A/N-Hi, I'm back. Here's chapter 2!


It was rather quiet in the kitchen, save for the slight ticking of the clock and the occasional crackle from the old radio. It wasn't often that she had some time to just sit down and not worry about her responsibilities. There were 40 offices in the building in total, some of which were home to at least three or four separate officials, each with their own preferences on how and when they wanted their coffee. Not to mention the other duties, like the errands she had to attend to or providing the odd light meal when someone was too busy to eat. All of it meant that throughout the day she was usually on her feet, so to be able to sit down was somewhat of a luxury, even if it was in a basement kitchen.

She didn't have much to complain about the standard of the room though, it was adequate for its requirements. Apart from the usual kitchen equipment, there was an old maroon coloured sofa, a coffee table, a faded red rug and a small wooden dining table with a few chairs, most of which had been repaired. It may not all have matched, but it was comfortable. And it reminded her of home before the war.

Having been born in the mid-1920s, she had grown up in the shadow of mass poverty and unemployment, so home hadn't exactly been very well off. Usually it had been made up of whatever furniture could be found, no matter the condition, because there was always a person who was either able to fix it or knew someone else who could. If there was one thing that she had learned from such situations, it was that if a person needed something, you would do it even without being asked.

That was the reason why she was sitting at her table, trying to fix the broken photo frame from Major Brandt's office. Trying being operative word, as it was more of a splintered mess, bits of glass sticking out everywhere. Anton had brought it down a few days ago with the instruction to throw it out. She didn't understand why though. Sure it was a complete mess, but it seemed to have been well loved. And it still contained a photograph.

She started digging through the box on the table beside her. The box contained all sorts of things. From everyday items like bits of string, pieces of wood and a box of buttons. To rarer things like pieces of silk, two pairs of stockings and even a small pane of glass, which she'd had to trade with a farmer for. All of the base components were replaceable, she just had to find them amongst everything else, along with a way to take the frame apart without damaging the photograph, as it was probably the only copy.

It was a sweet picture, but sad also. There was a woman sitting with her arms around her two children. She was pretty of a sort and all made up. There was a young boy who looked about 10 and was wearing something that she could only suppose was a Hilter Youth uniform, and a little girl who couldn't be any older than maybe 2, with her hair in two plaits. Anton had told her that the woman in the picture was Brandt's wife, Erika. And that she, along with their son, had been killed when a bomb was dropped on their house in the Berlin.

It made her heart break to think of all the grief and sorrow that would be with Brandt. She knew what that sort of pain was like and what damage it could do. He maybe German, but that didn't mean that he should lose those he loved.


The night was dark and quiet, there were no planes over Brussels. Only the moon, visible through the crack in the curtains, broke the dark confines. Its silvery light spilling onto the floor, creating a small glowing spot.

It was late, everyone else had finished work for the night and had gone home. He should have too, but what was a home for if not for family. He didn't have a reason to go home any longer. He just there, sitting in his darkened office, downing glass after glass of Cognac and trying to ignore the immense loss he was feeling.

He emptied the glass. They were gone. Why were they gone! His wife and son, both dead because some pilots got their markers wrong. He slammed his glass down. Dropping bombs on innocent women and children, they were murderers. MURDERERS! He grabbed the bottle from the desk. They would regret killing his wife and son, they all would. Every single damn one of them! They would pay.

He upended the bottle, only for a small trickle of the amber coloured liquid to pour out. The damn thing was empty, it had full when he'd started drinking. He glared at it for a moment and then lobed it across the room in frustration. It hit the wall and shattered on impact, showering the floor with broken glass.

He slammed both hands down on the desk only to recoil in pain as a sharp stabbing sensation shot through them. Why was all this happening? He clasped his face with both hands and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the slight throbbing behind them.

He opened his eyes, suddenly aware that the pain had stopped. He was surrounded by a soft golden light, glittering and shining around him. "Herr Major," a voice said softly. "Herr Major." It was a soft melodic voice, and comforting almost like a song. "Herr Major." The voice seemed to be fading, as if it's owner were moving away, getting fainter and fainter with each passing moment. "Herr Major..."

He awoke suddenly and looked around. He was...back in his office...and the door was open. Why was the door open, it had been shut before. Now light was falling into the room, illuminating the first few feet, but leaving him in shadow. He squinted irritably at it, why was it open.

It was at that moment that he noticed a shadow by the doorway, someone was standing just inside the room. There wasn't anyone else in the building though, that would mean... His eyes widened. An angel, the angel from his dream standing before him, shimmering with heavenly light.

He stared in awe, she was beautiful. Skin like fresh snow, eyes like Sapphires and golden curls that cascaded down her shoulders. She moved towards him, gliding across the floor so gracefully, and then stopped. And as she did so, the patch of moonlight fell upon her, making her gown glisten with starlight. She held out a hand towards him and a soft smile graced her lips. She was so beautiful.

He reached out to touch her. One touch, just one. That fair skin, that golden hair, those soft lips, he had to touch her. Just as he got close enough, she seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye, leaving only a faint hint of vanilla in the air.

He smiled softly. His angel, his beautiful angel.


A/N-What do you think? See you all next time!