Sorry for the delay! Grad school picked up and currently working on a spec for the show… but now I can take a break and get back to fanfic fun! Thanks for all the kind words.
oOoOo
Reichsmarschall Smith walks briskly into the training room tucked in the mountain. The new SS recruits are doing a basic fitness regimen of push ups, sit ups, planks, and other core workouts that John does not miss from his recruitment days in the American military. Although he ganders peak physical fitness it is not necessary to travel, he will not allow any of his men to be in less than ideal specimens, if only to protect them from suspicion long enough to see his devious plan through. Besides, even if these men have some terminal illness or other defect that the Reich now considers them "useless eater," Smith knows they have a purpose to fulfill yet. At the thought of how the Fuhrer can be so very wasteful, he shoves the memory of his dear boy deep down further into his subconscious. He does not have the luxury to satiate his nostalgic fatherly affections when he must be the ruler of the Americas in the Great Nazi Reich.
When the first soldat notices Smith, they all stop immediately and jump up in a heil. Mist from their rigorous activities covers their faces, arms, and legs, shirts becoming drenched in sweat, with the smell rising to greet his nostrils in the enclosed space. He dismisses the men quickly, not wanting to interrupt.
"Please, continue."
The five drop back down into their various positions as if nothing had happened, although a few watch him while pretending to be focused on their performance. He knows that each of these men longs for the day to prove themselves to the Reichsmarschall, even unto death. Smith grins, knowing this is the kind of commitment they will need to be successful, and the kind of loyalty he requires for his endeavors.
"You're doing well." Smith walks over to their trainer, Sturmbannführer Hans. "I am pleased with them."
Hans nods, enjoying the praise. He does his workouts in the morning before he arrives so he can properly oversee the men but does not see a reason to tell Smith.
"The meditative practices have been...challenging. Most of the men report it difficult to 'silence their mind.'"
Smith raises an eyebrow, urging his inferior to continue.
"And one, well… he thinks this is near treasonous to practice a philosophy from the Orient. It is not the Aryan way." Hans adds with a gulp and half hearted conviction.
A corner of Smith's lips tugs upward. "Well, it sounds like they are fine men of the Reich then, doesn't it Hans?" He glances over to see the tallest of them is listening in, though trying to appear focused on his exercises.
"Yes, sir." Hans responds dutifully.
"Men!" Smith barks and they are all up in a line at attention. He tries not to smile at the sheer elation of instantaneous obedience. He worked hard to have this position, this title, with the sole purpose to protect his family...once upon a time. Now, he admits to himself, he enjoys the power and authority even though it has cost him dearly.
"Your commanding officer tells me that you do not enjoy these practices?" He looks at them all, face hardened and eyes piercing the psyche of each man.
The men are silent, standing at attention. One of the men with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes shifts his weight uncomfortably.
Smith scoffs. "Come now, I want to speak to you openly. Enough of the loyal soldats. What of these Reich men?"
The soldier meets Smith's gaze. "Sir…"
The Reichsmarschall merely crosses his arms and cocks his head, waiting for him to speak.
"Michael, Sir. I… I don't think we should practice stuff of the Japs or any of the oriental ways." He tries his best to keep his voice even, but standing before the Reichsmarschall is like looking into the soul of a starving beast, waiting to swallow you whole.
Smith notices Michael's adams apple quiver.
"And what might you suggest, soldat?" Smith's brow furrows intimidatingly, masking his curiosity, so he can enjoy the dread.
"Sir...we, we are the superior race." The man attempts confidence. Though none of the others move, Smith sees victory and passion in their eyes at the comment. These men are born and bred of their Nazi ideology.
"And what does that have to do with these...meditative practices?" Smith's voice trails, low and gravelly. He hardly means to challenge this man so much, but if the soldier refuses to continue he does not have the required commitment. He watches as Michael puffs out his chest and stands a little straighter, summoning whatever courage and dedication remain untapped.
"Reichsmarschall, sir. We are superior because we know what everyone needs. We know what technology will save humankind. We care deeply for the preservation of our species. Everything we do in the Reich is for the betterment of everyone and everything else. We are selfless. Are these not the principles that could connect us to whatever we must in order to 'travel', as you have described it, sir?" Michael exhales as he finishes.
Smith could not look away if he wanted to. He hears every word, but for the first time, he notices that they are shallow, somehow prevented from penetrating the deepest recesses of his mind. He can almost see a wall blocking Michael's speech from taking hold in his consciousness, from roots going down and yielding the fruit of Himmler's propaganda. He banishes the thought. Whether or not he believes the soldat or the Fuhrer is besides the point. He is the Reichsmarschall and he must at the very least pretend this all makes sense to him.
"Very good." He sounds impressed and notices Michael's eyes lighten and flash with triumph.
