Chapter 1: Tea for Two

Colonel Hans Landa: Jew Hunter, investigator, SS Standartenführer, man of charm and cruelty. One could easily picture him standing over a corpse with a smile, or perhaps threateningly waving a gun in someone's face—an assessment that he wouldn't argue against, although he might phrase it with a little more sophistication. Certainly the pistol at his hip looked fitting enough, and his crisp, gray uniform emphasized the command that he demanded, the impression only furthered by the death's head on his hat. Yes, he was a man that dressed for his part, and one could imagine him doing any number of activities from sipping champagne to shooting someone, but even his aide was surprised to see him now, for if there was anything that was difficult to picture Hans Landa doing, it was sitting at a diminutive table set for tea, a little girl seated across from him.

"Guten Tag," he greeted, voice pleasant and friendly, and that infernal smile of his plastered on his face. His voice had a way of disarming people, the flow of his words coated with both honey and venom depending on the situation, but the child opposite him merely stared, her wispy, blond hair pulled backed into pigtails, and her hands fidgeting with the lace on her blue dress. She was an adorable creature with her large, blue eyes and rosy cheeks, her shy nature in sharp contrast to the confident man watching her with interest.

"Hallo," she softly greeted, and Landa's smile broadened.

"There, that wasn't so difficult, was it? You should talk more often since you have such a pretty voice." The little girl shook her head in embarrassment, now looking up at the man with the dancing eyes, and the way that he held his leather gloves so casually on his lap.

"Would...would you like some tea?" she asked, reaching for her pink tea pot. She'd set the child's table expertly, a white tablecloth covering the top where she had prepared a tea pot and two cups and saucers. Landa removed his hat and set it aside, his body much too large to be comfortably seated in the small chair available to him, and chuckled as he smoothed his rich, blond hair back over his head.

"Since you've offered, I would love some tea, my dear," he told her, making the little girl smile.

"Herr Oberst, do you have any orders concerning the woman?" an SS man standing near the door to the playroom asked, to which Landa raised a single finger in warning.

"In good time," he assured. "Miss Hoffman is obviously a very proper young lady, and we wouldn't want to startle her sensibilities, would we?" His subordinate held his tongue, a single word from the colonel enough to still his impatience. People did not rush the Standartenführer, at least not if they wished to advance in their career, for Landa was blessed with a remarkably long memory, and he did not suffer insubordination very well. In fact, he was rather known for his unpredictable and dangerous moods, which were as likely to express themselves in a grin as a stern stare, and of those two, the former implied a much worse fate for the recipient.

"Möchten Sie Zucker?" the little girl asked as she poured Landa imaginary tea.

"Bitte." She proceeded to drop a pretend sugar cube into his teacup, and Landa rose the fake cup to his lips, saucer carefully held beneath it to catch any drips. "Mmm," he hummed, eyes closed as if savoring the taste. "I don't think that I've had such delicious tea in a long time."

"Do you know the flavor?" the girl smiled, sipping from her own cup.

"Don't tell me," Landa teased, lips pursed in thought and eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Peach?"

"No," and the pigtails swayed as the girl happily shook her head.

"Well, what else would a little girl like...? Something fruity, I think, so I'll have to go with lemon." She shook her head again, leaning closer to the table as Landa also leaned in, the two looking like co-conspirators to the aid who watched the scene in tense silence. "You'll just have to tell me then," Landa's sweet voice told the girl.

"Mint chocolate, silly!" she exclaimed, and Landa heaved an exaggerated sigh.

"Ah, now that was my next guess," he explained, causing the girl to giggle. "But it's my turn to ask a question now." His once playful brown eyes adopted a harsher, colder edge as he set his teacup aside, the playful smile intact, but a sinister quality tainting the curve of his lips. He was about to break the back of this household, and he was going to do it with the help of this innocent, ignorant angel. His anticipation only swelled as he heard running in the hallway outside, a woman yelling at a man to release her as something slammed into the wall. He held a hand aloft before his companion even thought to move, his stern gaze clearly ordering the man to remain in place as the sounds of struggle drew closer to room. Any moment now...

"Hans!"

