Morning Sunday prayer in the packed Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris was one of the few times a week Audrey felt peaceful.

She did not believe in God. She had determined that aged 13 years old that if there was a God, his benevolence often led to cruelty, and she wasn't sure she would even want to worship a cruel God, even if that cruelness was coincidental. At aged 19, drenched in her parent's blood, sat in the cargo hold of a train, she had determined that she didn't believe in God at all.

But prayer was peaceful and her perfectly presented picture of a practising-but-not-quite-perfect Catholic surely looked a lot less Jewish than the blood that ran through her veins.

She kept her head bowed throughout, only looking up to grant the sign of peace to those around her. She carefully shook each of their hands, smiling warmly and uttering 'peace be with you' to each stranger's face. The last hand that took hers pressed an unfamiliar feeling to her palm and she glanced up. The man, who looked strangely familiar, offered her the sign of peace and she smiled and replicated it, smoothly folding her hand back to herself, holding whatever the stranger had passed and pressing it into her pocket.

She left the scrap of paper be, hiding away in the confessional to read it after the swapping of sacred prayers and passages. She had considered going home with it but reconsidered when she imagined yet another unplanned and unwanted tête-à-tête with Hans Landa appearing, his fingers in her pockets, prying out something that could potentially get a bullet lodged into her brain. She frowned politely in the darkened box, reconsidering morbidly that Hans Landa would probably prefer to strangle her. She pulled the paper from her pocket and tentatively opened it, holding it against her palms

One side, in neatly printed black ink, read 'coca-cola king kong'. She felt a small smile twitch her lips. She turned it, eyes peering through the dark at it.

'Church Saint-Denys-of-the-Sacrament. 8 pm. Burn after reading.'

She folded the paper slowly and willed calm to press her features. Her head lay back against the oak of the confessional and she sighed softly. The mass had predominantly been about the idea of service, the idea that one's life is not one's own, instead it belongs to a higher purpose and power. She queried to herself in the darkness that life's length should matter less when service is greater. She had no one now, and if she had no one, living life felt less and less important. She could instead, do something important. Something with a greater purpose than her own.

She quelled the fear and excitement and terror and pride that roared in her until she looked impassive once more. She exited the confessional without incident and walked to the unpopulated prayer candles. She lit one, carefully and quietly burning down the scrap of paper without witness.

She had waited in Marion's apartment until 7.50 pm to walk to the Church Saint-Denys-du-Saint-Sacrement. Despite her normal place of prayer being Notre-Dame, she had visited the smaller church on a few occasions in her life, and it wouldn't look out of place for her to be caught there, praying quietly to herself. She had to hand it to The Basterds, it was a very clever rendezvous.

She could see the unidentified man from the church walking slowly towards her down the street as she finally she recognised him as Gerold Hirschberg. She let a tiny smile touch her lips as he walked towards the church, but he did not enter. Instead, he walked straight passed her, bumping into her with a hard shoulder as he passed.

"Tail at 6 O'clock," he muttered before walking away nonchalantly. She didn't look back, instead, she called out an inconspicuously called 'excusez-moi!' before continuing to the church alone.

She felt the rage burn her as she went. Hans Landa's constant attention was stifling suffocation she could do without, but at least she hadn't been caught with an American in a church. She would tell him she was praying for Marion and the sin of her night with Oscar. She'd say it bitterly and quietly, ensuring that he would once again believe her.

She settled into a vacant pew within the empty church close to the alter. She glanced up once before kneeling, wrapping her hands to prayer in front of her as she closed her eyes and dropped her head, ensuring her mind wrap against the unplanned whisper to God, making it look as realistic as she possibly could.

She heard is slow and unbothered footsteps echo the church as he entered, but she kept her head bowed. She only looked up when his footsteps stopped at her pew, an almost smile pressed to her face.

Her breath left her entirely at the sight of him.

He smirked cruelly, observing her with a keen interest that made her bones cold.

"Fräulein Loewe," he said slowly, his accent thick and distinctive. "How could I forget you?"

She said nothing, her lip trembling at the face of the man who had killed her entire family.

Sturmbannführer Wilhelm Klutch stared down at her with calm cruelty that made her blood freeze in her veins. The two stared one another down for a long moment, Audrey's chest heaving as she tried to squash the screaming panic roaring inside of her.

"I apologise for it," he said casually, as though sharing a joke between old friends. "Rude…. but I remember you now."

She didn't speak, her eyes swelling with panic. She glanced behind her, desperately looking for the amused face of Hans Landa, but she saw nobody. She was alone in the vacuous hall with a man who had slain her entire parents.