"Michael, perhaps you can find some passages that will lend themselves well to this form of meditative practice, reflecting deeply on the oneness that comes from sacrifice for all humanity." Smith clasps his wrists behind his back and turns to Walter.
"Perhaps they can rest their bodies and engage their intellect for a time."
"A perfect course of action, Reichsmarschall." Hans sounds a little irritated that Michael is getting the recognition. Smith recognizes he will need all loyal men around him for any of his plans to be successful.
"Well done." Smith mumbled under his breath for only Hans to hear. "It takes a good leader to allow the men to think such things are their own ideas. They will own it with much more fervor, and you will lead them." Smith grins in pleasure.
Hans is elated. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
Smith nods and marches from the room. With these men in Hans' capable hands, he has other pressing matters to attend to.
oOoOo
He has been on the road from the Poconos for a few hours and the drive allows too much time for Smith's thoughts to wander to worst case scenarios. His men in New York had notified him of two things: Himmler awoke from his comatose state following the trauma and surgery... and they found Helen.
His mouth is dry as he drives as quickly as he dares on the country roads. He changed out of his uniform and is now wearing a pair of gray slacks, a blue button up shirt, his brown coat and a cap. He knows that if anyone looks closely, they will see the Reichsmarschall, but he hopes to fly mostly under the radar in the small town south of Lake Eerie.
The few hours pass at an aggravatingly slow pace, but he is getting close now.
He pulls over briefly to look at a map, then notes the next few streets to where Helen was last spotted with his girls just yesterday. His palms are sweaty as he gets back on the road. Left. Straight. Right. Left.
Soon enough, he sees a glowing red MOTEL sign over a simple two story building, no more than twenty rooms. Gulping, he pulls in and parks in a spot that allows a clear vantage point of most the doors. He scans the parking lot but doesn't see their family car.
His mind whirls. What if Himmler's first orders were to get them as he had threatened so many times? What if someone finds out she is his wife and takes her captive for ransom or as a political bargaining chip? What if the Resistance kills them all just to torture him, just as they had planned to do to Thomas?
His eyes narrow and his heart skips a beat as he sees the familiar blue Volkswagen pull in.
He forgets himself and is out of the car immediately. The driver barely has a moment to park before John is opening the front door.
"Who are you?" Smith almost yells.
"Excuse me?" A man a little older than John retorts, sounding rather indignant for obvious reasons.
"Where is Helen?" Smith tries to keep his voice even, as a hand rests on the car door, the other on the ceiling. He knows his posture is threatening but he does not care. He needs answers.
"The woman who sold me this car?" The man seems baffled by the intensity.
"When? How long ago?" Smith demands, his Reichsmarschall bark seeming out of place as he grabs the man's shirt and lifts him from the car. His strength occasionally astonishes even himself, but desperate times.
"Why should I tell you?" The man shouts, grabbing at Smith's hand to try and force his grip off. Out of the corner of his eye, Smith sees someone standing at their room door, having heard the commotion outside.
Smith releases the driver and chooses a different option. He pulls out his I.D. card and shows him. The man's eyes go wide.
"Oh, Rei- Reichsmarschall!" The man stutters out. "Please, sir. I am so sorry. I… I didn't know…" Fear consumes his gaze and Smith knows he will be useless if not put at ease.
"It's quite alright." He musters a smoother tone. "Now, when did she sell you this car?" He asks with less urgency.
"Just this evening, sir, back at the diner. She said she wanted something better for the dirt country roads. I traded her my truck for it. I...I got the better deal, but she insisted I needn't pay her for it!" The man straightens his shirt and tries to sound convincing.
"Where is the diner?"
The man points down the road. "But, sir, she is gone already. She left immediately with her girls after dinner. Seemed spooked by something."
John sighs. Somehow, Helen knew he was coming for her. His men said she was in the town for a few days already with no signs of leaving, and yet an hour or so before he arrives, she flees his grasp.
"Sir, can I do anything to help you?" The man looks concerned. John currently feels like an idiot, a poor husband and a terrible father. He wonders if he should buy back their family sedan, but he knows there is no point to it. If he can't catch up to Helen, he won't have a family any longer.
"No. Thank you for your help." He turns abruptly and returns to his car.
He pulls out on the road and leaves the quaint lake-side down for the more open space. The drive West will be worse than the one out here. He wishes he had time to spend searching for his girls, but he only allowed himself a short window on his way to New Berlin.
Hours go by alternating small towns, flat plains, and farmland. His eyes are getting heavy as it gets later into the night. His stomach grumbles, telling him he forgot eat dinner. He blinks a few times, trying to banish his exhaustion.
oOoOo
Juliana unlocks the door to Mrs. Krendel's home and quietly tip toes inside. She does not want to wake the nurse as it would lead to some odd questions, and probably scrutiny about her being out late with Mr. Smith again, and she hasn't the time or the mind to explain.
