A jerk of the head. "Müller."

"Sonntag."

The youngest of the three black-clad Gestapomen pocketed his gun and deftly relieved the suspects of their valuables and excess money.

"You have been caught red-handed conducting black market activity," the leader of the three intoned with an inordinate amount of emphasis in his nasal voice. "Therefore, you shall be taken to Gestapo Headquarters to answer for your crime."

Unnerved as he was by the ominous black Gestapo uniforms, Karl decided it was worth a try to bluff his way out of this upcoming nightmare. So slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, Marya turned her head to face the leader of the little black troop. "Do you know what you are doing?" she asked with a dangerous undertone.

"Of course I know what I'm doing," the man – a colonel – barked.

Marya shrugged a little. "Well, if you are sure... It can be very dangerous to steal from the wrong people, you know."

"The wrong..." The colonel instantly changed colour and almost choked on his saliva. "I didn't..." Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. "But... you're that Russian astrologer! Now I see! Fräulein... Fräulein..." He snapped his fingers at his subordinates, but neither of them could help him out here.

So the lady filled him in herself. "Marya, yes. Have we met by any chance?" He didn't recall the guy at all, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that one should never reject an opening to get out of a Gestapo arrest.

Meanwhile, the Gestapo creep exulted, "Yes, we have! Oh, I'm sure you would not remember me. I was a mere captain back then, on General Hellfeuer's staff. You do remember General Hellfeuer, don't you?"

"Of course I do! How is that charming little man?"

The colonel cleared his throat. "Dead, I'm afraid."

Marya wailed. "Oh, my poor little Tommy!" Serves him right, the creep. But then she hooked her arm trustingly through his and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And what is your name, pussycat?"

Even with a lady hanging on his arm, he managed to click his heels together and come to attention. "Colonel Horatius Backscheider – at your service, Fräulein."

"Marya," the lady corrected him.

"Yes. Of course. Marya." He gave her a sickening smile, but their little tête-à-tête was cut short by the younger of Backscheider's subordinates.

"Herr Colonel, shall we put the prisoners in the truck and take them to Headquarters?"

"What on earth for?" Marya exclaimed in honest innocence. "They didn't do anything wrong, did they?"

"Um... they were caught conducting black market activity with you, Fräulein."

"With me?" Marya threw up her free arm. "Impossible! What would I know about black market activity? All I did was sell some of my jewelry to those men here!"

"That is a black market activity, Fräulein," the young man ventured to point out.

"It is?" Marya was excessively surprised. "They never said anything about that. Did you men know you were conducting black market activity?" she demanded of the three hovering men with their hands up.

Three vigorous shakes of the head were the reply, and she announced in triumph, "There. You see? They know nothing about black market activity. So please, give them back their belongings and let them go."

"But..." the young Gestapo guy began.

But Backscheider interrupted him. "You heard what the lady said – give them back their belongings and let them go!" He shook his head. "Are you really that slow on the uptake, Sonntag, or...?"

"No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I mean... right away, sir."

Backscheider shook his head. "The trouble one has these days in finding decent subordinates!"

Marya purred in reply, while watching from the corner of her eye how her three buyers didn't even bother to check whether they got back their own stuff – as soon as they held an attaché case and a piece of jewelry in their hands, they took off as fast as their legs could carry them.

"And how about my money?" Marya pouted.

"Sonntag, give the lady her money," Backscheider ordered.

He did as he was told, and couldn't help staring when the lady tucked it away in her décolleté and blew him a kiss – "Thank you, darling."

"Now then, my dear." Backscheider patted the hand that lay on his arm to remonopolize the lady's attention. "Now that our business here is concluded, why don't you come back to Headquarters with me for a good glass of champagne to celebrate our reunion."

"Oh, I don't know." Marya gave him a coy look. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you away from your important... whatever it is you do."

Backscheider glanced at his gold watch. "My next appointment isn't due to arrive for another couple of hours. I have time on my hands. It's not every day I get to meet a famous astrologer like you. And I would be honoured if you would agree to program the bumps on my head."

"Alright then. To Headquarters we go. As long as there is champagne!" Karl sighed inwardly. It didn't seem wise to object too much, but what on earth was he getting himself into this time?