"Mutti?" the child spoke, small voice concerned and confused as a woman burst into the room. Landa merely smiled at the new arrival, taking in the disheveled blond curls that cascaded over the woman's shoulders, and the large bruise blossoming on a finely crafted face of high cheekbones and delicate lips. The woman truly was a beauty, or she would have been if she didn't look so unkempt, one of her black, high heels being broken, and her green dress rumbled in all the wrong places from running. Landa was seriously tempted to light his pipe just to anger the intruder further, but he was too busy drinking in the sight of her narrowed eyes, anger only barely masking the fear that he knew was making her pulse pound.

"Mutti, was hat passiert?"

"Hans, you get away from her, you bastard!" The woman's breath came in heavy gasps, her fists clenched as Landa retrieved his hat and gracefully stood in one swift movement.

"It's a pleasure to see you again too, Elfriede, but perhaps you should not shout in front of the child. You might frighten this treasure of yours. Come, Brigitte," he instructed, holding a hand out to the little girl, who hesitated. Her eyes darted between her mother and this stranger, but the man's eyes were insistent, and her mother remained speechless as a large, calloused hand enveloped the tiny digits of a girl too young to understand the dangerous overtones of the situation.

"Hans, please..." the woman begged, but Landa ignored her, quickly scooping the child up into his arms, where he held her, face beaming at the angel within his grasp.

"She has your blue eyes," he mused, sounding pleased. "I always did like your eyes."

"HANS!" The girl whimpered as Landa held her closer, his eyes darkening dangerously as he took a step closer to the mother.

"You should watch your tone," he tutted. "You of all people should know that I do not take kindly to such aggressive and disrespectful behavior. There, there," he assured the now crying child, one of his hands gently stroking her hair, and the laughter in his eyes dying as he brought his mouth closer to the girl's ear, his breath tickling silky, blond strands. "You see, Brigitte," he soothingly spoke. "Your mother knows something very important, but she doesn't want to tell me. Maybe you can be more helpful. Mommy will be much happier once she has this secret off of her chest."

"I already told you that I know nothing," the woman argued, eyes never leaving the hand that stroked her daughter's hair. If the man wanted to, he could easily snap the lovely neck beneath that hair, and what would she do then, if she lost her precious daughter?

"We both know that's a lie," Landa easily replied. "And don't provoke me, Mrs. Hoffman, or you might regret it."

"You're a monster," she scathingly spat, but when he took another step closer, those recently shined, black boots of his light on the soft, white carpet, she retreated in her broken heels, keeping a safe distance between them. It was a poor move on her part, for her retreat was blood in the water for the shark hunting her, the scent of her fear heightening already predatory senses.

"You didn't think that I was a monster several years ago," he mockingly teased, his words rubbing salt in the wounds of her heart.

"I had no idea that you could be so cruel..." The woman closed her eyes, swallowed, and then reopened them to this nightmare. "I only saw the handsome, successful colonel, and not the bastard that's beneath those shining medals of yours. Please, Hans, for old times sake. Don't hurt my daughter." Landa seemed to consider, but she knew that he was on the brink of smiling as he took a strand of the girl's hair and began twirling it around his finger, eyes challenging—no, daring her to object to the simple gesture.

"I wouldn't dream of hurting this cherubim, but there is this slight problem concerning your cooperation," he stated. "Just tell me who you were spying for, and where the tapes are, and I'll be on my way. I can walk out of that door and never bother you again—not for information, not for a repeat performance, not for the rest of your lifetime, and I ask for so little in return." He stopped twirling the hair and smiled down at the girl, who was watching him with watery eyes.

"You have to promise not to hurt her," the mother insisted.

"Very well," Landa sighed. "I swear not to harm a hair on her head. Satisfied?"

The woman stepped backward until her back touched the wall, and then her body sagged against the flowery wallpaper, a few tears sliding down her cheeks, and the lines that her makeup worked so hard to hide revealing themselves as if she'd given up on all pretense in life. There was only sorrow and hardship in her eyes now, the intensity of her emotions matching the hardness in Landa's face as he waited, clearly growing impatient. He was a man who took his time to do things properly, but he did have other engagements to get to today.

"Fine," the woman relented. "The tapes are inside a fake book on the shelf in my bedroom—the red one with gold lettering, The Grapes of Wrath."

