~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~

Lydia had been sitting on the wooden floor of the truck for about an hour now. The car rolled over the hilled and snowy terrain quite fiercely, knocking her around in the back as she tried to maintain her balance. Those that had survived the bombing were either sitting around her or in one of the other two cars the American troops had called in. There had only been around thirty people, if Lydia counted correctly. Not a single one of them her mother. The faces she stared at were unfamiliar to her—most likely people from the nearby town, or people that the Americans had already helped—captured?—from other parts of the country.

Goosebumps flared over her exposed skin, causing Lydia to hug her knees to her chest in some search of warmth. The bandage on her arm had been replaced by one of their medics and Lydia knew that the moment they reached wherever they were headed that she would be getting stitches. And then who knew what would happen? All this time, Lydia had been sure that what her country—what Hitler—was doing was wrong. But she had never been around the Allies. For all she knew, she could have been dreaming up a fantasy and they could be just as bad, if not worse, than the side she was supposed to fight for. Squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face in the crook her knees made, Lydia tried to force all those thoughts out of her head. She was too tired; she didn't want to think about anything at this point in time.

All Lydia wanted to do was sleep. But even as she sat there, exhausted as ever, she knew that she would never close her eyes. Adrenaline still pumped through her veins, her mind working overtime to figure everything out, to remain alert, and until she knew that she could trust the soldiers, and the people around her, she wouldn't be getting any sort of sleep. Her body screamed at her for that, because it craved rest desperately, but Lydia ignored all the shouts it gave her. Even though Soldier Green Eyes saved her life—more than once, her subconscious reminded her—she still couldn't be one hundred percent sure.

The car jolted once more, throwing Lydia back against the wall of the car. A shot of pain ran up her spine and she inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. Were they doing this on purpose or was the road really that bad? Lydia peered through her curtain of hair to the other end of the car. It was a rather large vehicle. Larger than she was expecting and it fitted around fifteen people in the back alone. Lydia sat nearer to the back of the car while a couple of American soldiers sat closer to the front of the car. Everyone else was mushed together in-between. Lydia unwrapped her arms from around her legs and pressed her palms firmly against the floor, locking her arms in hopes that the position kept her up right and stable.

After the soldier had taken her from her burning home and after he forced air, life, back into her lungs, Lydia felt that she had no other choice but to follow him to the car they had ridden here on. She felt as if it was her only choice to get away from the town that was burning down around her; away from the memory of Gretchen's open skull and Klaus falling down in front of her; and away from the destruction her country had caused. Lydia didn't know why they had bombed her town—an otherwise peaceful town that supported the Nazi regime—and though the question festered away in her mind, the redhead wasn't ready to know. So, she had kept her mouth shut, trailing behind the soldier until they reached the car, she was packed away inside, and they drove off.

Now, Lydia was alone. As the car jostled her around some more, Lydia tried to place names to the faces around her. But the longer she stared, the more unfamiliar they became. She didn't even know if the soldier that had saved her was in this car with her. Somehow, the idea of him being just a few feet away made her feel a bit better. For the time being, at least. Then, all of a sudden, tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She was really alone. Her bottom lip quivered and Lydia could feel the sensation of wanting to sob rush through her. She was seconds away from cracking and if she hit the side of the car one more time, if she gained one more bruise, Lydia was sure she would fall apart.

The tears burned for some time, Lydia managing to keep them from falling for the time being, and it was then that she felt someone nudging her foot. She looked up, gazing around the car to find the person, until she felt the person nudge her again, this time coming from her right. The girl sat across from her, one person over. She was a beautiful woman, the stranger. With thick, raven-colored hair that tumbled far down past her breasts and pale, porcelain skin. Her toffee colored eyes were alight, despite the circumstances surrounding them, and her petal pink lips were pulled up in a soft smile, dimples popping up on either side. She was holding her hand out to Lydia, something within it, but Lydia didn't move. She just stared at the girl in front of her.

The stranger's smile grew just a bit wider and she opened up her jacket just a bit to reveal the beginnings of foil packaging, a familiar design poking out in the dark. Chocolate. "Take some," the stranger whispered, holding it out again. She was French, if Lydia placed the accent correctly. "It will make you feel better, I promise."