"... so they took me straight to Gestapo Headquarters. It's a regular fortress – really, if you'd ever get locked up in there, you'd never get out." Half sitting, half lying on his hotelbed with Maryse at his side, he took a sip of his coffee before continuing, "Anyway, I was treated on champagne and oysters and salmon and I know not what. And all the while this Gestapo creep kept talking about himself and his personal 'accomplishments' for the Reich. The guy is deranged – really. It was sickening what he described." He closed his eyes for a moment. What Marya had been made privy to tonight was simply beyond the range of human imagination, and it took all his willpower to stop the images Backscheider's tales had evoked from rushing back to his mind. Which – of course – failed.

Maryse read him perfectly, and hooked her arm through his for comfort. "So did he simply let you go in the end?" she asked, offering an opening to move on.

Karl took it gratefully. "Sure he did. After I read his lifeline and programmed the bumps on his head (and he mine), and interpreted his chart for him." He grinned. "I told him someone was going to make a fool of him in the upcoming days. You should have seen the state he got himself into!" A chuckle. "Really, those are the innocent pleasures of playing astrologer. He did mention he does have a personal astrologer here in Paris. Some Russian lady – how is that for coincidences? But he insists he puts more stock in one who got a special recommendation from the Führer, even if that was years ago." He shook his head. "Really, I could tell this guy anything. I could have told him the world would be coming to an end tomorrow, and he'd believe me. If you ask me, the true rulers of the Reich are the astrological advisors of the top brass."

Maryse made no reply, and he put down his coffee cup on the nightstand to be able to properly take her in his arms. "And I'm really sorry you had to see me as Marya this morning. I honestly thought you'd gone out straight after breakfast. I never meant for you to see me like that – I know how disturbing you find my past as female impersonator."

It remained quiet for a while, until with a heavy sigh she replied, "It wasn't so much that, you know."

Karl's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It wasn't?"

She shook her head against his chest, but kept her eyes on his hands. "It was a shock, yes. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I've always known that with a fame like yours, you must have been extremely good at playing a woman. Probably just as good as you are at playing men, and that I've seen often enough. But still, to actually see you as a woman... It was a bit of a shock, yes."

Karl frowned. "I thought you said that was not what was bothering you."

A sigh. "It does bother me – of course it does. But in a way I'm glad I've seen you like this. It showed me that your fame in that field is indeed justified." She chuckled at his indignant splutter. "Sorry, Karl. But look at it this way: would you teach our future daughters the finer points of female impersonating?"

"No!" His reply was as vehement as it was immediate. "I never, ever want our kids to know that I ever even did that!"

"Well, there you go. Until I saw you as Marya this morning, I, too, had but a very vague idea of what female impersonating actually implied. Despite the fact that I've been practically engaged to a professional one for nearly four years now."

"Hm." Karl seemed to mull that over for a moment, but then he got back to his original question. "So if seeing me as a woman was not what bothers you the most, then what is?"

She sighed, began to speak... and hesitated again. "Seeing you like this..." she started slowly, carefully choosing her words, "gave me the... uncomfortable feeling that... that I don't really know you at all."

A tired grimace. "Maryse, if there is anyone who knows me, it's you. You're the only one on this planet with whom I can be myself – for whom I don't have to play a part."

She smiled a little. "I know that. It's just... seeing you like that this morning made me realize that... that I don't know you as well as I thought I did. That there are sides to you of which I'm not aware. And then all those parts you're always playing... It suddenly made me wonder..." She hesitated, just for an instant, before looking him straight in the eye. "Karl, have you ever lied to me? Or deliberately not told me something about yourself?"

He held her eyes for a long moment – then he slowly shook his head. "I can't afford that," he said quietly. "There may be some minor things I haven't told you about, but that's mainly because it just never came up. And I think that goes for me as much as it goes for you." And what about your life with your first fiancé Oskar? You've never let me in on that, even when I did ask.

Still, that was not the issue now.

"But lying to you... Apart from the fact that I don't want to lie to you, simply because I want you of all people to know who I really am... there is also the matter of you being the only person with whom I can be myself. The moment I'd start deceiving you, I'd lose that – then I'd have to put on an act around you, too. And heaven only knows how much I need to be myself now and then in between all those charades."

Her eyes searched his face – then a smile broke through and she hugged him. "Thank you, Karl." She snuggled up a bit closer to him. "And I promise I'll never lie to you either."