She heads down the hall to her bedroom and shuts the door softly.
Her room is sparse. She has a small closet with a few things of her thrift store purchases, an alarm clock Mrs. Krendel loaned her, and a twin bed against the wall with old quilts and lumpy pillows. She had not been entirely honest when she told John the motel beds were less comfortable than this one. Still, she knows it beats sleeping on the floor or in a cell.
A cell she may very well find herself in again.
She slowly opens the brown paper package to reveal a film case and note.
"Dear Juliana,
Keep fighting the good fight.
Let freedom ring.
-Sam"
Juliana closes her eyes holds the note and film to her chest. She remembers the thrill of hearing Dr. King speak, of seeing people of every ethnicity, gender, age, class and religion walking in hope for a better world. She wishes with all of herself, in the core of her being, that such unity could be known in her world.
As she concentrates on this hope, she senses her connection to her world growing. In her mind's eye, she sees a light shoot out from her, a blazen string that is rooted in her timeline, her universe where the Nazis rule. She is about to follow the path when suddenly she senses another string tethered to this world, a world of hope, of activism, with Thomas, and John. She remembers letting Trudy go and focuses on this second connection.
She thinks of Thomas, pictures him so clearly that it is like he is standing in front of her. She must consciously let him go. She knows she will be back, but it hurts to release him nonetheless. As she returns to a contemplative state and prepares again to go to her world, it is clear that there remains a much stronger anchor.
John.
The idea of leaving him behind causes her pain, leading to unexpected hesitation. She takes a deep breath and refocuses. She remembers Tagomi's training, and concentrates on releasing her fondness for John, forcing herself to cast aside any possibilities about what could exist between them. The thoughts are gut wrenchingly real. She begins to grieve, as though Thomas and John have just died.
In a bright flash of light, she is gone.
The only evidence she has been in that room at all is the torn brown paper wrapping and tears drops staining the quilt.
oOoOo
There is a flash of light in the middle of the road and John Smith swerves just in time to miss it and instinctively his right foot slams on the break. The tires screech to a halt, the smell of burned rubber and asphalt assaulting his nostrils. His body is thrust forward and backward with such force that it knocks the wind out of him. His knuckles are white, squeezing the driving wheel as if his life depended on it. He slowly releases, his heart pounding and all of his previous lethargy is banished in the rush of adrenaline.
He grabs his gun from his holster and hastens to get out of the car. As he stands and faces whatever object has been thrown in front of his vehicle, he sees the dark outline of a person, a woman.
She turns slowly. His car lights are illuminating the other direction and offer no assistance to make out her identity. He leaves his gun at his side, but his trigger finger twitches, ready for whatever comes.
"Hello, John."
Juliana.
The air is cold as he breathes sharply in surprise. He squints, trying to make out her features. He doesn't need to, he knows her voice all too well.
He wants to shoot her. He knows he probably should shoot her. Part of him needs to shoot her, to make her bleed and pay for the trouble she has caused him. And yet, part of him hesitates, a minority of his consciousness, but somehow it refuses to relent on the matter. He does not lift his gun.
"Juliana." He finally replies, his body remembering how to breath normally. He does everything in his power to sound unimpressed. He imagines she is smiling at him.
"I have something for you." She walks briskly, the light lending some aid as she comes closer. She is still wrapped in shadow, but he can see she is wearing a high waisted skirt and blouse, a little shorter over the knee than is proper for a woman of the Reich.
As he watches her confidently stride towards him, he can't help but wonder where this woman has been and what she has been up to in other worlds. He has a million questions about them, about travelling, about the U.S.A, all questions from John Smith the man, not the current Reichsmarschall overseeing a plot of multi-universe domination. But he isn't just a man, and he has a duty and appearances to maintain.
He lifts his gun, aiming at her head this time. "Stop right there."
Juliana lifts up her arms, revealing what she holds in her right hand to be a film case.
"Hand it over."
"I was about to." She replies simply, almost condescendingly so.
She leans forward to hand the film to him, and his hand clasps hers, and he squeezes so she cannot release, pulling her nearer so he can see her face properly.
"Where were you?" He doesn't mean to growl as much as he does, but still there is no fear in her expression. She hasn't seemed afraid of him since the day he visited her apartment, the day he challenged her broken wing facade.
"It's all here, in the film." Her eyes sparkle and there is no feigned innocence, only sincerity and a fiery passion burning deep within.
Despite himself, he puts his gun in his holster and releases her, taking hold of the film. She does not back away.
"Why did you come back?" He investigates her for an ounce of deception.