"Hans Landa doesn't know who you are Audrey."

He was calm and relaxed in his demeanour, answering her unasked question of where Hans Landa was.

"He does," she replied, her voice tight.

"Does he know your mother is Jewish?"

"She wasn't-"

Klutch interrupted her with a harsh laugh.

"She was," he said brutally. "Someone in your pitiful piss-puddle of a village told me after I'd let you go in the snow. I thought you'd died out there Audrey, but you didn't. Here you are, a woman! No wonder I didn't recognise you, you've grown up so much! But how do you think the Standartenführer will react when he finds out that I let a Jüdisch go?"

"I'm not-"

"STOP LYING."

She froze, terrified to see his face suddenly feral.

"I was merciful to you Audrey," he continued, swallowing his rage for a moment. "That was a mistake… we cannot have mercy for the Jüdisch."

He slowly undid his belt, sliding it from him, letting it hang from his hand.

"Hans will kill you," she whispered, her throat dry.

"Nein fräulein," he said with a heavy sigh, smiling with a shake of his head. "I'll kill you. And Hans will never find out."

She scrambled up the pew but he snatched her hair, dragging her into the aisle with ease.

She kicked out, but he punched at her, her lip splitting beneath his ring. She cried out, her mouth filling with her own blood, her teeth cutting the inside of her cheek after his blow.

She scratched and shrieked, fighting him until he threw her down by the alter. Her body bouncing off of it, her temple cracking to the floor. His boot thrust into her side, her breath being kicked out of her. He kicked her again, her body turning against the earth.

The next hit to her stomach forced out a strangled cry. He stood over her, leaning down. She scratched out at his hands, but he gripped her throat firmly and vicelike, punching her once more against her swelling cheek in an effort to subdue her.

"Please," she coughed, fresh blood filling her mouth. He stepped away for a moment, watching her try to push herself upwards, blood dripping from her lips and on to the carpet.

She attempted to stand but he kicked her down, her wrist twisting beneath her.

"You should have died in that forest Audrey," Klutch called out. "This is just fate returning to claim what it's owed."

She scrambled back as he linked the belt through itself. He sighed heavily, looking disappointedly down at her.

"Such a gorgeous thing," he told her, his long steps matching her desperate scrambling. "Such a shame."

He grabbed her hair, dragging her upwards. She scratched at him, he slapped her hands away, but she was too frantic. Her nails sunk into his wrist and he yelled out, cursing her and kicking at her once more.

He snatched her arm and her body swung as he dropped the belt, grabbing at his coat. She was kicking and scratching, eyes wild as he dragged his knife from its sheath. She watched his hand swing back, but her hand swung out to protect her. The blade dragged down her palm, the blood immediately pouring from the fresh wound. He swung his arm back again, but she kicked out, hitting his hand, the knife cutting at her ankle. He dropped it with a curse, punching at her once more. She sobbed out, her hands dropping to her bleeding skin. He acted quickly, his hand snatching the belt loop and pulling it forcefully over her head. She tried to scream but suddenly there wasn't any air to scream with.

He kicked her down, boot to her sternum as he pulled hard on the belt loop. She scratched at his leg, her eyes wide as she kicked out, her hands snatching at the twitching belt being held in the air. It became slick with her blood, her hands slipping. She dropped her hands and desperately tried to pull at the leather cutting into the skin. He was speaking to her, but she couldn't hear him against the deafening silence of her own tongue, silenced by the lack of air coming through her throat. She could feel the prickles of unconsciousness beginning to fill her view, the screaming lack of blood beating against her eardrums as her body took over. She flailed and one of her knees came up and connected with his leg, making him buckle. The pressure slacked for only a second, but it was enough. She pulled the belt away from her neck, ducking from the loosened loop and ran across the room, snatching a candlestick from the alter as she went.

Klutch caught the back of her coat, she tumbled back, but thrust herself forward, turning and hitting him with the candlestick. It drew blood against his cheek as he roared out, releasing her once more. She dashed, bursting from the door.

She dropped the candlestick as she ran, blinded and terrified as she began to desperately race, skidding down a nearby alleyway, blood rushing in her ears, tears running down her cheeks. She could hear him screaming her name. She wanted to scream too, but fear suffocated her, knowing that death would catch her if she did.