"Good." He kissed her. "And if we both stick to a strict no-lying rule, we're going to be the happiest couple ever. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I just realized: we've completed everything that needed to be done here. Just a few pieces of jewelry left, but we can get rid of those anytime – without dressing up. Which means it's finally time for us! And we're in Paris, we're on holiday..." With a quick move he pulled her over, and an astonished Maryse suddenly found herself lying on top of him, with his arms tightly around her.

But before she found the words to express her doubts regarding the propriety of their present entanglement, he added a heartfelt, "And I love you...!" And as he began to cover every inch of her face with kisses, her sense of propriety quickly crumbled down to a faint, 'As long as we're both fully dressed, I guess it should be alright', and she allowed herself the guilty pleasure of relaxing into him, and being covered in loving kisses, and returning the favour right away.

It was an exhilirating game, which occasionally – when their lips happened to find each other – was interspersed with long kisses the French way. But in the end they really had to come up for air, and for a long while they just lay there gazing into the bliss of the other's eyes from very close quarters.

"I love you." Maryse traced his eyebrow, his cheekbone, ending in a caress of his jaw. And a kiss next to his nose.

He moaned a little, and tried to pull her even closer. "Why can't I just marry you right now..." he murmured, before starting on another round of kissing every inch of her skin that he could reach.

But already after two kisses he stopped. "What's wrong?"

Suddenly it was awkward to have those lakeblue eyes looking into hers from a mere two inch distance, and she quickly looked away. But of course this was it – the best opening she could possibly wish for to tell him about...

"Maryse?"

She gulped. His questioning eyes upon her didn't make this any easier, and having his fingers trace and fold over her left auricle proved to be a mighty distraction for trying to gather up the nerve to bring up the fateful subject. Why was it so darned difficult to tell him they could get married in the first place?

A deep breath, then forcing herself to look him in the eye again and... "Karl... there's... something I have to talk to you about."

He just looked at her, waiting for her to continue while he kept playing with her ear.

Maryse gulped, and plodded on, "You remember Monsieur Antoine?"

A raised eyebrow. "Yes." Thank God he finally left her ear in peace, but now his other hand began stroking her back. It did little to improve the situation in the distraction department.

"Well, he's got a friend, and..." She never knew how it happened, but all of a sudden her courage collapsed and she blurted out, "It's Tiger. The... the Gestapo have captured Tiger." Dang it – why couldn't she just tell him about this Monsieur Aubault who could marry them in secret next week?!

Karl wasn't quite with her as it was. "A tiger? What does the Gestapo want from a tiger?"

"Not a tiger – the woman called Tiger. She's the leader of Monsieur Antoine's Underground group, remember?"

"Oh, that Tiger." He frowned, and his hand stopped caressing the small of her back. "That's bad. When did they pick her up?"

"Yesterday, in Germany, but they've brought her to Paris today." Maryse kept talking, if only to avoid having to think about the fact that instead of revelling together (or debating) about this one-time opportunity to get married before that blasted war was over, she was now discussing Underground business with him again. She had been so close, and now...! And only because she had chickened out! So she prattled on, "I dropped in at Monsieur Antoine's today, and Maurice Dubois came to tell him about Tiger's capture when I was there. They were both pretty upset about some new Gestapo monster here taking on her interrogation. I'm not acquainted with the words they used to describe this Backscheider, but they sure didn't sound very flattering."

As if he got stung by a hornet, so abruptly sat Karl up, causing his beloved to roll off of him and nearly down onto the floor. He grabbed her in a reflex, just in time, asking, "Backscheider? Did you say his name is Backscheider?"

Once she had regained her balance, Maryse half sat up, too, and nodded. "Backscheider, yes. Or something that sounds like it."

"That must be the same guy who picked up Marya tonight then. His name was Backscheider – a colonel – and he mentioned he was fairly new here." He got up from the bed and began to pace the room.

Maryse watched him pace back and forth in silence for a few minutes, and regretted it all the more that her courage had failed her at that all-important moment. She could have been discussing their wedding with him right now. Or at the very least they could still have been enjoying that delightful novel intimacy they had shared but a minute ago. And instead she got him all worked up about some Gestapo guy.

"I've already offered our help, Karl," she said at last, in a probably hopeless attempt to get him to forget the matter. "But they said they could probably manage. They have a lot of people in the Underground here. And they were going to get help from Colonel Hogan as well."

He turned to her in a flash. "Colonel Hogan?! What can he do from his faraway prison camp?"