And so the stranger managed to make Lydia smile. It was brief and incredibly small, but even Lydia could feel the corners of her mouth twitching. Gently, she reached out and took the small block of chocolate from her hands, inhaling its sweet scent before nibbling on one of the corners. "Thank you," she replied.

"You looked like you needed it more than me," the stranger commented, dismissing the whole thing like it was no big deal. But in times like this, even the smallest act of kindness could mean a hell of a lot. "You're one of them, aren't you? One of the people from the burning town?" Lydia simply nodded, taking another small bite from her treat as she held the gaze of the stranger. It was amazing how much empathy blazed in her eyes when they didn't know each other. The stranger frowned, as if she was searching desperately for something to say but there was nothing that could be said. Frankly, Lydia was happy she didn't express the sympathy. The redhead wasn't in the mood to hear an unwarranted, meaningless apology. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Lydia said quickly, never breaking eye contact.

"Allison."

Oh. Pretty. "Lydia."

Allison's grin grew wider, the dimples becoming more obvious as she did so, and Lydia felt warmth spread through her at that. It was funny how Lydia couldn't remember the last time she had seen someone smile that brightly at her before. At least… Before Klaus had only a few hours ago. Lydia smiled back, trying not to let her memories show on her face, but the grin felt awfully forced. "Finish the chocolate, Lydia," Allison said warmly. "You'll need your strength. We all will."

Lydia's eyes narrowed at that, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, and she felt a small pang of fear appear low in her belly. "Why? Where are they taking us?"

One of Allison's shoulders lifted up in a small shrug. "I asked, but they wouldn't tell me."

"Why not? You're on their side. You're French."

The comment granted Lydia another one of Allison's contagious smiles. "I don't think they're taking us anywhere horrible," she said, ignoring Lydia's comment all together. She was French, wasn't she? The accent was almost unmistakable now. "But just because there's peace now doesn't mean there won't be chaos later. Eat up."

Lydia blinked, unsure of what to say, and settled for pressing the rest of the chocolate onto her tongue, chewing it as best she could.

~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~

For the rest of the trip, Lydia and Allison sat together in silence. The chocolate was packed away, Lydia's stomach felt a bit better, and the redhead endured the jerking around the truck made until it came to a final stop. At last. Fear ate away nervously within the pit of her gut. Fear of where they were. Fear of who she would have to deal with. Fear of what was to come. Allison's comment had been strange, but Lydia knew it would be stupid to brush it aside. The girl had been right.

Peace was short lasting. During the twenties, the age of prosperity, it had only taken a few years or so before all the peace and happiness collapsed into disparity. Until the Depression hit and it seemed as if nobody would be happy ever again. And then Hitler rose to power, declaring war on those he saw as unfit to live on this planet. Chaos had the ability to endure what peace couldn't. Chaos was a living, breathing, strategic creature; peace was a naïve child playing on the street, unaware of the truck barreling straight toward it. Lydia had promised herself that she wouldn't live in naivety. She was too smart of that and, frankly, there was no reason to fool herself into thinking everything was going to be okay. The past ten years had proved that perfectly. It was because of the everlasting horror that Lydia vowed to be strong. To remain standing even when everything threatened to knock her over.

The thought process seemed to work for the most part. But as the car had come to a stop and silence filled the air, Lydia didn't know if she'd be able to get up onto her own two feet. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lydia tried to focus her breathing and keep her heart at a normal beat. She could still taste remnants of chocolate on her tongue, willing the sweetness to give her strength as the back doors of the trunk burst open.

Night had fallen. The crisp, hardened air filled the small space of the trunk like a block of ice, freezing them to the core. The cold was a shock, producing gasps from Lydia and the people around her as well. But the shock only lasted for a short while before the American soldiers began pulling everyone out. Slowly, Lydia opened up her eyes, focusing on the chocolate on her tongue rather than what lay out that door. She watched as the smile on Allison's face reappeared and she hopped out of the car as if it wasn't any different than coming back home after a long trip. Everyone around Lydia filed out, crawling over and around her, as she remained frozen on spot, staring at the soldiers on the other side, their faces clouded in darkness.

