Auhtor's note: thanks so much for the reviews, favs and follows! :D

Herzog went back to his little protective shell of introspection for a few days after the adventure of online shopping. The voice in the back of his mind was nagging him again, telling him he didn't belong there with Agnes, that he wasn't a man anymore, but a monster, and monsters don't live in houses for the very simple reason that monsters don't work, so they don't get paid, and if they don't get paid they can't afford a house, and food... and therefore can't have a family. He had had time for that, time he had wasted being a soldier, an officer... Maybe Erika had done the right thing.

On the other hand, Herzog told himself he couldn't be in the righter place; he could be a dead man, but he was a fully operational dead man, and for the time being Agnes needed a man to take care of her. And Agnes was happy, and recovering, and she clearly didn't mind having him around.

He had been with Agnes for a month. That night he was decided to shut up the little annoying voice once and for all, so he stood up from the puffs and made his way to Agnes' inflatable mattress. It was already past mid-night, he knew she was fast asleep. Herzog sat at the edge of the mattress, telling himself he wasn't going to do anything wrong, that Agnes wouldn't be upset. Besides that was all her fault, she was making him a touchy feely, cuddly man. And he was utterly curious to finally find out how was the feeling of having someone sleeping that close.

So he laid on his side and carefully dragged himself closer to Agnes, facing her back. She was still sleeping, undisturbed.

Don't do that, haven't you learn that the Present is just that, Present? You don't know the Future, she isn't exactly yours!, the little voice hissed. Herzog growled lowly and wrapped an arm around Agnes' waist, and rested his head on the pillow after making sure he wouldn't pull her hair. Shut up!, he told the voice, All I had was a moment of exhaustion and weakness, but I won't allow you to take over my sanity! She's mine, otherwise she wouldn't have come back!

The voice seemed convinced by Herzog's logical arguments. With a satisfied grunt, the Standartenführer closed his eyes.

His victory didn't last long, though, and his wounded pride made itself noticeable by telling Herzog anyone could sleep on the same bed of someone who was already asleep. Herzog widened his eyes and didn't think twice before turning around, reaching out for Agnes' flashlight, on the floor next to the mattress, and turn again to her:

"Agnes," he called, shaking her mercilessly by the shoulder and turning the flashlight on. The young woman sighed and looked over her shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut:

"Uh..." she grumbled, turning around to face him. Herzog pointed the light to the ceiling and she opened one sleepy eye. "What do you want...?"

"Would you give me the honour of sleeping in the same bed as you?" he asked, determined. Agnes opened her other eye and blinked, slowly, then widened her eyes, finally realising Herzog wasn't kneeling on the floor or something like that. His big cold body was right there. She frowned; something serious must have happened to move him from the respectable distance of the puffs to her mattress.

She studied his tense face, badly illuminated by the flashlight, and concluded that had something to do with one of his internal struggles; she would like him to tell her about those, but one of the first things she had understood about Herzog was that he didn't like to be asked things, so she preferred to be patient and let him have his time, then tell her about that.

She shrugged, because she knew he would do no harm:

"Fine. Just don't take the blankets and the pillow all for yourself, right?" she said, making herself comfortable again. "And turn off the damn light, I want to sleep..."

The awe in Herzog's face was priceless. He turned the light off and threw the flashlight somewhere:

"I need no blankets..." he informed, and rested his head on the pillow again. Agnes just grumbled something, already falling asleep.

He took a while to just stare at her in the dark, feeling ridiculous for finding her sleeping face so fascinating. And his wounded pride suddenly didn't feel so wounded. The Standartenführer moved a little closer and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Agnes felt something heavy and cold around her... and the blankets were missing. There was also a cold breathing against her face, but at least she still had the pillow. With a sigh, she opened her eyes to find Herzog's head right there. Such a big and massive head that somehow hadn't taken the whole pillow.

He was sleeping deeply in a cocoon of stolen blankets. Agnes had never seen him sleep; she knew he did it when he was bored or didn't want to read, or think, or just to pass the time, but she could never imagine he looked that peaceful, too peaceful for a dead Nazi officer. Too peaceful for a blanket thief.

Agnes noticed that the scar across his eye wasn't actually a fresh scar, but a wound. And it looked painful, just like the slash on his face. She moved a little closer, suddenly having the impression that Herzog was too big and too detailed to be seen at once, with too many contrasts of dark and light, like some Romantic painting. He looked old, looking this close to the wrinkles around his eyes, but on the other hand, the sharp cheekbones and strong jaw made him younger. The Standartenführer breathed heavily and the air passing through the exposed teeth of his lower jaw sounded like a series of painful hisses.

The young woman managed to look away from his face and noticed his arm wrapped around her; that explained the heavy and cold something, besides the lack of blankets. She rolled her eyes and was going to try to move his arm away, when she noticed a few more scars on his arm, some of them disappearing under the fabric of the t-shirt sleeve. Agnes immediately plotted an evil plan to give Herzog a tank-top, so that she could have a better look on such an interesting archaeological artefact.