"I don't know. They said they were going to contact him. But Karl..." She slid off the bed and came to stand right in front of him, effectively blocking his pacing path. "We're on holiday here, remember? To get away from it all. Now if Monsieur Antoine himself says that they'll be able to manage to get this Tiger out, I think we can leave it to them without feeling guilty. Okay?"

But she couldn't fail to notice the haunted look on his face, the restlessness of his eyes. That Backscheider guy really had him spooked.

And she was hardly surprised when he objected. "I can't. Maryse, this guy is mad. Mad! I don't want to burden you with the details, but his interrogation methods are... are..." He gulped. "The stuff of horror movies – only worse. Revolting! Who knows what he'll do to this Tigerwoman before Monsieur Antoine and his people can get her out of that fortress?" He shook his head – the dread in his eyes now laced with determination. "I'm going to have to try and stall him or something. Keep him occupied, so he won't have a chance to work on her until they can get her out. After all, Marya has already got a foot in the door with him. Even an appointment for tomorrow night. Which I had no intention of keeping of course, but under the circumstances... And if I play the astrologer act carefully, I might be able to get the guy to do exactly what I want."

Maryse knew a lost cause when she saw one. "Alright then. But Marya disappears and ceases to exist the very moment this Tiger is free. I don't want that Backscheider guy to come after you instead."

"Of course." He hesitated. "You don't mind, do you? I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Again?" She grimaced. "The way you're going, we ought to get an apartment here – I'm sure that'd be cheaper. No, Karl." She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Don't worry about me. Of course I'd rather spend my time with you, but I'll find a way to amuse myself. You just do what you can to keep this Backscheider away from the Tigerwoman."

"You what?!" Monsieur Antoine stared at him as if he were seeing an extinct species coming to life right here in his shop. But as soon as the sheer possibilities began to dawn on him, he became positively ecstatic. "Mon Dieu, c'est formidable! An astrologer, a female impersonator, and one who already has the canaille in his grasp! Monsieur Danzig, c'est une idée extraordinaire! But..." His face fell a bit. "Can you really pull that off? To be like a woman, I mean? Even in close encounter?"

Karl opened his mouth to reply, but to his surprise, Maryse beat him to it. With words he had never expected to hear from her lips. "He's the best. He's been the absolute top in the German female impersonating scene for nearly ten years, and his stagename is a byword in those circles. If he decides to present himself as a woman, then he is a woman, and no one will ever suspect that there's anything amiss."

Karl stared at her in astonishment, and she gave him a shy smile.

And Monsieur Antoine nodded. "D'accord. If you say so, I believe it." And with that, his mind and his mouth immediately set off concocting plans for Marya to distract and manipulate that 'canaille of a Backscheider'.

But Karl didn't hear a word he said. He was still staring at Maryse, with a bubbling mixture of disbelief, wonder, love and gratitude whirling around inside him, topped by a sudden overwhelming certainty that Maryse and he were ready to get married and continue their life together – loving each other and caring for each other till the end of their days, never to be separated again. Who knows – maybe Maryse accepting this less respectable part of his past had been the last personal obstacle for them to overcome. And now that she had reconciled herself with the idea of loving a man who used to work as...

Suddenly he pulled her close – he just had to. A kiss, a whispered, "Thank you!" and...

"Voyons, Monsieur Danzig!" Monsieur Antoine exclaimed in surprise, bringing even Karl back down to earth.

But laughter lurked in the Frenchman's eyes as he shook his head. "You were not listening at all, were you? Ah, l'amour...!" He raised an inquiring eyebrow at the slightly flustered Maryse, who blushed a little and imperceptibly shook her head. So Monsieur Antoine suggested, "Perhaps I should excuse myself for a moment? Or maybe a few hours would be better? I would not want to disturb the private business of two... turtle-doves." He chuckled mischievously, and gave Maryse a wink.

Karl chuckled with him. "No, no, it's fine. It was just something I had to get off my chest." He sighed. Marrying Maryse was not likely to happen any time soon anyway. The danger marriage posed for the other in case either of them was picked up for their clandestine activities was a risk he knew he couldn't take. It would have to wait. If only this rotten war would end soon...

With a sigh, he focused his mind back on the topic. "My apologies, Monsieur Antoine. You were saying?"

Monsieur Antoine was not in the least put out. He briefly repeated what he'd been thinking of, and added generously, "Et naturellement you are welcome to borrow as many dresses from the shop as you need. You can even change here – that would be less conspicuous than at the hotel."