Until, finally, it was just her sitting there. The soldiers were speaking to her, urging her to come out. Their voices, their accents, sounded so different, and though Lydia understood the words, she couldn't get them to register in her mind. She didn't want to move. The soldiers didn't want to move either. It was as if they were trying everything in their power not to just rip her from the vehicle. Minutes seemed to pass, ticking slowly, and a new soldier appeared. The green eyes unmistakable.

Lydia hated the feeling of relief that appeared in her chest, lifting the weight off her body, as she looked back at him. She hated that he was able to make her feel at ease when he could be leading her to her death right about now. She hated that he was all she had left of her town. She hated that he was a part of this war, just as she was. She hated how he had hesitated while he held her at gunpoint. Most of all, she hated how he had chosen to save her instead of her mother.

Soldier Green Eyes turned around and muttered something to his comrades. The other soldiers looked wary, but with a curt nod, turned around and walked away. Then it was just Lydia and Soldier Green Eyes' stone cold stare. "Quit sitting around, mule, and get out of the car. We need to transport supplies with this car."

Her eyes narrowed instantly, chapped lips parting in a silent gasp. "Mule?"

Was that a flash of a smirk on his lips, smooth like honey? Or maybe Lydia was just imagining it all. When was the last time she ate, after all? "Mule. As in 'stubborn as.' It's an idiom."

"Mule."

His eyebrows knitted together and whatever playfulness had been there at first had disappeared. He looked her over, his gaze trailing along every inch of her. Did he see the goosebumps on her flesh? Did he notice the scar on her thumb from when she nearly chopped her finger off one morning a couple years back? Did he see the way the blood never reached her cheeks or the light never reached her eyes? Could he tell that her hair had been unwashed for nearly two days now, hanging lifelessly against her cheeks? Was he able to spot the small little blot of ash on the corner of her lips as the only remnant of her burning home? The concern on his face was becoming more annoying by each passing second and if he didn't say anything soon, Lydia vowed to punch him clean in the jaw. "You're cold."

A fact. Stated and simple. Much like when Lydia had pointed out his bleeding leg. Oh dear, his bleeding leg. Did he ever get that fixed? Lydia wondered, though she fought to keep from glancing down. He seemed well enough. "Am I? I couldn't tell." Her words came out through chattering teeth—when did they start doing that?

Soldier Green Eyes held out his hand. "Come with me, I'll get you a blanket and change of clothes."

"Enough with the chivalry, soldat," Lydia grumbled as she ignored his hand, scooting toward the edge of the trunk where she hopped out, her feet hitting the frozen ground somewhat unstably. Thankfully, the American didn't help balance her. She would have screamed. "It's dead."

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His eyebrows furrowed again. Lydia wanted to pull them apart with her own fingers. "We'll get you some new clothes and then take you to the infirmary," he said, returning to his normal stoic state.

"Not until you tell me where we are."

Lydia was starving and freezing. She was still bleeding straight through her bandage, the loss of blood making her dizzy, and she didn't know if she'd be able to sleep through the night. Her bladder felt as if it was about to burst, seeing as the last time she peed had been when she woke up this morning. Every time she blinked, she either saw Gretchen or Klaus behind her eyelids and the memory of them dying before her continued to scar her. The smell of warm, fresh food wafted in the air. It would be smart—logical—to go inside with the soldier and get rested up before she began working out any plans. But as far as Lydia was concerned, she'd stand in that spot all night risking frostbite if she had to.

"We're at my base camp," he explained, trying to find the correct words to use. "We have facilities for refugees and we try to help as many as we can by bringing them here."

"What gives you the right to think I'm a refugee?" Lydia snapped.

Green eyes grew wider at that comment. "Are you not a refugee?" Are you the enemy? Lydia translated in her head, though kept her mouth shut. "Your English in impeccable. Not many Germans can say the same thing."

"That's because you've killed them all."

