Hi! Thanks everyone!

All characters, except my own, belong to Marvel :)


I do not wish to remember the pain between that first moment he took blood from me and the last; in fact, I cannot.

Sometimes I get wisps of memory from those agonizing hours on the cold surface of the tablet. They appear in my dreams as distant visions, never fully taking shape, always in the background. There will always be a part of me which will not fully understand why I will sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat, breathing rapidly and fearing to go back to sleep.

Charles says that the mind has a way of shielding us from our most painful memories; it does not delete them, it pushes them deep down into our subconscious, lying beneath the surface, waiting to be called to the front. When I am ever overanxious or alone, I feel an overwhelming irrational fear. Not at all like an instinctive fear which sends adrenaline through the system and tells you to run, hide or flee. No, a crushing fear which grips me where I stand.

Erik called them panic attacks, I have only ever had three and I had one the day the British 11th Armored Division liberated our camp on the 15th April 1945.


We had become used to the stench of death, so much so in fact we couldn't even smell the bodies of those left to die on the road which lined our walk from our plastic compound to the Doctor. We had become used to the starvation, the empty stomachs, our maggoty bread. Erik urged me to eat the maggots, "Just think of them as the meat," he would say, I was reluctant at first but I found myself eating them nonetheless.

Three days before the British came, our food stopped. After so long, and because we were children, our bodies had accustomed themselves to only just survive on our maggots and moldy bread. We weren't extracted for testing in those three days either, so we knew something was happening.

Erik was particularly pleased about this, even though he did not show it – we didn't have the energy – I felt it and it pleased me to see his eyes twinkle again, even if it was only for a moment. If I had gone through what he had in that year, I wouldn't have survived as long as he had. His body looked broken, skeletal, pale, black and blue; but I'm sure mine wouldn't have looked any better. When they took him in the mornings, he would try to fight, he used to kick and scream, but then they started to knock him out before ever transporting him the short way to the Doctor. I would sit and wait, always alone, in my cell, fearing that this would be the day that he wouldn't come back, but he always did and I always loved him for it. We had grown up a lot in that year.

That day, I remember I was lying in the corner of my cell - in the corner I shared with Erik - he was sat next to me and I had my hand clasped in his through the bars between us. We had moved our mattresses to these corners; this was how we slept now, for warmth and reassurance; it was the closest we could ever get to one another.

He had squeezed my hand to wake me, it was easily done, we only slept lightly then.

"Somethings happening outside, can you have a look?" he asked me in a whisper.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up; it was still dark outside. I listened. There was the sound of muffled shouts and running. I had long gotten over my fear of peering in on the soldiers thoughts, so, obeying him, I broadened my mind.

"They're moving all of the Doctor's equipment onto a truck," I said, exiting the young private's frantic mind, "He seemed in a hurry."

"Can you find Schmidt?" he asked me.

My eyes widened and I shook my head. He smiled sympathetically and squeezed my hand again, "Go back to sleep," he whispered, "We've still got another few hours till morning."


I woke up to the sound of truck engines and shouts. Daylight was coming in through the small slits and shadows were moving around outside; I could hear voices, but they sounded new and strange. I glanced at Erik, he was asleep.

"Erik," I nudged him, his eyes opened, "Erik, somethings happening outside," I nudged him again as I looked frightened from him to the door. He sat up and listened.

"That's not German . . ." he mused as he listened to the voices.

He looked at me, frowning, and I didn't have to read his mind to see what he was asking. I broadened my mind.

The first thoughts I came across were scrambled, filled with shock and distress, I couldn't quite make out them . . . I furrowed my brow and concentrated. Then suddenly a barrage of thoughts bombarded me. Images of the dead people outside, the smell was nauseating - all new through the man's thoughts – then came his spoken thoughts, I couldn't understand them; this man wasn't speaking my language. I had never heard another language spoken before and it terrified me.

I opened my eyes as fear took me.

"What is it?" I heard Erik's alarmed question, "Evie, what did you see?" He had grabbed the sides of my head through the bars and was holding my face gently so I was facing him.

"Voices – strange-" I stammered trying to contain myself, "I couldn't understand them – I - "

Then I screamed as the door was suddenly blasted open and the cells were saturated with a thick fog of dust and debris. Erik's hands were no longer on my face and the air was filled with the muffled strange voices. The explosion had momentarily deafened me and my coughs and my shouts for Erik sounded far away.

Then I saw a terrifying sight. A pair of disembodied hands came reaching out of the dust towards me. I looked away and attempted to scream again but my senses were that disoriented that I couldn't, the sound stuck in my throat as the hands grabbed me around the waist and gently pulled me up off the ground. I kicked and tried to pry the hands off me, but they just held me tighter. My hearing was slowly coming back and the same unfamiliar language permeated the air again. Then suddenly I was met by a blinding light, the dust had gone and I managed to look around.

A man was holding me, he was saying something in a soothing voice but obviously I couldn't understand him. My heart pace quickened and I felt warm tears begin to streak down my grimy face. The man attempted to wipe them away, it was a kind gesture, but for a terrified ten year old it was petrifying. I kicked and cried, and tried anything for him to let me go, I began to panic. I couldn't see Erik anywhere, just the men in green uniforms.

Then I couldn't breathe. At once, and totally unexpectedly, I stopped fighting and I suddenly hung unwillingly limply in the soldier's arms. He noticed I had stopped thrashing and he set me down in front of him. I managed to stand on my own with him knelt in front of me holding my forearms. I stood stock still, rooted to the spot as I began to hyperventilate. My vision became blurred and tears were rolling down my face and unbeknownst to me I was mumbling for my father.

The soldier tried his best to calm me down but nothing he did was working. Then out of nowhere I was wrapped in Erik's arms, clinging tightly to his skinny form for the first time and my crying eventually abated, my heart beat slowed to a normal pace and my breathing became even and steady; instantly I felt safe again.


Ta for reading!

Reviews are more than welcome :) Don't worry, after this there won't be a lot of as intense sad bits :)