"Much better," Maryse agreed. "You got away with it for one day, but if you continue it, they're bound to enter your room one day for cleaning or so, and discover that you're not there at all. And to have Marya climb up and down the fire ladder every day doesn't strike me as very inconspicuous either."

Karl nodded pensively. "It'd certainly be an improvement. The best thing would be if Marya actually had her own place – a room or something. It'd give her character more credibility if she had a home in Paris. But I don't know if such would be feasible at such short notice."

Monsieur Antoine beamed. "I have a souterrain – a basement. It's used for storage, but we should be able to clear it out and make it look like a lady's quarters by tonight."

Karl raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? It's quite possible that this Backscheider guy will come and look for me for months once Marya disappears. I don't want to lead him straight to you."

Monsieur Antoine shrugged. "So? My tenant moved out, and she didn't leave a new address. C'est comme ça. It happens all the time."

"Alright. We'll do it that way then," Oskar decided. "And then perhaps the most vital question of all: I want you to tell me everything you know about this Backscheider. The more I know about him, the better I can manipulate him."

A grim nod. "With pleasure."

It was three o'clock in the morning and Maryse couldn't get to sleep. And for a change, her worrying about Karl's dangerous escapades was not the cause. Or at least not the main cause, since she knew him to be safely in bed in the next room.

No. The problem her mind kept churning around tonight was how to break the news to him that they were expected to get married in less than 48 hours...

She could still hear Monsieur Antoine's voice as he took her aside for a moment this afternoon when they were clearing out the basement for Marya. "Did I now understand you correctly – you have not told him yet?"

She had felt the colour rising to her cheeks. "I tried, but..." An embarrassed shrug.

"Well, you better tell him soon. I talked to Monsieur Aubault last night. Unfortunately he is away next week, but when I explained the situation to him, he said he would gladly be of help, so he cancelled an appointment for Sunday evening and agreed to do it." He secreted a scrap of paper in her hand. "Here is the address. Sunday evening, seven o'clock. Maurice and I will be there, too, as your witnesses, so it is all arranged. You just tell him to be there on time, d'accord?"

But that was easier said than done.

She had tried, oh yes. Four times had she managed today to work up the nerve to tell him they could get married on Sunday – totally in secret, confidentiality guaranteed. And four times, the words had gotten stuck somewhere on the way from her throat to her mouth, leaving her more frustrated every time. Why was it so darned difficult to bring up this particular subject anyway? For Pete's sake, their getting married wasn't exactly a revolutionary idea, was it? They'd been talking about it for years! And although she was well aware that – secret or not – Karl might not readily agree to get married right here and now, it wasn't as if she'd have to fear getting jilted over it altogether, was it?

Maybe it was the finality of the question. It was the beginning of a lifelong commitment after all. She remembered how the phrase 'for as long as you both shall live' had hammered in her own mind when Oskar first asked her. It had been a somewhat daunting prospect, causing her to hesitate with her 'yes' no matter how much she'd loved him.

Loved him... in the past tense?

She sighed, and threw herself onto her other side. Oskar... He, too, verbal artist that he was, had stumbled and stuttered his way through his proposal. They had been so young at the time – she'd been nineteen, he twenty-one. They had known each other for two years, and had been courting for most of that time. He had been such a natural fit into their family: his infectious optimism, his literary background and interests, his delightful sense of humour...

But times had been dark. Germany had been broke for over ten years, and now the rest of the world had followed suit. Both the Gotthardts and Oskar's family were still reasonably well off, but Oskar's pride demanded that he'd provide for his wife himself – something both his and her parents commended him for. Which meant that in order to marry her, he needed a job. And there were no jobs to be had.

Nearly three years had passed, with him stubbornly applying for any job he came across. And despite occasional bouts of frustration, he had never given up on his innate optimism that surely this time they'd hire him.

And finally, on a Friday afternoon, she had seen him coming, running down the street in utter excitement. She had quickly made her way to the front door, and pulled it open just as he ran up the garden path.

"Maryse! Will you marry me?" he brought out, his bright eyes beaming like headlights.

"Of course I will." She had thrown her arms around him and kissed him. And only then did his words fully register with her. "You mean you got a job?"

"Yes! Starting Monday!" he exulted.

"Oh, Oskar!" Kiss, kiss. "As what?"

"Roadbuilder. They're going to build a special long-distance road for motorcars. Isn't that grand?"