She then shook her head, because she shouldn't be thinking like that, and tried to move his arm. Too bad, he grunted and pulled her closer. Agnes gasped for air and wriggled a bit, but that was clearly nothing that could disturb Herzog. That's it, Agnes was going to punch him, call him, whatever. He was going back to the puffs. However... since she was this close... curiously, Agnes rested her head against his chest, trying the odd sensation of feeling his chest rise and fall while he breathed but not hearing nor feeling his heartbeat.

Herzog growled lowly in his sleep and tightened his grip around Agnes again, who found her small body being smashed in a freezing iron grip:

"That's it, wake up!" she yelped as her rib cage stung. Herzog grumbled something and nestled his head on the crook of her neck. Or tried too, his head was too big. Agnes hissed and punched his chest, trying to make him wake up. "Hein, come on! My fucking ribs!"

He let out a sleepy 'Hmm?', and the grip around her lost some pressure. He moved his head back to the pillow and opened one lazy blue eye, to be greeted with Agnes' frown:

"You said you didn't need blankets!" she accused. Herzog blinked his eyes slowly, his brain still too foggy with sleep, then he looked down, to his cocoon, then back to Agnes. He opened his mouth to apologise, but no sound came out. Then, slowly, he started to undo the cocoon, visibly embarrassed; he had known it was a bad idea and this was not to be repeated:

"I am very, very sorry-"

"You're a cuddler," Agnes then commented with a smile. "Though you nearly broke my ribs again."

Sascha sat heavily on the snow and hid his face on his hands. For brief moments all he felt was the wind howling around him, not far from the cave on the top of the mountain. He felt exhausted, and wondered if it was normal for a dead man to feel like that. He also wondered if Herzog had ever been through that too, and if so, how the heck had he managed through it all, keeping that poker-face of his for the whole time.

He felt someone sit next to him, and he didn't need to look to know who it was. With a grunt, he rested his head on Fritz's shoulder and uncovered his face:

"I'm so fucking tired... so fucking tired..." he whispered. "I had no idea commanding a bunch of idiots was like this! It was easier when we were in Poland, how come that it became so difficult?"

"You're doing well," Fritz assured, unstrapping the chinstrap of Sascha's helmet to remove it, and then getting rid of his own helmet. "It's just that now we're more than in Poland, and Herzog isn't here to make sure everybody behaves."

"Maybe that was why Herzog didn't get me in the Officers Course..." Sascha mumbled sadly, wrapping his arms around himself. "Maybe he knew I wasn't ready, afterall..."

"He got stupid, that's why."

Sascha said nothing, just spat blood on the snow and watched the contrast of dark blood on white snow. The wind became stronger and the snow began to fall furiously. He looked around, from the grey sky to the whiteness of the mountains surrounding them, and sighed, nestling his head on Fritz's shoulder:

"He's been gone for how long?" he asked, because Fritz had been counting the days since they had kicked out Herzog:

"A month and a day."

"Do you think he's fine?" Sascha moved away, frowning, an anguished expression on his face. "Do you think something happened to him? I'll never forgive myself if I got him into troubles!"

"He's fine," Even though he wasn't sure of it, Fritz smiled. "I'm sure he found Agnes. And if something bad had happened, we wouldn't be here anymore..."

"You got a point..." the blue-eyed zombie agreed, nodding slowly. He sighed again and turned his head to look at his comrade. "He's fine, isn't he? Herzog is all big and scary... no one would mess up with him, right?"

"Right."

Sascha nodded again, pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. Fritz did the same and they both stayed in silence for a while, listening to the wind while the snow pilled around them:

"Maybe I should have insisted with him... that day," Sascha mumbled, not looking at Fritz, but he felt the other's brown eyes on him. "I'm sure he must have felt lonely and exhausted many times..." He looked at Fritz and their eyes met, and Sascha looked guilty."Commanding is difficult, afterall. Now I feel like I abandoned him..." He looked away again. "I just want to curl up and sleep, I'm sick of them. That stupid Bergen, the Doctor and the Wehrmacht guys, to be precise..."

"Bergen is jealous, and we can always kill the Doctor and then ask Herzog to revive him again. Or we could cut off his tongue!" Fritz smiled, enthusiastic, but Sascha just grumbled something. "And the Wehrmacht guys... well, that's the Wehrmacht. What are those simpletons compared to us, the SS?"

"A fucking massive headache!" Sascha made a snowball and threw it away, angry. "Fucking fuckers..."

Fritz said nothing, just stared at the snow before him. A few minutes later he heard Sascha chuckle with a gurgling sound and looked at him, to see him smile sadly, showing his bloodstained teeth:

"How can you put up with me?" he asked, and looked older than what he was. Fritz just shrugged and would have blushed if he still could:

"It's no big deal..."

"You and Herzog, you both put up with me! And I'm so annoying! Holy shit, if I was an officer and had a soldier me in my company, I'd shoot down my soldier self!" He laughed sadly, shaking his head, and cursed when Fritz slapped the back of his head:

"Your brain froze, too. Shut up." the younger soldier grunted, and slapped his comrade's blond head again just for the sake of it.

