked up at him, her eyes searching and his widening, but she didn't break the contact until she turned to unlock the door, and he allowed himself to hope if only for a moment that it wasn't still too late.
He saw Charly struggle with the matches, and he took the opportunity to cover her hands with his, her hands were so small, so delicate, and so cold. He broke contact after only a moment, and lit the gas lamp. He blinked against the soft light, wondering for the first time if this was a mistake. He wasn't the same man – four years seemed like a lifetime ago, he wasn't sure if she would be disappointed, and heartbroken, when she realized the truth about him.
He forced himself to look at her, and when her lips turned up in a smile, he felt something loosen in his chest.
"Charly…" his voice sounded thunderous in the small room.
Charly closed the distance between them this time. She reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes. He gently caught her wrist, and glanced at her lips.
"Let's sleep," her voice was soft, and he nodded. She didn't pause before she began to unbutton her blouse, and Wilhelm quickly averted his eyes and turned his back to her.
Any fears Charly had dissolved when Wilhelm quickly faced the corner, she could see a blush creeping up the back of his neck, and she found herself smiling – a laugh was fighting its way up her throat, and Wilhelm glanced back at the sound.
Charly was wearing an undershirt, which hung off her thin frame, and she quickly unbuttoned her pants. He didn't look away this time, and Charly felt emboldened by his direct gaze. It was different than Dr. Jahn's, it wasn't possessive, and it didn't make her shy away.
Wilhelm's mouth was dry, as Charly's trousers dropped to the floor. She reached down, and stepped out of them before folding them and placing them on top of the trunk that rested beside the milk crate.
He knew that he should have looked away, but instead his eyes trailed along her collarbone, and her sharp shoulders. Charly had always been slim, but now she reminded him of a bird, and he wondered what had happened to her after the "liberation". Had she been evacuated to Berlin? Had she been caught behind at the hospital?
He didn't allow himself to dwell on the latter; he had heard enough stories to know what had been in store for the women who were 'liberated' by the Russians. The thought of Charly being handled in such a way, made rage roil in his chest and bile rise in his throat.
Her fingers at his collar startled him, and he noticed the flush in her cheeks and the tremble in her fingers as she loosened the first button.
"Come, sleep." She avoided his eyes, as she continued to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged it off, and let it fall to the floor. He unbuckled his belt, and let it fall by his shirt, but he left on his trousers, they were loose enough to be comfortable.
She pulled back the thin wool blanket and climbed into the cot; Wilhelm kicked off his shoes, and sat on the mattress. He looked down at her, she was laying on her side, her back flush against the wall, trying to make as much room as she could – which wasn't much on a single cot.
He let out a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, He felt like he should say something.
"Shh," Charly's hand on his back, guided him to lie down beside her. "It's okay." She smoothed her hand across his forehead, and before she could pull away he caught her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.
Charly's breath caught in her throat. She was amazed that she could be so affected by such a small gesture. Wilhelm stilled and Charly leaned her cheek against his hand, closing her eyes.
"Charly –" Wilhelm began but Charly shushed him a second time and he reached over to the gas lamp and turned it off.
Her hand found his in the dark, and he gripped it tightly.
"It's okay," she spoke into the darkness, and for that moment, it was.
Waking
"Still with feet touching
Still with eyes meeting
Still our hands match
Still with hearts beating"
Daughter, Still
It was strange, having another person in her bed. She was aware of Wilhelm's sleeping form beside her, his hand still rested beside hers, he had held fast until he had finally fallen to sleep. Charly had been dozing on and off for the better part of the night, sleeping light was one thing that had followed her from the hospital.
She was used to working on minimal sleep, but she found that mundane tasks were much more difficult to perform on three hours sleep. She had fallen asleep reading more times than she cared to admit, and once, she had fallen asleep – only for a few seconds – while preparing a small dinner for the other guests in the guesthouse.
She heard Wilhelm huff a breath, and she rolled onto her side, his head took up most of the pillow, but Charly found that she didn't mind at all. She breathed deep, and found that she could smell Wilhelm's aftershave, as well as the pomade he used for his hair.
Wilhelm shifted again, and the sound that left his mouth wasn't so much a sigh as it was a whimper.
Charly sat up, she was careful not jar Wilhelm, she wasn't sure yet if he was in fact having a nightmare, and she didn't want to wake him if he settled back to sleep.
His fists clenched, and he gave a muffled cry, Charly took a deep breath, as Wilhelm thrashed again, he gasped, and it took Charly a moment to realize that he had spoken. He cried out the name again, it was one she didn't recognize, but his voice held the same emotion that she had heard hundreds of times from restless patients in the hospital. Fear, desperation – she reached out, and brushed a hand against his shoulder.
Charly had learned the hard way what could happen if you woke someone up too suddenly from a violent nightmare. The patient had suffered a gunshot in his leg, and superficial shrapnel wounds, and he looked no older than seventeen. However, when Charly took hold of his shoulder to shake him awake, his large hands shot out, and before she could react he had his fingers around her throat. She gave a gargled cry, and it had taken two orderlies to restrain him. When he finally woke, he burst into sobs, wailing for Mutti, and Hildegrad gave him a sedative to help him sleep.