A hand snatched her arm, a palm pressing her mouth to smoother the scream, pulling her clean from the alleyway and inside an abandoned building. She stood pressed against the stranger, silent and terrified, ears pricked for Klutch's footsteps. The stranger peered around, and she glanced to see the calm face of Hirschberg, his hand releasing her arm as he pressed his finger to his lips. She nodded softly in understanding as he let go, his hand releasing her as he retrieved his gun, silently moving his body in front of hers. They stood in the darkness of the abandoned shop, willing not even breath to make noise. They heard the scuffle of boots, cursing in German at the top of the alleyway, until silence touched once more, the fearsome monster's footsteps taking him away from them once again.

They had stood in silence for what felt like an eternity until Hirschberg peered out the window, finally nodded and gave the all-clear.

Her shoulders slumped, a long exhale releasing.

"You know him?" Hirschberg asked. She nodded, swallowing thickly. It tasted like blood and saliva and it turned her stomach. Her split lip oozed against her teeth, as she pulled her lower lip against them, trying to stop the bleeding.

They stood in quietness, Hirschberg watching her intently for a long moment. She was a mess, smeared in her own blood, thin red lines dribbling from her defensive wounds. A gash lay along her left palm, an angry red strap that surrounded her neck. Her lip was split, a huge red mark across her chin, cheek, and temple. Either from a punch or a fall, or both, he couldn't quite tell. He could see fingerprint marks against her wrists. Bloodstained her right ankle and her shoe. She was holding her left side firmly, her body slightly caved to protect it. Her injuries looked frenzied, and he watched her watch him in the dark, just as unsure of what to do next.

"What did he do?" Hirschberg finally asked.

"He just beat me," she uttered with bitter relief. "If that's what you're asking."

Hirschberg nodded.

"Ribs?"

She nodded, wincing as she moved her hand away.

"Hand?"

The blood from her hand was already stained against her coat as she grabbed a chunk of material in an attempt to stem the bleeding. She nodded.

"Should you go home?" Hirschberg asked. She stilled, her hazy mind thinking of what to do next.

"I…" she began slowly. "No. He will know where I live."

"Hospital, friends?" Hirschberg responded. She shook her head minutely once more, the small tussle of blonde hair falling across her cheeks.

"The same," she responded. She felt woozy, the adrenaline wearing down, the pain grew stronger.

"Hirschberg," she whispered, suddenly panicked. "He knows I'm Jewish."

He said nothing, taking in the information with a cold contemplation.

"We will deal with that," he finally said. "You focus on what you need to do."

She stood in silence until Hirschberg suddenly took her bag from her, lifting the strap over her head. She was mildly surprised it had stayed on her body during the chaos, almost laughing as he searched through it.

She was amused until he found what he was looking, holding it up for her to see.

"No," she said, shaking her head flatly. "No, no, no-"

"Who else?" He asked.

"He sent him-" She began but Hirschberg shook his head.

"He does his own dirty work," Hirschberg said. She froze at that sentence.

"He didn't know that he was coming for you," Hirschberg said. She knew that Hirschberg wasn't sure either, trying to convince himself too, but he was right. Where else was she supposed to go?

They both stared at the card until she reached out and took it, leaving a bloody fingerprint on the corner.

"He'll be interested," Hirschberg muttered.

They let it hang between them, once again, both not sure they were right. Both trying to convince themselves otherwise.

She had sat curled to herself in the corner, Hirschberg refusing to treat any of her wounds.

"You need to look untouched Audrey," he had muttered. She had agreed, her eyes betraying her hurt despite the fact she knew he was right.

She had waited another hour until curfew commenced. If she was picked up by a Nazi patrol she could hand her card to them, look lost and scared and soft. Big blue eyes, trembling pink lips.

She had once heard Hans Landa's authority referred to as 'unquestionable'. She hoped that was true. She hoped the tiny scrap of white paper in her fingers was unquestionable as well.

Hirschberg had held back and watched her disappear out of the alleyway. As soon as his eyes were no longer on her, she felt a frisson of terror run her. Who could possibly guarantee this would work? She would find Landa, perhaps? But what if Klutch found her first? Finished the job? What if Hellstrom, or some other hell hound of the Nazi Party smelt her blood? She swallowed that fear, focusing on walking quickly in the open streets, desperately trying to attract some kind of attention as she limped through cobblestones, desperate for someone to look upon her.

She kept her eyes down, her gate purposeful. She didn't want to look like a victim. But as time poured forward, so did the fatigue. The pain. The aching. She wanted to lie down against the earth at one point, feeling her eyesight shudder against the darkness, the unmistakable hiss of unconsciousness ringing her ears. She paused beneath a street light and steadied herself. Her lip had stopped bleeding, instead caked in a lumpy red and brown mixture of blood and saliva. Blood still oozed from her palm, stills scrunched into her coat. The blood from her ankle had filled her shoe, making her foot wet, but at least the gash was starting to clot.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself against the beating exhaustion starting to crumble her bones.