"For you." Again, her genuine authenticity infuriates him. He wants to believe she is a master manipulator of the Resistance, he needs to believe that. Otherwise… otherwise he does not know what to make of her.
"Me?" His voice is low, but he can't keep the flash of need from his eyes.
"Because, John. I believe there is so much more to you." Juliana steps in so that their faces are only a foot apart, causing Smith to unintentionally gulp.
"You're not just this man… you're... There is this other piece in you, waiting to be set free." Juliana hesitates a moment, and John doesn't move. He wants to arrest her again, but he is finally able to admit that he cannot cage this bird.
She gently places a hand on his chest and it lifts as he gasps in surprise. She looks into his deep, hazel eyes and sees hiding beyond a glimmer of hope and resemblance to the man she left behind. Although she reminds herself that she stands before the John who has murdered her a thousand different ways in her sleep.
He feels her hand on his chest and his chest heaves as he sharply inhales. He searches for malice in her angelic blue eyes. He finds none. He sees, he isn't sure what he sees. He hasn't seen that in someone's eyes in a while, not since before Thomas gave himself up, and maybe even further back still since he has seen that look in Helen's eyes.
Juliana is held hostage by his penetrating gaze. She feels her sudden need for him and all jittery indecision dissipates. She closes her eyes, leans in slowly, and gently brushes her lips against his. She pulls back quickly before the peck can become anything more.
John watches as she closes her eyes and leans in, and feels her delicate lips brush his own, and he cannot deny the desire that arises within. Without pause, his eyes close. This woman is a paradox he cannot comprehend and cannot stop thinking about. She has plagued his mind since she so captivated Joe, since Thomas chose to trust her more than his own family, since she killed a man to save his son's life, since she vanished without a trace. Almost the moment he feels her soft lips, she pulls back and his eyes open immediately, puzzled by her retreat.
She looks at his stunned expression and worries she has forgotten herself, forgotten who this man really is, forgotten that Helen is very much alive in this world. She takes a step back and her hand drops from his chest.
As she withdraws, John's body refuses to allow her escape. He tosses the film aside, steps into the gap and pulls her in for a deeper, passionate kiss. One hand firmly holds the small of her back, pressing himself into her. The other grabs her neck, more gently, and feeling her softness makes him want all the more.
She does not resist him. She kisses him back, imagining her John, expressing all of her longing. She throws her arms around his neck, allowing him full access to her mouth.
He feels his body responding to their closeness, to the taste and smell of her. He hasn't been this entranced by a woman in ages. A fleeting thought of Helen crosses his mind but he lets it go, knowing she is doing everything she can to be rid of him.
Despite herself, Juliana pulls her mouth away and takes a deep breath, looking down.
"I...I can't" She whispers. She closes her eyes and pictures the tether back to the other world, to the world where Thomas is alive and the Nazi's lost. To the world with her beloved John.
"I had him shot." Smith says quietly, still holding her.
Juliana opens her eyes, worried for the first time. "Who?"
"Himmler." He pauses so she can register the information and sees her worry turn to curiosity. "I leaked the information to the Resistance. I knew the best position and about what time we would be there."
"Why?" Juliana reads the conflict in his eyes.
"To protect them. Helen...and my girls." His mouth feels dry when he says his wife's name.
"Was it only for them?" She asks, and John can sense her disappointment and it tortures him.
He lets her go as her arms drop from his neck. "Yes. I'm not the man you want me to be, Juliana. I can't be. I've had to be something else..."
Juliana looks from John to the film, and takes another step back. "You've become the Alpha wolf, John. You've had to, or thought you did in order to protect everything you once cared about. Watch the film, John. You are many things, you just don't realize it yet."
He is surprised when she moves closer to him again.
She takes his hands, holding them in front of her. Somehow, this intimacy feels more uncomfortable to John than their previous kiss. Her sky orbs probe his soul, searching through all of who he is.
"I think you can be whoever and whatever you want to be, John. Your fate is not sealed."
"Will you stay?" He feels as though he could never think of other version of himself alone.
"I found him, John." Her voice cracks in hope and sorrow. "I found Thomas."
John tightens his grip on her hands. "Will you bring him back to me?" The plea escapes his lips as his eyes flash with desperation.
"I will, for a time. But I have to go back and show him the way." She brings a hand to his sharp cheekbones. Those cold, metallic orbs now look sentimental, like a father longing for his son. She imagines them misting over but cannot be sure in the present darkness.
"Go." He says simply, and she knows that part of him wants to keep her here. She cannot tell if it is the Reichsmarschall or the man, or a mix of both.
"Please, watch the film. I will be back...John."
Juliana empathizes with his anguish and kisses him again, a seal on her promise to return.
A moment later and in a flash of light, she is gone.
All he has is the memory of her lips, forever imprinted on his mind.
