AN: I want to apologize in advance if this offends anyone or causes any triggers (either this chapter or later chapters). It is something of a period piece (though I make no claims to complete historical or canonical accuracy). Some racist ideas/particular notions concerning gender (circa. 1930s-1940s) will be presented, however, I have tried to make them light and only added for a bit of atmosphere. Without further ado, enjoy.

Prologue:

November 10, 1938

Bergen, Germany

Police Headquarters

. . . . . . . . . .

The woman sitting handcuffed across the desk from Police Commissioner Theodoric Ghmitz was completely silent. Theodoric studied her intently as she stared at him with a hard, unblinking gaze in her dark eyes. Two of his officers had dragged her in the night before, leaving their commander to oversee her punishment in the morning.

She was young, no older than thirty or so, with a fair complexion and auburn red hair cut short, just barely framing her chin. The more he studied her, the more he picked up on the slightly unhealthy pallor of her skin, the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her face. She was a small, slight thing as well, he noted, and looked as if she didn't get quite enough to eat on a regular basis. As if this wasn't enough, a nasty bruise was now forming on her right cheek, and a small cut lined her lip. He had attempted to offer her some ice to put on the bruise, when she had first been brought into his office, but she had ignored him, refusing to respond to the small gesture of kindness.

"Right then, well," he coughed lightly in an attempt to decrease some of the tension in the room. Still, the woman made no reply. Her expression didn't change, nor did she turn her sharp gaze away. He was struck once again (as he had been when he first laid eyes on her) with the uncomfortable similarity she bore to Elaina. She was shorter, sure, and her hair was the wrong color, but something in the shape of the face . . . the eyes . . . that expression he had so often seen on his daughter's face when she was determined to do something, and consequences be damned. He could almost see her in the young woman sitting across from him . . . but no, he put it out of his mind. It did not do to dwell on the past.

"Frau Keller, if I'm going to help you, I need you to cooperate with me," he said gently, folding his hands together as he leaned slightly forward, attempting to adopt a more casual posture to put the woman in front of him at ease. As he did so, his mind was drawn unwillingly to the picture in his desk drawer, the framed photo that had been carefully placed face down the day his daughter died, and never moved since.

The woman didn't acknowledge he had spoken, didn't even blink, her mouth set in a hard line.

Theodoric sighed, resting his chin in his hand as he regarded her.

"You're making this more difficult on yourself, you know. We don't have to be enemies."

She didn't answer right away, causing him to lean back in his chair and turn his gaze out the window in frustration, watching the soft patter of snowflakes against the cold glass. When she did speak, he almost didn't catch it. Her voice was quiet, but deadly serious as she replied, for the first time in over an hour.

"We will always be enemies, Commissioner."

Startled, he turned back to look at her, meeting her icy stare, like knives slicing into him. The hate simmering in her expression bothered him more than perhaps it should have.

"Frau Keller," he began.

"Fräulein, Commissioner, I am not married," she interrupted him.

He nodded, "Of course, I just assumed . . . I'm sorry."

He noted, with some surprise, that her mouth quirked in an odd, mocking smile (that did not reach her cold eyes) as she drawled sardonically, "Are you going to tease me for being an old spinster, Commissioner?"

"No, no, of course not," he said. "My daughter she . . . she never married either . . . she was too in love with her art," he added the last bit with a fond, yet sad smile, as his mind supplied a further, and her State, which he swiftly dismissed.

"Was?" the woman asked, looking curious despite herself (and just a tad annoyed at her own inquisitiveness).

"She . . . died a few years ago," he answered briefly, looking at his folded hands resting on the wooden surface of the desk.

The woman hesitated a moment before murmuring a quiet, "I'm sorry for your loss."

He glanced up at her, surprised. "Thank you. Now . . . On to you," he had gotten her talking, and, as he didn't fancy being stuck in his office much longer (or the idea of throwing her in a cell for a second night), he thought it best not to let her slip into her stubborn silence once more. "Is there a reason you saw fit to assault one of my officers?"

She snorted in bitter amusement, an expression on her face that said she wasn't surprised at his reaction but that (in a perfect world) she should have been. "Did your officer bother to tell you that he was harassing a defenseless old man?"

Theodoric glanced down at his desk, thumbing through the brief report the officer in question had left him. "Ah, yes," he said after a moment, "Ein Herr Ehrmann, nein? The old Jew . . . It says here that he was refusing to cooperate with a routine inspection."

"A routine inspection?" she scoffed. "Your men practically knocked down his door for no reason and ransacked his shop and his home!"

"Herr Ehrmann has recently fallen under . . . a bit of scrutiny, Fräulein Keller. My men were well within their rights to search his property."