She gave Charly a sympathetic glance, "are you alright?"
Charly nodded, and prodded her throbbing neck with her fingers. Charly had made an effort to watch the other nurses as they interacted with the sleeping soldiers, a soft voice, a soft touch, rousing them from sleep. Sometimes they still shouted, and lashed out, but it was much easier to calm them down.
"Wilhelm," she said, brushing the back of her hand against the inside of his arm. "Wilhelm, wake up, you're dreaming." She gave his shoulder a gentle shake, and he gasped awake.
"Karow?"
"No," Charly shook her head, "its Charly."
"Charly?" She felt his shoulders shake as he began to cry.
"Shh," she whispered, and before she could say anything else, Wilhelm had his arms around her, his face buried into the crook of her elbow. Charly opened her mouth, but found that her throat was too thick to speak, so instead she wrapped her arm around Wilhelm and held him close, rubbing circles on his back, and making soothing sounds that had almost become second nature in the hospital, where fear was thick in the air.
She swallowed, and when she opened her mouth to sing, Wilhelm stilled.
"Weißt du, wieviel Sternlein stehen, an dem blauen Himmelszelt?" It was a song she knew by heart, one that her mother had sung to her when she was a little girl. "Weißt du, wieviel Wolken ziehen,weithin über alle Welt?" Her voice wavered – it wasn't as pure and clear as Greta's but Charly still thought she had a nice voice. She sung the second verse before letting her voice drift off.
Wilhelm was so quiet she thought he had fallen asleep, and moved to lay back down, when Wilhelm's arms tightened around her shoulders.
"Charly," his breath was hot on her ear, and one hand was tangled in her hair that had come loose from its bun. She didn't dare move, afraid that if she did, the moment would be shattered and she would wake up and realize that it had all been a dream. He whispered into her neck, his words too muffled for her to understand. His hands worked through her hair at the nape of her neck and she shivered. Wilhelm pulled back, pressing his cheek to hers, "I love you."
Charly blinked into the darkness, but before she could reply Wilhelm turned his head, and caught the corner of her mouth with his. Charly knew that this time, it wasn't a hasty mistake, and she didn't dare breathe, as he pressed his mouth to hers.
"Charly," he managed to find her face with his hands in the darkness, and kissed her again. Charly sighed, and finally kissed him back. His kiss was heated, and desperate, and Charly turned her face upwards to give him better access. His hands left heat in their wake, as they trailed across her collarbone.
Wilhelm was clumsy in the dark, and he pinned Charly's thigh down with his knee, before he managed to ease himself on top of her. He tried to free his hand, tugging a few tangles free in the process, and Charly winced, giving a soft cry of pain.
Wilhelm froze, Charly lay beneath him, with one hand against his chest and the other lost the blankets.
"Charly?" His voice sounded so small, that Charly felt her eyes fill with tears, before she managed a soft, "yes?" in reply.
She thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her again, but he moved to lie beside her. He didn't break contact, but kept one hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean…"
Charly's stomach dropped. What were you expecting? The cruel voice demanded, and Charly suddenly felt too confined in that tiny bedroom, it was like the time in Greta's dressing room all over again. She made a move to extricate herself from their tangled limbs.
"Wait," Wilhelm caught her arms before she could sit up. "Charly, wait," he tightened his grip on her shoulder, and she stopped trying to escape.
Wilhelm cursed, as he moved in the dark, and it took a moment for him to find the matches in the darkness. Finally, the lamp was lit, and a soft light filled the room. Charly was sitting up against the wall, refusing to meet his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and she was working her bottom lip with her teeth.
Asshole, Wilhelm sighed, wondering how he continued to make such a mess of things. He knew what she must have been thinking, he had been overcome with emotion, caught up – only to realize what he was doing when he pulled her hair. When she finally turned her gaze on him, he winced, and immediately thought of Greta's dressing room.
Wilhelm cursed again, and dropped back onto the mattress. His shoulders slumped, and Charly fought the urge to reach out and touch him.
He glanced back at her, "I always do this, don't I?" Charly knew that he wasn't only speaking to her, but also to himself. He reached over and fingered Charly's loose hair that tumbled down her shoulders. He was tentative, and Charly realized that he was nervous.
"What do you keep doing?"
Wilhelm smiled at that question, and he glanced at her, "I'm an idiot, Charly." I'm afraid, he finished to himself.
Charly didn't correct him, but she was no longer trying to get away, and so he dared to hope. "I should have told you sooner."
"I meant to," Charly admitted softly, her eyes were focused on Wilhelm's hand in her hair. "I was going to tell you the night before you and Friedhelm left for the front." Wilhelm waited for her to continue, she took a deep breath, "but then that police officer came and I thought I would have plenty of time to tell you."
Wilhelm simply stared at her, he had had an inkling after the first time they had met at the hospital, and then he felt certain when Friedhelm told him that he was all that she talked about, but he had no idea that she had carried those feelings for so long.
