A/N-Hello, I have been over run with a case of the dreaded plot bunny and so I have written this. I don't know if anyone else has written any Secret Army fanfiction, so this maybe the first. Hope you all enjoy it. AM

Disclaimer-I don't own anything in this story apart from my OCs.

She'd never really cared much for politics. It was always one group of people telling another group of people one thing, when they actually meant the complete opposite.

Politics was the reason why she was in Belgium. It was the reason why her father had been shot, and the reason why she was now unable to leave Brussels and go home to England. It was probably the most dangerous thing in existence. Not a weapon or an army, an idea. Starting from just one person, it could spread like wildfire. Never pausing, never stopping. It was all encompassing.

Everyday she paced these same halls, up and down the staircases too and wondered why. Why would someone start a war over something as small as different ideals, when it would cause the deaths of millions.

It was just one idea after all, just one, that had caused her family to slip right through her fingertips like sand. If it hadn't have been for that one night she would still be in England, with her parents and her little brother and sister. Life would have been better. She wouldn't have been left on her own so young or have had to pretend to be French to avoid being put in an Interment Camp. Life would have been better. Her Father would come walking in from work whistling, a tune always on his lips. Her mother would be in the kitchen making her sweet honey cake. Bill would be a strapping young lad at 14 and Lily. Sweet little Lily would throw her arms around her in a big hug and beg her to play dollies. But there was no point in thinking about what would have been. This was her life now, and they were all gone.

For the past three years, she had been working for the Germans. Not out of choice, more out of necessity. Her aunt had been killed and she couldn't afford rent. The Germans had needed someone to make refreshments for the office workers, so she had applied. It wasn't good money, but it was enough to get by on. Besides, it wasn't as if her work was very taxing. The majority of her duties were serving tea and coffee, although mostly coffee. And on the odd occasion going out to buy cigarettes for which ever official had run out and was too busy to go buy more.

A door to her left suddenly flew open and two soldiers strode out, dragging a man between them. He didn't look very good, all bloodied and bruised.

She stopped by the wall, choosing to remain out of the way until they had passed by. She had told herself long ago that it was none of her business what happened here. Especially if it involved allied airmen.

The door opened again and another man strode out. "Herr Sturmbannführer," she murmured politely, bobbing her head.

He cast his eyes over her but remained completely silent. Ludwig Kessler was not a man to cross. He was cold and aloof. And as a member of the Gestapo, could be a very dangerous enemy. She usually tried to remain out of his way.

She found that keeping her head down and staying quiet was the best way to stay out of trouble. She wasn't even sure if anyone in the building even knew her name, outside a few young soldiers. She was just a nameless ghost. The spirit who is always there but never seen. It was a good thing too, as the fewer people who took notice of her, probably meant that she was doing her job properly.

She waited until Kessler was out of sight before moving again. It wasn't often that she came to this floor, as it was home to the more important officials, Kessler being one of them. They tended to have assistants who would come down to the kitchen to fetch coffee and the like, which she of course had to make. But it was part of the job to know who was in each office, and how and when they liked their tea or coffee.

This office in particular belonged to Major Brandt, a member of the Luftwaffe. What his job was, she wasn't exactly sure. But she knew it had something to do with the police. All in all, she didn't know him very well if at all. She had of course heard bits and pieces from his assistant, a young soldier called Anton Müller.

Anton was very committed to doing a good job. Apart from the times when he came down to the kitchen to fetch coffee, he was either stuck behind a desk taking notes or sent on errands to other officials. It wasn't any wonder that whenever he came to the basement, he would tell her all sorts of things. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he was good company. Sometimes she wondered how he became a soldier in the first place. He couldn't be any older than about 18 and from what she had learned about him, was just a boy at heart who only wanted to do his best. So the fact that he was not at his desk when she knew he should have been, was concerning.

She walked towards the desk, curiosity taking the place of common sense. She knew that she shouldn't be there, even if it was just the outer office. If she got caught, she could be accused of being a spy. Which would mean being shot or worse, being tortured by the Gestapo and then being shot. Either way it wouldn't end well.

The sound of breaking glass suddenly met her ears, making her flinch and turn around immediately. It was okay though, there wasn't anyone behind her. The noise had come from within Major Brandt's office instead.

She tapped lightly on the inner door. There was no answer. Going against every fibre of her being, she pushed the door open and walked in. Major Brandt was sitting behind a desk at the back of the room.

"Herr Major," she asked softly. He didn't even seem to notice her. He was just hunched over in a chair and holding his hands close to his face.

She took a tentative step forward. Her shoes made little sound on the floor, a talent she had picked up a few years ago. The area around the desk was a mess. There was blood on the floor, scuff marks near the desk and a photo frame was lying face down in a sea of broken glass.

"Herr Major," she repeated.

She knelt down and took his hands lightly. There were a whole host of cuts on them; some light, others deep and one in his left hand was streaming blood. It had clearly come from the broken frame, now lying on the floor. She guided his hands away from his face and just held them. Her mother always used to say, a gentle hand and a kind heart are the best way to help. And now it rang true, as that gentle bodily contact seemed to bring him out and his eyes flicked to her face. There was some recognition in there, but his mind was still on something far away.

"Herr Major, you're hurt," she continued in the same soft tone. "Let me help."

She pulled out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and pressed it to the bleeding wound.

It was never good to cut your hand, especially this deep. Unless you got it taken care of fairly quickly, bacteria could get in and cause an infection.

She kept the fabric pressed to his hand, keeping her eyes on it the entire time. It was one of her personal rules; never look any German official in the eye, unless they were talking to you. Although sometimes it could be awkward, especially when they decided to just look at her instead. She glanced up only to find him watching her, half-heartedly, but still he was watching her. She didn't like it when people watched her.

Noticing that the bleeding had slowed down some, she tied the fabric around his hand and stood up, brushing her skirt off as she went. "Is there anything else you need, Herr Major?"

"...no, you may go," he said finally. There was definitely something wrong, and she knew it. Though she didn't dare bring it up.

She bobbed her head and moved back towards the door. Before she was stopped, by his voice.

"What's your name, Mademoiselle?"

"Gabrielle, Herr Major."

A/N-Was it any good? If you think so tell me in the box below. AM