She shook her head, looking at him in incredulous disgust, "How can you defend them? With everything else that happened . . . How can you defend terrorizing an old man on . . . rumors? Or ancestry and religion, for that matter?"

"Trust me when I tell you we have more than rumors . . . My men were just doing their job, following orders," he insisted, though her words echoed in his mind, reflecting off uncomfortable doubts he himself had been having. He purposely ignored the other accusations, not that it mattered. Everyone knew what had caused the chaos last night, why it had been caused. It wasn't a secret, but it was a policy decision that he simply did not feel up to discussing at the moment.

"That doesn't make it right," she replied firmly, looking at him steadily, as if daring him to contradict her.

He sighed, observing her with a weary expression, "I have a duty to the people of this city, to protect them from malcontents."

She looked down at her lap, a bitter smile playing across her face as she murmured softly, almost too low for him to hear, "Maybe if you reconsidered some of your other duties, you wouldn't have so many malcontents."

There it was again, that little voice of guilt nudging him in the back of his mind, but he batted it away again, replying sternly, "Nevertheless, you should not have involved yourself. This is a police matter."

She laughed, a harsh sound, looking up at him with a scornful expression. "A police matter? Were the looting and the arson police matters too?," her voice took on an almost manic note, mixed with a scorching righteous anger. Dropping her volume suddenly, she chuckled darkly to herself, asking rhetorically, "Was the brutality a 'police matter'?" She gritted her teeth, staring him down as she said, "Commissioner, this affects far more people than that."

"And what makes you specifically qualified to interfere?" he demanded.

"Because I am Jewish, Commissioner, and because that man is my neighbor," she replied boldly, holding her head up and looking him directly in the eye.

He paused, catching his breath and listening to the sound of his secretary tapping away on a typewriter in the other room. Was it his imagination, or did the keys stop for just a fraction of a second? He was grateful now that he had possessed the foresight to close the door.

Running a hand across his face and leaning back in his chair, he muttered darkly, "You shouldn't say that."

"Why?" she demanded impetuously. "I am not ashamed. Nor do I fear the actions of men like you."

He looked at her, an inexplicable sense of dread tugging at his heart. Suddenly, he leaned forward, startlingly her and causing her to stiffen. Gently taking her hands in his own, he whispered urgently, "Fräulein, you seem like a decent young woman. Things are . . . not going well in the State, and I do not wish to see you come to harm."

Recovering herself, she jerked her hands away, narrowing her eyes at him. "Oh? I suppose you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"Please," he insisted, "Please, just listen to me." She fell silent, watching him with her eyes still narrowed. He took that as a sign to continue, making sure to keep his voice quiet as he muttered urgently, "You were right in claiming that this situation is not merely a police matter, but I urge you, I beg you not to get involved." Here he hesitated, realizing what he was about to say was, in effect, treason. Taking a deep breath, he plunged on ahead anyway. "You may not believe this, but I am not a bad man, Fräulein Keller. I have, admittedly, done many things I am not proud of, but I do not wish to see one such as yourself come to harm. A storm is brewing, my dear, one you doubtless have seen coming for a long time, and I wish to see you through it."

She pulled away from him, eyeing him warily. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Commissioner.

He hesitated once more, wondering how to phrase his next comment. "You . . . bear certain . . . characteristics of your race, but you could pass for a full blooded German" he began slowly.

"Excuse me? I am German!"

He ignored the look of ire on her face, continuing, in an attempt at delicacy,"Yes, but you are also . . . otherwise. Certain features . . . the shape of your nose . . . your eyes . . ."

"Unbelievable," she muttered to no one in particular, making a faint noise of derision.

"What I mean to say is, you could hide your ancestry," he finished.

"And when my records are examined?" she replied coldly.

"Records can be faked," he said quietly, looking at her in earnest. "Especially in a smaller, more isolated city with a less than standardized system of documentation. In such a place people could . . . slip through the cracks."

"I don't believe it . . . You're actually serious," the offended look on her face was damning, but he didn't back down.

"I want to help you," he repeated.

"Why? Why do you, of all people, care what happens to me?" she demanded to know.

Again, the picture in his drawer came to mind.

"Because I've lost too much to the State already," he replied simply, quietly. There it was, the final nail in his coffin, not that she could personally use it against him, if it came down to it. Was that damn secretary still typing? It seemed he was growing more and more paranoid these days, or perhaps just observant.

"Just . . . go home for now, let your family know you're alright. I can sweep this incident under the rug . . . this time. But please, just keep your head down. I'll be in touch, Fräulein."

She looked at him pensively for a moment, conflicting emotions chasing themselves across her face. Appearing to come to a decision, she replied, "My name is Nina, Commisioner."

"Then you may call me, Theodoric, Nina."