A/N: Wow, lots of updates today! Hope you've enjoyed them. C:
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Emilie heard many questions that day, but most of them were variations of "what kind of a place is this?" The Americans were more than happy to answer their questions, seeming to coldly revel in the Germans' horror-stricken faces. Before they had even started burying bodies, most people had thrown up at least twice. The bile rose in Emilie's throat, but she managed to swallow it back down.
Things didn't go quite to plan. She attempted to leave the group and start inspecting the prisoners, but an American caught her and steered her back to the civilians, watching her the rest of the time so she couldn't try again. She tried to insist that she was a nurse and that she was only offering her assistance, but he had responded that they had quite enough medics to do that job and that, even if they didn't, they wouldn't accept the help of a Kraut. Emilie had raised her eyebrows and pointed out that she sounded Australian, but the American, the resilient little guy, had just retorted that she was in a German town and then praised her on her ability to fake an Australian accent. She had seemingly met her match, and eventually gave up – something she was not at all used to and founded she detested – throwing her hands in the air.
Fucking great. Now she was to be stuck burying bodies. But perhaps that would help with some good karma and put her guilt to rest. Closure. It wasn't her fault for what had happened here, and she knew that, but still she felt somehow responsible. Self-destructive behaviour was something she exceeded in. If they taught that in schools, she would have aced it. Unlike maths class. Ah, maths… Something she had once been so stressed about, yet now it paled beyond recognition in comparison to everything that had happened since. If only she could go back and tell her ten year-old self that. 'Don't worry, you have a lot worse to look forward to yet!'
Indeed, she was in a cheery mood.
Emilie gingerly picked up a shovel and plunged it into the hard earth, struggling a little as she picked out large stones. She should have been used to it by now, after digging out so many foxholes, but somehow, it seemed even more difficult than usual, perhaps because she didn't really want to be doing it, maybe because her very survival didn't depend on getting this hole dug. But she had no choice. She risked a glance at the stack of corpses to one side and whimpered slightly, hating herself for being so weak. She was doing this for them, those poor souls. The other people digging graves around her were in tears, some fumbling with the bodies and accidentally falling onto them and screaming, shooting backwards only to either knock other people over or crash into more corpses. God had a sick sense of humour, if there even was a God.
Emilie never would have doubted that before, but she didn't know what to believe anymore, and praying to the Lord had gotten her nowhere. And so she turned her back on religion, and she didn't know whether to feel free or lost. God probably couldn't even see them here, in this Hell.
The camp had the worst vibes she had ever felt. She wasn't particularly spiritual, but even she couldn't deny just how many unhappy, lost souls there were sure to be around here. Walls absorbed things: misery, anger, pain. And Dachau had them all.
She had already heard a few people call what had happened to the thirty SS guards "The Dachau Massacre". And a stupid thought passed through her mind: that now the prisoner's souls that would lurk forever within the camp would never be free of those monsters.
They had a long day there, and Emilie's dress was filthy and stinking by the end of it. Her nice clothes never seemed to stay even remotely presentable for long, not that she really cared. At dusk, they were given the order to go back home and return in the morning at first light. They hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of burying bodies; in fact, the Americans had stumbled across a train with its carriages filled to the brim with corpses. They had a long, traumatic experience ahead of them yet.
As she was making her way towards the camp entrance, at the end of the line of civilians who were still vomiting, she detected those familiar footsteps approaching and turned, struggling to see in the darkness, to find Eugene walking quickly towards her, looking exhausted.
Emilie dropped her gaze, grinding her teeth together. She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. "What do you want?" she demanded bluntly, thinking he was coming over to put the blame on her some more. That was something she didn't need at the moment.
"What are you doin' here, miss Demont?" he asked, stopping in front of her and tucking something back into his medicine bag. His eyes found her own bag she had almost forgotten she was wearing and he frowned slightly. "And why did you bring that?"
She shrugged, still not looking him in the eye. "Thought I'd help," she replied, trying to sound not bothered in the slightest, trying to play the bigger person that wasn't at all affected by getting into a fight with him. "Or do I need permission to do that now? I wasn't looking for you, if that's what you were worried about." She glanced down at her bag, fiddling with the strap and absently picking at some dried blood on it. "I was planning to give you some supplies, in case you needed them, but your lovely friends didn't believe me, so I was stuck digging graves all day. Let me tell you, it was a barrel of laughs and then some." Fuck, shut up. Stop babbling.
Eugene was silent for a moment, studying her face, before he murmured, "I'm sorry. About what I said before. I was upset."
"Don't apologise," she grumbled with a sigh, finally mustering up the courage to raise her head and look him in the eye, "In your position, I would have done the same thing. In fact, I would have been a whole lot worse."
He let out that little laugh she had last heard in Bastogne, that soft humming in the back of his throat, as though it hadn't quite managed to escape his mouth. "I can believe that."
Emilie couldn't fight down a small smile in time. It probably wasn't the most appropriate place, but she couldn't help it. "Look, I'm not exactly the best at talking about my feelings. Usually, it makes me wanna run away, so I'll just say it and get it over and done with." She hesitated, rubbing the back of her neck nervously, "But I… Hated fighting with you. There, I've said it. And I don't want to do it again, not if I can help it. I mean," she gestured from herself to him before continuing, "I don't even know what's going on here. With us."
Gene glanced warily around, clearly checking to see if anyone was watching. Luckily, they were safe under the cool cover of darkness, the still air keeping the stench wafting around the camp. She didn't think she would ever get used to it. He stepped forward, catching one of her petit hands in his and lacing their fingers together. He leaned down and tenderly pressed his lips to hers, his sweet, warm breath washing over her and sending goosebumps running down her neck. Too soon, he drew back, his hand still holding hers. "I think not fighting anymore can be arranged," he promised in a soft voice.
She was at a loss for words for a few seconds, her knees feeling like they were going to buckle beneath her. Usually, she would have hated the feeling. She needed to be in control. She had always hated those women that went to jelly around men. But she found that now, much to her surprise, the feeling was glorious. She had become the woman she had once despised, but that wasn't quite true. Emilie Demont couldn't be pigeon-holed. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that," she chuckled, licking her lips.
"Well, you better." Eugene's lips twitched upwards into a slight smile, his words making her shiver with longing. That was when they both seemed to realise that the rest of the civilians had since left, and they broke apart, though she was sure she still had a dumb, goofy grin on her face that she tried to hide with her hand.
And that was how she went against all her morals and kissed a man in a concentration camp.