"American literature, an interesting choice," Landa chuckled. "Go on."

"I was supposed to give the tapes to a man in Berlin by the name of Friedrich Bauer. From there, I don't know how he planned to get them out of Germany." Landa smiled, and the woman flinched, sickened to think of that face staring down at her as she lay on her bed, his body pressed against hers. She wished that she could claim drunkenness, but he made damn sure that his conquests were never inebriated, the sick son of a bitch. Maybe he wanted to ensure that they could remember every detail and regret it later.

"Hans," she reminded him. "The girl."

"Ah, yes, how forgetful of me!" Hans lowered the girl to the floor, replaced his hat on his head, and marched toward the door, arms behind his back as the mother rushed to embrace her child. He heard the sobs being heaved into the girl's hair, and wondered how such emotional people could tolerate themselves. His companion followed him out of the room, their boots making a straight pathway toward the front door, where Landa's personal car would transport them back to his current residence in Berlin. He would be shipped to France soon, and he needed to make preparations.

"Herr Oberst," his assistant said, interrupting his thoughts. "What are your orders?"

"Kill the mother, bring me the tapes."

"Jawohl," came the sharp response. "And the girl?"

"I'm sure that she has family somewhere. If not, there are always orphanages," Landa dismissed, completely unconcerned as a soldier opened the car door for him. One boot resting on the car's side runner, he turned one last time to look over the beautiful home where his latest catch lived. It was a stunning country manor with large windows lining the white stone front, and carefully trimmed hedges lining the driveway that led to the front doors. He wouldn't mind buying the home once the family was ousted, and ousted they would be, for there was no mercy for traitors, and the woman was a widow anyway. With her death, the government would confiscate the property, and the girl...well, the fates would place her where they would, or so Landa would be inclined to claim if he believed in fate.

"I love visiting the countryside!" he happily exclaimed as he slid into the black car. "Nothing like a bit of fresh air to make me better appreciate the city." The car door slammed shut, and the vehicle pulled away from the house, the family that dwelled in it no more than a name to be crossed off of his wanted list as green fields flew by the window. Somewhere behind him, another black car waited to deliver the rest of the men back to HQ, and a shot rang out in the silence of the home, followed by the wailing of a child. Landa heard none of this, but he could imagine the sharp blast of a gun signaling yet another success, and the thought made him smile in satisfaction. Sometimes his line of work was incredibly dirty, but he didn't mind. Not at all.

****************

2 Months Later:

It was dark when Adelgiese finally returned home, her hands rough from scrubbing floors and handling chemical cleaners, and her eyes were ringed in tired, dark circles. Alone on the streets, she kept to herself as she unlocked the rickety door to the small apartment that she called home, but it wouldn't be home for much longer. She couldn't afford to keep even this hovel now that the wealthier officers had moved to occupied France where the action was. Holed up in their fancy, stolen homes, they had no care for the beauty that they'd once hired to clean for them, and that had been the main motivation in hiring her: beauty. She certainly didn't feel beautiful as she entered her apartment and locked the door behind her, but when she offered to clean for wealthy soldiers, she dolled herself up and fluttered her eyelashes, using her looks to get herself hired where others failed.

"Aunty?" a drowsy voice called. Shit, she'd thought the girl would be asleep by now, but apparently not. Looking at the couch that served as a bed, she could see the outline of the child in the dark, the girl sitting upright with a blanket wrapped around her.

"It's only me, Brigitte. Go back to sleep."

"I thought maybe the bad men had come back." Oh, the poor dear. The woman tossed her purse onto a nearby chair and quickly slipped out of her dress and apron, hanging them on a hook by the door and moving to sit on the couch. She only wore her undergarments to bed on warm spring nights like this, for there was nothing else to wear, and the child didn't mind. Wrapped in warm blankets, they would fall asleep together, the girl curled against her guardian's chest, and the worries of another day put behind them.

"Hush," the woman told the girl. "The bad men are gone."

"The man with the scar on his cheek killed mother."

"Shhh. What's done is done. Did you eat the food that I left?" She felt rather than saw the girl's head nod as they both stretched out on the old sofa, a stubborn spring poking the woman uncomfortably in the back as she tried to situate herself.