Charly no longer looked angry, her mouth was no longer severe, and when she glanced at him, her eyes were shy and it was her turn to watch him tentatively.
Wilhelm leaned over and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, "I should never have let –"
Charly's fingers stopped him from saying anything else, and he saw something in her expression, it was so fleeting that he couldn't put his finger on it, but when she met his eyes again hers were shining with tears.
She blinked and they spilled over her cheeks, Charly didn't bother wiping them away. Never, never had she ever expected that this would happen. She hadn't expected to find anyone in the pub that evening. She had not allowed herself to fantasize, and she had convinced herself that too much time had passed; she had assumed that ship had sailed.
"What's wrong?"
She shrugged, knowing that she would never be able to articulate what she was feeling right now, and even though she was crying, she knew that if she tried to express everything she was feeling, she would become inconsolable.
"Have I said something wrong?"
Charly shook her head, and covered Wilhelm's hand with hers.
This time when his hands found her face, Charly titled her face upwards, and when his mouth found hers she gave a soft sigh. Wilhelm pulled her close, wrapping his other arm around her waist. Charly's hands were caught against her body, but she managed to free her left hand, and curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of Wilhelm's neck.
Wilhelm pulled away, but didn't break contact; he kept his arms around Charly, and when she finally lifted her eyes to his, he couldn't help smiling, reaching up to trail his fingers across Charly's cheeks.
His eyes held such wonder, that Charly felt a blush creep up her neck, and warm her cheeks. He couldn't help staring. He kissed her again, hoping that it would be able to convey what he could not. He had never been one for speeches or declarations, and after the war he was even less so.
How do you tell someone that you feel like you're finally home?
Wilhelm can hear Friedhelm's laughter again, but finds that this time, he doesn't mind. What he wouldn't give to have the chance to walk into a room, with Charly on his arm, just to see his younger brother's face.
"I wondered if you would come back." Charly whispered into his shoulder. "I didn't… I didn't know if you would be happy to see me."
"I wondered the same thing," Wilhelm admitted, "I was worried I had really made a mess of things."
With those words, Charly's eyes filled with tears again. Charly tried to take a deep breath, these were different tears and Wilhelm didn't know what to do, as Charly let out a sob.
"I love you," he whispered, and Charly shook her head, "yes, I do. Don't be an idiot." Wilhelm was surprised at himself, and he opened his mouth to blurt an apology, when Charly laughed.
"I'm sorry," Charly whispered, tucking her head under Wilhelm's chin. He knew that she wasn't talking about her recent outburst. He held her closer, he would not pressure her, when she was ready she would tell him. He knew that while some secrets were too heavy to bear, some were equally as heavy to share.
They both settled back down onto the mattress, without another word.
Eventually Wilhelm shifted, and Charly glanced up at him.
He was checking his watch, "I was just wondering what the time was." His ears were pink, "I don't want you to get into any trouble." He gave her a smile, "it's nearly five in the morning. I ought to leave before Frau Braun wakes up and thinks I'm a burglar."
Charly snorted, "Yes, you're very threatening."
Those words pleased Wilhelm more than he could understand, but he feigned insult, "I can be very intimidating."
Charly gave another breathy laugh, and Wilhelm decided that he always wanted to make her laugh. "I should go."
He made no move to sit up, and Charly's smile dropped from her lips. His brow furrowed and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I need to get home," he paused, "to my mother." If Charly noticed the omission of his father, she didn't show it.
Charly nodded, she knew Mrs. Winter, how she worried. Charly couldn't imagine how difficult it would be for Wilhelm to go home without Friedhelm. She could see the dark look that crossed his face and she remembered his flippant words from the night before.
"She's happy you're alive, Wilhelm."
Wilhelm stilled, and looked at Charly again. Charly had always known exactly what to say, exactly what he needed to hear.
"Idiot," she whispered, bumping his shoulder with hers, and he was thankful for the deflection.
He stood up and grabbed his belt, he slipped it on, and pulled it tight, nearly to the last notch. He then made quick work of his shirt, not bothering to tuck it in. Charly moved to get up but Wilhelm shook his head.
"I'll show myself out," he leaned down kissing her before standing, and cracked open the door to peek out. "The coast is clear. Shall I come round tonight?" He asked after a beat, and Charly nodded. Wilhelm smiled once more before slipping out of her door and closing it softly behind her.
Charly got to her feet, and opened the door, to see him slip out the front door. As the front door closed, she heard a noise from upstairs, Helga must be getting ready for her job, and she heard someone curse their bedpan loudly.
She settled back onto her mattress, but knew that she would not be going back to sleep. She rolled onto her back, and shifted the pillow underneath her head. As she lay there she couldn't help but to wonder if everything the night before had actually happened. Had it all just been a lucid dream?
She rolled onto her side, and as she did, the scent of Wilhelm's aftershave wafted to her nose. She closed her eyes. She knew he had seen the look on her face when she had broken down and cried, but although he looked concerned, he didn't push. The familiar pressure tightened in her chest, but this time it was slightly more bearable.