They went quiet for a while, looking at the landscape ahead. Sascha sighed and laid on his back, stretching out his arms and legs. Fritz looked at him and swore he could feel his frozen cheeks heat up a little:

"You don't feel lonely, do you?" he asked quietly. Sascha made a face:

"That's impossible, having you around!"

"Does it annoy you?"

"Don't you even dare to try and leave me for five minutes..." The blue-eyed zombie smiled and punched Fritz's arm playfully. But then his smile died as he studied his comrade's face, frostbitten and darkened by the ice. He changed to a sitting position again and moved closer to Fritz. "Do you remember that talk we had?"

"We had many..." the younger soldier replied, even though he knew exactly which one Sascha was referring to. Sascha knew he knew, and frowned. Fritz smiled innocently. "I do."

"Do you think we actually killed that little bastard?" And Sascha laughed sadly. Fritz's smile became sad too:

"Don't call a feeling «bastard»..." he mumbled, and shrugged. "I guess we did, and buried it deep."

"Do you think it's still there, in its grave?" The sudden urgency and embarrassment in Sascha's growling voice made the younger soldier smile widely:

"No, I think it crawled all the way out of its grave and came after us, to haunt us. At least it haunts me."

"The little bastard, it haunts me too!" Sascha smiled again, happily, and felt his eyes sting. For a moment, he expected to feel tears, or to see tears in Fritz's eyes, but there were things they couldn't do anymore. "I thought living-dead men couldn't have ghosts..."

"I thought there was no such thing as «living-dead», so we're both wrong."

They laughed nervously and looked around, to check if they were still alone, and Sascha moved even closer to Fritz. But the younger soldier shook his head:

"It's not a good idea..." he said:

"First: all my ideas are great and glorious and most likely to work. Second: you don't sound convincing enough."

"It's not a good idea!" Fritz repeated, and to make himself clear he shoved a handful of snow into Sascha's mouth and stood up, as his comrade coughed snow and blood and cursed. Sascha stood up too, picked up their helmets and threw Fritz's at his comrade's face. Fritz caught it easily and covered his head with it:

"You owe me a kiss," Sascha said, shaking the snow off his uniform and walking away, to the cave. Fritz trotted after him:

"Just one?"

"Don't try me, young man..."

"You sound like Herzog, sometimes."

They made their way to the cave, pushing and kicking and punching each other. When they reached the cave the Einsatzgruppe and the SS troops were already there. The Doctor was still tied to the rock and had given up on ranting about Sascha. Rottenführer Bergen and his Panzer crew were there as well. Sascha and Fritz stopped playing and Sascha smoothed his uniform the best he could:

"The Wehrmacht guys?" he asked the other zombies:

"Already in the cave," one of the SS soldiers informed. "They say they won't leave tomorrow if you don't find them something interesting to do. They want to attack."

"Fuck them, I'm not attacking before Herzog comes back," Sascha grumbled:

"That is quite reasonable," Rottenführer Bergen commented. Sascha ignored him:

"There is a group of campers on the eastern slope!" Dietrich informed excitedly, feeling useful. "We could kill those!" And the other zombies nodded approvingly:

"We are not killing anyone," Sascha growled and Fritz nodded:

"But if this is out territory, I think we should defend it," Rottenführer Bergen opined, and everybody cheered. Sascha made a snowball and threw it at the Rottenführer's face:

"We are not attacking anyone. After what happened, I think Herzog wouldn't want to attack again so soon for security reasons. We don't need the peasants to chase us in the mountains. Again," he added, bitterly. The Einsatzgruppe soldiers looked at each other, nodding:

"But they are the enemy! I think we should kill them if they get any closer to the cave," Rottenführer Bergen said stubbornly:

"Sounds reasonable!" one of the Einsatzgruppe soldiers agreed, and they all looked at Sascha.

The blue-eyed zombie tensed up; they were all right, the local peasants existed just to be killed, the dead soldiers wanted a revenge... but he was right too, he knew he was thinking like Herzog! Security first! He already knew how tough it was to command many men, he didn't want to know what was like to feel guilty for the death of the men he was in charge of:

"Agree, but tell them if we kill them, we have to make it look like an accident," Fritz whispered, next to him:

"Fine, we kill the campers if they get any closer," Sascha agreed. The troops cheered and he had to raise his voice. "But it has to look like an accident!"

"We can choke them with snow!" Dietrich chirped happily:

"We can bury them alive!" Michael exclaimed, his only eye shining with contentment. Sascha sighed:

"Whatever. Now, cave," he ordered.

Sascha and Fritz waited outside as the noisy SS troops made their way into the cave, counting the soldiers to make sure no one was missing. When they were finally alone outside, Sascha turned around to face Fritz and wrapped his arms around him, strongly:

"Thank you..." he sighed, allowing himself to close is eyes for brief moments.

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