Author's Note: My comp broke, and it took me months to get a new one. I lost a lot of my writing, so it took me a while to redo everything. I'm very sorry about the wait, people, but I tried my best. Now, without further ado…

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He always watched her perform.

Fred was involved in a war somehow; Gloria understood when he had to miss some performances. But he was there so often she wondered if the press had caught wind of him, the war general who always managed to get tickets to her show in the front row. Gloria imagined there was quite a scandal among her fans. But it didn't matter.

None of that was real to her anymore, now that he watched her perform.

He always had a kind word, although more often than not a gruff French voice would call him back to the battle. He always told her the exact lines he loved. He paid attention to her, not just her acting but herself. Half the time he'd be there before the show went on, just to chat about how she was and if she was feeling okay. Such a concerned, compassionate fellow, and she loved him.

Every time she performed, she made sure to smile at him, because he was her friend.

Some days she'd be weary and stressed to the point of breaking from her long performances. It seemed she'd never get a break from this fame! But he came anyway, to sit with her and ask if there was anything he could do. He wanted to know if she'd been eating okay, how her career was, and was she getting enough rest? He wasn't just a fan. He was an angel, sent to guard her now that she was older. Gloria felt indebted to this man who never failed to put a smile on her face. She even offered him acting lessons, or a chance to perform in a play, a movie – something to give back to him for being there every day.

He told her no each time, that watching her perform was a reward within itself.

Everyday the world seemed less real and less stable. Things shifted in her mind, randomly and uncontrollably. One time she'd left the theater and collapsed somewhere dark. Rats ran everywhere and she wasn't sure where she was. She couldn't move. It was Fred, enlisting the help of a British gentlemen he knew, who got her back to the theater safely and he himself bandaged the bite one of the rats had given her. She tried to explain how it had happened – how she'd been so tired, and she'd skipped lunch, and how confusing her mind was sometimes – but he simply shushed her and told her it was alright, it happened to him all the time. With this knowledge came a flood wave of relief for Gloria. She wasn't alone.

When she performed that night, he sat there and smiled as if he was proud.

She smiled back, because she was in love.