"Goodnight," the girl sleepily muttered.

"Goodnight." The child's breathing soon evened out, making it apparent that she'd fallen asleep, but her guardian could not drift away so easily. Laying awake, her empty eyes scanned the room around her, taking in everything from the faded wallpaper to the worn carpet and porcelain pan that served as a sink. Life hadn't always been this hard for Adelgiese Hoffman, but with a child to take off and her bread moving away, she had little to sustain her humble lifestyle. With a bitter smile, she recalled the lavish gowns that she'd once worn to parties, where her father would smile at each man who wished a dance with his eldest daughter, but now she could hardly remember what silk felt like, and had she really ever worn diamonds?

She wrapped an arm around the child and pulled her closer. Life had not been easy for a long time now, not since she'd defied her father and been disinherited by him in a fit of rage, the memory of which had once made her cry, but now...now she merely smiled the sad, accepting smile of a woman accustomed to hardship. She still had the little joys in life, like a chocolate here or there, and the laughter that she shared with other maids when their employer did something foolish. The chocolate was the best thought, for she'd always had a sweet tooth, and in the end, what did she care if her diamonds had been taken away so long as she felt free? That had been her argument on many a cold winter night, but now there was someone else to think of rather than just herself, and this wandering, uncertain lifestyle was nothing for a child to endure.

"Mutti...bitte..."

"Shhh," she soothed, planting a light kiss atop the girl's blond hair. "Sleep. You're safe." The girl settled, and Adelgiese considered the few bills in her possession. It would be enough to buy a new dress to send the girl to school in, and she'd be damned if she sent this child into a den of wolves to be ridiculed. Children, after all, could be so cruel, and she herself had never had an easy time before she'd blossomed into a woman with curves, breasts, and lovely blue eyes that watched the world from beneath dark brown tresses. Her sister had been the blond, and how she had envied that before she'd grown into an adult, but now that sister was dead, executed by the SS for betraying Germany.

"Oh, Elfriede," she sighed. "You were never the sneaky one. You should never have attempted to play that game." No, her sister had been the socialite: talkative and seductive, her face as open as a child's most of the time. Father had called her Chatterbox, marking Adelgiese as the quieter, more thoughtful one who preferred to lounge in the corner of the room while her sister flirted with every passing suitor. It wasn't that the elder sibling hadn't socialized, but she'd never been bouncy or an emotional firecracker like her sister, or so she liked to think. She could remember times when she'd been reduced to a tearful mass by a boy or perhaps a degrading peer in school, but in retrospect, that person had nothing to do with who she was now, which brought her back to her current dilemma: what to do about Brigitte?

No one else was left to take the child except perhaps the father, and although Adelgiese knew who that was, she was loathe to approach the man. He had a vile reputation, and if the rumors were true, he'd played a hand in executing her sister. Could there really be any doubt? Brigitte spoke of a blond man who smiled the biggest smile that she'd ever seen, and who had been kind until he left and let the other man kill mother. And so the colonel obviously wanted nothing to do with the child, but perhaps he didn't realize that the girl was his. After all, Elfriede had claimed the girl to belong to her late husband, and the truth had only come out in a letter of confession to her lost sister. How sweet. The exile was remembered when a heart needed to bleed, but never mind lifting a hand to help the impoverished.

"Hans Landa," Adelgiese spoke into the empty room. With her last savings, she could find the man, and he would certainly provide Brigitte with a better material upbringing. He would have to take the girl in if confronted, for Brigitte was the poster child for the Aryan race, and as a soldier, he was expected to perform certain duties, but what if he abused her? He wasn't a nice man in any sense if what was said about him was true, and some of the rumors were downright terrifying, but what choice did Adelgiese have? Her savings could get them to Paris, where Landa was stationed at the moment, and beyond that...there had to be a way to ensure Brigitte's safety.

The night deepened, and the steady click of the old clock beside the couch counted the hours as they lengthened. Morning felt like a distant entity, as distant as France, but that wasn't very far at all, was it? With the rising sun, Adelgiese Hoffman would need to make a decision, and the more she deliberated, the less she liked the conclusions that she was forced to reach.