"Mademoiselle?"

She looked up slowly to see a uniformed man stood on the road, looking at her with concerns.

The adrenaline rushed her once more, her eyes facing him with deer-like stillness.

"Are you ok?" He asked, his French smooth.

She still didn't respond, her hand tightly holding the pole.

"Sprichst du Deutsch?" He asked unsurely, her complete stillness unnerving him.

"S'il vous plaît," she said, the nerve igniting in her as she stepped forward, holding out the bloody card, her lip trembling, fingers trembling. Soft and sweet. Helpless. "I need to find mon amie."

He saw the blood and took it with a flinch of disgust, which melted into a shocked and then hardened resolved to see the man's name printed on the cardboard.

"I am about to have dîner with him," the man said, a lopsided grin taking his face for a moment. "Superb luck, Mademoiselle….?"

"Audrey," she said quietly. He nodded and offered a hand, but she shook her hand, burying her bloody palm against the material of her coat once more, choosing to walk at a small distance, following him with a lowered gaze and a soft limp.

She could feel the burn of his questions, unsaid yet hanging above them like the night sky. He kept turning curious glances, his young and boyish face taking her in. She wondered how bad she looked. She felt ravaged, she was sure she looked worse.

The card had worked as the authority. The young soldier was unable to question her, even as they neared the fancy, illuminated restaurant. She walked timidly up the concrete steps, feeling less and less sure of her legs beneath her. He naturally reached for her but she shook her head firmly.

"I'll bleed on you," she muttered. He froze, glancing across the patches of bloody cloth on her coat, the smears down her hands, her legs, her chin. He weakly nodded, choosing instead to let his hand hover over her lower back as she struggled each step at a time, focused entirely on the door in front of her.

She reached the inside of the restaurant and stood by the entry, rooted in place. A sea of uniforms shone in front of her and regret began to lace her veins. This was too public. Too drenched in occupation. This wouldn't be a game of cat and mouse, this would be theatre, and she knew that Hans Landa would perform for a standing ovation. She didn't follow the young soldier, who paused a few steps from her.

"Is the Fräulein dining?" A nearby maître d' interrupted, his eyes panicked at the state of the tiny woman stood in the doorway of the restaurant.

"Nein," the soldier responded. He reached the bloody card to the man, who eyed it with the same rush of dread. Even Hans Landa's name, simply printed in black and white, had the power to terrify. He ushered to the young soldier, eyes panicked and keen to have whatever this situation was dealt with as quickly as possible.

"Follow moi," the soldier said to Audrey, but she shook her head.

"Non," she said. Feet unable to move.

The soldier hesitated for a moment before tearing after the maître d', following him through the sparkling restaurant. She was already attracting stares and she caught a glance of her battered face, her wrung neck, shining back at her in a nearby mirrored column. It was swollen and angry and ugly, her cheek scratched and stretched against the vicious swelling beneath her skin. She gulped weakly, the screaming sound, like a snowstorm, clouding her hearing once again.

No, no, no, no, no. She couldn't faint. Not now. She had to be conscious, she had to be able to tell Landa she had come to find him. What Klutch had done. It was her time to manipulate him, be vulnerable but vicious, give him the gift of an opponent that he could actually play with. Her eyesight shorted as she felt the rigid tremor run her body, the exhaustion of keeping upright beginning to crush her. She swallowed thickly once more, willing herself desperately to stay awake.

She heard her name and looked up, eyes unfocused at the image of the young soldier beginning to rush towards her. They were on the opposite side of the dining hall, but Landa walked a calm pace, smiling pleasantly with mock concern lacing his features. She could see a wild delight in his eyes.

"Mademoiselle Loewe, what happened!" Landa called out in French, his tone sounding falsely worried. A ripple of silence coursed across the room, even his own terrified to speak in his presence. "Private Zoller has found you in such a terrible state!"

Audrey felt the burst of black stars crowd her vision and her hand automatically fished for something to cling to, but there was nothing. She suddenly felt as though she were drowning in space, unable to find her footing with her feet on the ground.

He called something else, but she couldn't hear it, the whirlwind of noise taking over her, cold perspiration exploding across her skin.

She looked forward to see the young soldier a few tables away, his footsteps speeding up at each footfall. She saw the shape of her name on his lips as she glanced back once more at Landa. She saw the mocking leave his gaze for just a moment, true surprise hitting his expression for only a second.

She was unconscious before she hit the ground.