Any emotion that had resided in his face had drained instantly. His eyes narrowed into a hardened glare and it seemed as if he had given up on playing Mr. Nice Guy. Lydia wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. His kindness was really beginning to get on her nerves. "I'm done standing around here in the cold watching you live up to your namesake, mule," he hissed, grabbing hold of the crook of her elbow. It wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to let Lydia know he was done playing games. "Come. Inside."

And so she did.

~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~

Exposed.

The showerhead was right above her head, spraying lukewarm water over her taut skin, but there were no walls or curtains. It was a long wall of drains and showerheads where everyone—men, women, and children—could shower. It was absolutely heavenly underneath the shower spray, feeling the dirt and the grime and the death wash off of her skin. The scent of the soap wasn't anything to rejoice about, but it was sweet enough to mask whatever smell of sadness came from her. However, Lydia knew better than to escape into the water that would never melt her. Instead, she was in and out in under ten minutes.

When he had dragged her inside, they had gone straight to the infirmary. She was forced onto a bed where she had to bite down on a cloth as she got stitched up, his green eyes burning a hole into her the entire time, and then it was time for a short tour. After Soldier Green Eyes told her where she would be sleeping, gave her new clothes, and showed her where the showers were, he had left her. It seemed as if he was unhappy with Lydia. The redhead rolled her eyes at the thought. Okay, perhaps her commented had been unwarranted and downright rude, but it happened. She was sorry, honestly, but her untrusting nature stopped her from actually voicing it. Grabbing hold of the folded clothes the soldier gave her, Lydia disappeared into the designated changing areas that were set up. Ironically, these had curtains—as if changing was more scandalous than showering and so nobody was allowed to see it. Shaking her head at the absurdity, Lydia dried off her body and her hair (to the best of her ability) and changed.

He had given her a nice pair of linen underpants and a common, white brassiere. There was a simple, pink nightgown, stockings (wasn't there a shortage?), and a plain, green daywear dress. However, it was the dress at the very bottom of the pile that caught Lydia's attention. It was a blue dress with short, cropped sleeves; it had a white apron sewed into it from the chest down; the dress looked as if it would end just past her knees and it was cinched at the waist. There was a white cap with it as well, boldly displaying a symbol that was also painted on the front of the dress. A small, red cross.

A nurse's uniform.

Lydia stared in disbelief at the attire, holding it in her hands as the other pieces of clothing fell to the floor. She didn't know what to feel. Why would he just assume that she would agree to be a nurse for them? Anger boiled in her veins, fighting alongside with the confusion and, dare she say it, happiness of seeing it again. But one could point out that Lydia may not have a choice. Maybe her choices were to be a nurse for them or die. Soldier Green Eyes had gone out of his way to prove that they weren't the enemy, so why was Lydia fighting him so much? Why was she being as…as—what did he say?—as stubborn as a mule? While she wanted to continue questioning his motivations, Lydia felt the exhaustion settling in on her body. As much as she wanted to avoid it, she needed sleep. And it was that realization that convinced her to change into the nightgown, gather up the rest of her clothing, and go in search of the bedrooms.

All alone, Lydia padded down the hallway, hair dripping wet down her back and a bundle of clothes in her arms. She felt like a lost little kid looking for her mother. Oh. Wait. She was a lost little kid looking for her mother; and now she was so far away from home that the hope of finding her had been diminished. It didn't matter what the facts said or what Soldier Green Eyes saw. Lydia refused to believe that her mother had been taken away from her. That wasn't the way things happened. Or, at least, it wasn't the way she would allow for things to happen. Not if Lydia had anything to say about it.

After stumbling in on a deserted boy's dormitory and a broom closet, Lydia finally found the girl's dormitory that Soldier Green Eyes had pointed out to her. There had to be around twenty women in that room, all of different ages and sizes, all wearing the same nightgown she had on. Not a single one of them looked as terrified as Lydia felt. Awkwardly, she stood in the doorway, searching around for a bed that she would claim as her own. Had they all been taken? Had her stubbornness now rendered her without a bed to sleep in? But with a quick glance around the area once more, she saw another bed tucked away from sight in the middle of all the mess, right underneath a window. Beside it, a familiar, dimpled face.