Grand it certainly was. Until less than three months later – eleven days before the wedding – when a chain of the crane moving the slabs of concrete into place snapped, dropping the ten by ten meter slab right on Oskar's head.

She screwed her eyes shut. Karl certainly wasn't the only one who had experience with trying (and failing) to block certain horrific images from his mind.

Karl...

Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like right now if Oskar had lived. She'd never even have met Karl – that was for sure. Instead, she'd probably be struggling to make ends meet as Frau Schmidtke, just trying to survive the war with five, six kids to be fed and kept clothed and clean. And a husband who in all likelihood would have been sent to the front – possibly already killed.

No. Her present life certainly was no bed of roses – not with its ever present, chillingly realistic fear of losing Karl, too. But whether the alternative was really preferable...?

Still, she would have given anything to have been spared the black period after Oskar's death. And the bleak years following, when realization began to set in that whether she wanted to or not, she had a life to live.

It had been her mother who had coaxed her into finding a job now that the economy was beginning to boom (probably Hitler's one and only merit, if you didn't look too closely at how he accomplished it), and thereby forcing her daughter to focus on something else again beside her loss. And for several years she had drifted listlessly from one low profile job to another – until she had met Karl.

Karl Langenscheidt – the gentle, smart and surprisingly serious female impersonator who dreamt of being a comedian, of making people laugh.

Karl Langenscheidt – the man with the thousand faces.

Karl Langenscheidt, who constantly put his own life at risk for the sake of others.

Karl Langenscheidt, who took one look at her and never had eyes for other women again.

Karl Langenscheidt, who had carefully cultivated that last little reluctant gleam of will-to-live in her, until she had been able to embrace life again – as long as she could bask herself in his love.

And all she wanted now was to make sure that he would indeed stay at her side 'for as long as they both would live'. Marry him, before it was too late. Before he got killed before the wedding, too.

Which meant she had to tell him. Sunday evening, seven o'clock, Rue d'Arcy 31.

Or was it superstition that was holding her back? That as long as he didn't know he was going to get married, he wouldn't get killed just before the wedding? And the longer she held off telling him, the smaller the window of time was in which he could get killed?

Maybe. But aware as she was that Karl was likely to need some serious convincing to get married here and now, she knew she had to tell him before they went to the Rue d'Arcy tomorrow evening. She couldn't very well...

A bloodcurdling scream stopped the thought dead in its tracks.

What was that!?

Too petrified to move, she lay there with her eyes and ears wide open. The silence was made of lead. But there had been a scream – she was certain of that. Muffled, but fairly close by. Had the Gestapo dragged one of their victims into the alley behind the hotel? Was it...

Suddenly she sat up. She heard it, clearly: footsteps in the next room. Karl's room. A soft moan. Was he...?

Thinking and doing was one in this case. She slid out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown on the go, couldn't find her slippers in the haste and the next moment she was out in the corridor trying Karl's door.

It was locked.

"Karl?" She knocked, and kept knocking with the urgency of fear. "Karl, are you alright?" Oh God, please! He can't die...! "Karl?"

The lock was turned, the door pulled open and to her great relief, there he was – dishevelled, but apparently in one piece. And alive.

"Karl!"

"Maryse?" He wiped his hair off his forehead and rubbed his face. "I'm sorry – did I wake you up?"

"No – no, I couldn't get to sleep. But... Karl, are you alright? That was you screaming, wasn't it?"

He averted his eyes. "Just a nightmare. I'm fine."

He looked anything but, and she certainly wasn't going to leave him alone in the night looking as haggard as he did. So she sidled her way in and closed the door behind her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." He began to turn away, but the next moment she found him desperately seeking refuge in her arms.

"Hey, it's okay..." she murmured. His skin was hot and damp, his hair sweaty, his pyjama top absolutely soaked. It must have been some nightmare... He had seemed a bit upset when he came back from Marya's date with Backscheider tonight. Maybe that had something to do with it? But it had been late, and he'd gone straight to bed. Considering his previous reaction to Backscheider, perhaps that had been a mistake.

So she murmured soothing sounds and comforting words over his shoulder, and felt how he gradually relaxed, until he let go of her and staggered backwards toward his bed. Heavily he sat down on the edge and rested his warm head in his hands.

Maryse sat down next to him and rubbed his back a little. "Maybe you should splash some cold water in your face. It'd make you feel better. And put on a clean pyjama top." She placed a kiss on his sweaty temple. "I love you."