Seeing Allison brought relief to Lydia; relief similar to whenever Lydia lost her friends in the marketplace and she found them again. Weaving through the other women, Lydia walked over to Allison, a smile on her face. However, when Lydia reached the bed and the girl, all she could do was stand at the foot of it and stare at its simple, brown sheets and blanket. A blanket that was sure to be scratchy.

"It's not all bad," Allison commented, reading Lydia's mind. "It's more comfortable than it looks and I suggest sitting down. Your soup is getting cold."

Lydia dragged her eyes away from Allison's face, and the dark, ringlet curls that fell wet against her cheeks, to the small table that rested between the bed. On the tabletop rested a small bowl and spoon. Lentil soup, if Lydia could guess. "You got me soup?"

"It's mine," Allison clarified, that same reassuring smile appearing on her face. "You were taking longer than everybody else, which is why they didn't bring any for you, but I figured you couldn't have been that far behind. Besides, I've already eaten." A coy look appeared in her eyes for a split second.

Right. The chocolate. "I can't eat your supper," Lydia said as she crouched to place her clothes underneath her mattress. Allison watched her, curiosity in her eyes at what the redhead was doing, but Lydia didn't feel the need to explain. It was a weird superstition her mother believed in.

"Of course you can. I won't and who are we to just let food go to waste?"

Lydia knew she should have just shut up and said thank you, but it wasn't her nature. Instead, she stared at the girl in disbelief, mouth opened and eyes widened. First the chocolate and now all of this. "Why? Why are you being so kind to me?" It killed Lydia that she didn't know. She was German. The biggest enemy in the entire world. She should be hated. She should be spit on and loathed. Instead, she was being shown kindness—even from a man who clearly wanted to give her anything but.

"Why not?"

"Because a world like this has no room for kindness! All that does is breed eternal misery." It wasn't until the words came out of her mouth that Lydia realized just how much she meant them. "All it does is make us have hope—and there is no hope."

"What do you mean, Lydia?" Allison's words were soft, but firm; her eyes were shining, sadness glowing in them. "There's always hope."

A quip appeared on the tip of her sharp tongue, but Lydia reined it in. There was something about Allison's expression—about how broken it was for that one fraction of a second—that made Lydia pause. Given, she had only known the girl for a couple hours now, but in those couple of hours she was always smiling; her eyes were always alight. Seeing her now, somewhat broken, was unusual. But as quickly as the sadness was shown, it had disappeared. She leaned forward, grabbed the bowl of soup, and held it out to Lydia. Taking it from Allison's hands gently, Lydia crawled onto the mattress, crossing her legs so that she was facing her new friend. "I don't know how you can say that," she whispered, staring down at her food.

"It's simple. It's only three words, four syllables."

Lydia looked up at Allison, sad and irritated. "You know what I mean."

"I don't know how you can say that there is no room for hope," Allison said, becoming fully serious now. "That's all that there is room for, Lydia. It's all we have left. It's the one thing they can't take away from us."

"They? Meaning… The Germans."

Allison frowned. "You may be German, Lydia, but I don't think that defines you."

Lydia's lips quirked up in a softened smile. "Is that why you gave me chocolate?"

"No. I gave you chocolate because it seemed as if you desperately needed it."

Even Lydia had to laugh at that, even though Allison had been completely honest with her. The laugh, however, was tortured and twisted. There was no comfort or happiness in the sound. It was dry and emotionless, coughing up dust and disappearing as soon as it hit the air. Before the Depression drove her mother off the edge, she had always claimed that laughter was the best medicine. Laughter was the medicine that could fix everything. But then Lydia got older. And she saw people starving in the streets; she saw how much her people were viewed as fools; she saw how they were hated and scorned; she saw that rage at the world grow into a regime that was now causing bloodshed in the streets and genocide across the world. Laughter would never fix that.