A minimal reaction was all she got, and once again she tried, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He took a deep breath and sat up. "I just want to forget." Nevertheless, he suddenly started talking. "That Backscheider guy, he frightens the hell out of me, Maryse. He's crazier than the bloody Führer!"

She watched him in silence, noticing his quick breathing, the nervous fluttering of his hands, the haunted, faraway look in his eyes, seeing things that apparently he dared not put into words. Yet he needed to talk about it – so much was obvious.

And no prompt was more effective than silence. "The guy is deranged – really. The things he does to his prisoners... it's... I can't... it's beyond human imagination. The word 'sadistic' doesn't even begin to cover it. And yet he goes around bragging about it, and I have to sit there, listening to it, looking at those gruesome pictures – and flirt with him and pretend I admire him for it!"

His voice broke in tears, and he hid his face in his hands. And what else could she do but take him in her arms again?

He moaned. "I'd wish I'd never have to see that guy again in my life."

"Then don't," was Maryse's quiet advice. "He's not worth it, Karl. You can't take the problems of the whole world on your shoulders. Let others deal with him – a guy like that will get what he deserves, I'm sure. With or without your help."

Another moan. "I can't. What about the Tigerwoman?"

"They said from the beginning that they'd be able to get her out themselves. They'd have to if we weren't here."

"But we are here." Karl sat up – apparently the budding argument was the final push he needed to put the remaining shadows of his nightmare behind him. "And every minute I can keep that monster away from her, that's one more minute she's safe from his sick methods."

Maryse sighed, and couldn't stop the smile that surfaced on her face. "You just can't help yourself, can you? No matter who's in trouble, you just have to step in." She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know." A lopsided grin. "Love me?"

She chuckled. "You bet I will."

"And..." He hesitated, suddenly serious again. "Perhaps just... be there for me when... when... I wake up screaming again..."

"Of course." She rubbed his arm in reassurance. "And I'm also going to have a word in season with Monsieur Antoine tomorrow. They better rescue that Tiger on the double!" Before you end up in a psychiatric ward right along with that Backscheider...

Maryse felt less than chipper the next morning when they met in the corridor to go to the breakfast room.

"Are you alright?" a concerned Karl asked as he gave her a morning kiss.

"Yeah. Just need a few more hours sleep." She thought he looked awfully chipper himself. But maybe that was just Captain Dehner's make-up.

They went downstairs to the breakfast room, filled their plates at the buffet and sat down at what was beginning to be their habitué's table in the corner. The waiter came to ask whether they would like tea or coffee (after a full week, the guy still hadn't picked up that they both preferred tea in the morning), and they enjoyed their breakfast under companionable small talk.

Until Karl's hand with a piece of croissant suddenly froze on the way to his mouth. "Holy smoke!" he breathed. "What are they doing here?"

.

Author's notes: Anyone dare take a guess as to who just walked in? The clues are there!

As for Backscheider: I realize that the way I picture him here through Karl's words goes way beyond what we see of him in the show. Still, with Tiger's description of him in mind – "He's a master in the art of death; an idiot at living" – even the show seems to imply that he was one of those real, real bad guys. But with Hogan's Heroes being Hogan's Heroes, of course they didn't show that. Still, picturing Backscheider like this does give Karl a sound reason to use his advantage as Marya to intervene in any gruesome plans the guy may have with Tiger.

Secondly, my apologies to Sgt. Moffitt for using practically the same first name for Backscheider as she recently used for one of the OC's in her story The New Man. Fact is, that the first scene of this chapter was written well over a month ago – so before her story was published. And once a character has gotten a fitting name, I find it's practically impossible to find an equally suitable substitute.

Thanks again to Belphegor for her help with the French dialogue. If you notice any mistakes in that, don't blame her – blame me, for I didn't double-check everything with her. :-)

And for those of you who cringe at hurt/comfort scenes: don't worry, Karl's nightmares are *not* going to take up a major part of the rest of this story. But I'm sure he has more than his share of them, and Maryse was bound to come across them sooner or later. It didn't seem right to exclude that discovery altogether.

And regarding Maryse's own nocturnal musings: I can imagine you might have forgotten about her background, for I believe it's been a long time since it was last mentioned. But I can easily imagine that what happened to her some ten years ago would seriously affect her behaviour and choices under the present circumstances.