Silent, Lydia ate. The soup needed more spices, otherwise there truly wasn't any taste, but it was enough to satiate her stomach. Her throat craved water, her body craved sleep, but as Allison said goodnight and went to sleep, all Lydia could do was sit there and look around the room. Almost everyone was tucked into their beds now. Lydia counted four elderly women of varying ages, sixty to ninety; there were around six young girls, girls who had barely lived ten years and were trapped in this world; the majority of the women were teenagers around Lydia's age, or slightly younger, and a few middle aged women bustled around to round out the rest. This was her life now. These women were her family. And she could keep fighting them with her stubbornness or don the nurse's outfit in the morning and help them all out.

Quickly, Lydia finished her soup before tucking herself away into bed. Rolling over onto her side, the redhead did her best to find comfort on the hard mattress and warmth in the scratchy blanket. Yes. This was her life now. And though her body felt heavy with exhaustion, Lydia could not close her eyes to fall asleep. She stared through the darkness that had now fallen upon the room, the lights flickering off, and felt the tears brim in her eyes. Lydia buried her face in the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut as she finally allowed the sobs to wrack through her body.

Tormented, she sobbed and wailed into the pillow, hoping it muffled the anguished sounds. Rabid and empty; that was how she felt. Her entire form shook violently as she sobbed, eyes burning as the tears continued to fall. Tears that she had been holding back for so long. Lydia sobbed and she sobbed, allowing the black hole in her chest swallow her up just a little bit more. She dug her fingers into the fabric of the pillow because there was nothing left for her to hold onto but that flattened cushion. The wind howled outside the window above her head, the voices from the shadows thundered in her ears, and the blood in her veins raced hotly, bursting every vessel.

Lydia tumbled through the darkness, rushing past the memories that stood prominently in her head. She could still smell the burning of the wood from her home. She could still see that small, little red hole appear in the middle of Klaus's head. The color grey would never remain the same ever since Lydia saw Gretchen's brain matter dribble out of her skull as if it were mashed up lunch meat. Her blonde braids would never swing in the early morning and Lydia would never get to have another dance with Klaus. December would no longer bring Christmas morning and her mother's cookies or the smell of pine taking over the town. December brought her town rejoicing over the deaths of innocent Americans just minutes before their own country stabbed them in the back.

Aching. Her body ached the more she sobbed, but with each tear that fell, five more followed. She wanted to scream and rip her pillow to shreds. She wanted to punch the window until she felt the glass shards digging into the flesh of her knuckles. Desolation swept into every crevice within her body, settling down and making a home there. There's always hope. Allison had said it so easily and Lydia desperately wanted to believe her. But there wasn't any hope. And there never would be. It had been killed twelve years ago when the world crumbled to dust around her feet.

It only made sense that Lydia would soon follow. And just as the pressure became too much to bear for the world, the memories became too much to bear for Lydia. The bed creaked as each wail and watery sob thundered through her, creating tremors of an unknown magnitude. This was it. This was Lydia crumbling to dust around everyone else's feet. Biting down on her fist, Lydia brought her face out into the darkness once more, inhaling deeply through her nose in hopes of stopping the grief and sorrow that remained as a permanent fixture in her heart. Soon enough Lydia calmed down, now finding comfort in the darkness; in the anonymity it brought and the shadows in which she could hide. But then, minutes later, her cries started up again, taking control over her body. She rolled onto her side, still biting down hard on her fist as she felt the black hole grow larger. And as her misery threatened to swallow her hole, she saw something small scratched into the side of her bedside table. It was so small, as if someone had carved it in with their own fingers.

Two little letters seared into her brain before Lydia drowned in the infinite sea, slumber shutting down her body completely: W.R.

~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~

Author's Note: I wanted to thank everybody who has read this story and given me the encouragement to continue writing it! You guys have no idea how much that means. I also wanted to apologize for how long it took to get this up here, haha! I just got so busy with life, but I promise I'm not abandoning it.

Lydia and Jordan's relationship sure does seem a bit rocky, doesn't it? I promise it won't be that way for long! Jordan and Lydia just need to learn to not be so paranoid (if that's even possible during war time). We also said hi to a familiar face... Hi, Allison! You've been missed :)