Whatever Oscar thought Landa had said to Audrey had put the fear of God in him.
He had become obsessed with the papers.
Audrey initially had ignored it, consistently stating that she didn't have the energy to manage that. There was too much focus on her, from Landa and now Zoller. It wasn't a good idea.
But Oscar didn't agree.
"The longer he is there," he whispered to her one night, eyes pleading. "The more people who are involved… the worst it is going to get. We need to get him out of Paris. Every day he is here he is one day closer to being caught."
She had looked up at him and sighed, closing her eyes. She knew he was right in some ways, but she knew from experience that it all was a matter of timing. It was like a clockwork, it had to be precise and perfect. Each choice and movement had to flow to each other, never overlapping or stuttering. It was a feat of engineering to achieve what he was trying to achieve, and he was instead attempting to rush it.
"I think it's a bad time," she had restated softly.
"Trust me," Oscar had said, his hands softly cupping her face as he touched his lips to her forehead. She had relaxed beneath his hands and sighed, finding the pull to please him overwhelming at that moment.
She had bargained with herself that getting the papers wouldn't hurt. She could stitch them into the mattress or an old coat of Arthur's. She could hide them at home and then when the frenetic energy left Oscar, she would offer them to him and then they could make some choices together that could keep everyone safe.
That's why she decided to stay late at the Atelier and finally finish Zoller's jacket. If it was finished, then he would have no excuse to see her. He had dropped by the workshop twice in the last week to check in on the Jacket and Audrey had felt full of fear. She noticed the way his eyes watched her, and she felt a sinking dread that she had accidentally caught the attention of yet another swastika ladened man.
She had carefully considered what he liked about her, that she was strong and brave, or that she was simple and sweet and good with a needle.
She had also considered that he was awfully friendly with Joseph Goebbels, something he had bragged about to Monsieur Brodeur on a previous visit. She had actively pretended not to listen, but she had catalogued the information. It was the only name she knew of that held a higher authority than Hans Landa. She wondered quietly if she was ingratiated to Zoller, would that be enough to protect her from Landa? She also considered how valuable such knowledge would be to the Basterd's and if such unwanted attention from someone so connected could be weaponised.
What she had realised while she was lost in her thoughts was there was no clear answer, and as her hands moved without thought, she had felt a pang of pain and panic begin to swell in her chest.
She finished the final few stitches of his jacket late at night at the atelier, losing track of time entirely. She rubbed her eyes for a long moment in the lamplight, yawning softly as she took in the finished product.
Despite everything it represented, she was able to see what a perfect job she had done. Every inch of her wanted to shred it, spit on it, alight it.
But she didn't.
Instead, she sighed out, placing her needles back on her table, stretching out her tired and sore muscles.
Audrey slowly walked to the plank on the wall and begun to fiddle with it, her fingernails digging in. It popped softly, and she began to tentatively lift it, twisting her sore body closer to the ground to get a better look at the blush of fabric hiding the papers.
She froze when she heard them, her eyes fluttering to the doorway.
She heard it once more, the undeniable sound of footsteps walking up the grand staircase which led to the atelier.
She closed the board over once more, as quietly as possible, her mind running a mile a minute.
It was a heavy step, the heavy step that only a man could make.
It would either be Landa, Oscar, or Zoller.
Her mind raced, and she felt the undeniable fear run up her. She knew she couldn't stand up quick enough, her stiff and sore body would still be bent over by the time whoever was coming up the stairs arrived. Landa would sniff immediately that there was a rat, that she was on the floor for a reason.
Her mind ran with horrifying eventualities, the papers in Zoller or Landa's hand, waved in her face, the life crushed from her beneath the barrel of a gun or the curl of their fingertips.
She sunk against the wall, braced to it, and pushed her fingers to her ribs, freezing for a moment as she used her still bandaged palm to press to her mouth. She hesitated, clenching her jaw before digging her fingers deeply into the bruised and fractured side. She gasped out, silencing herself again her palm, searing agony through her as she felt the tender flesh give against her fingertips. Bile thrust forward but she swallowed it, her teeth still clenched as she felt the undeniable damage she had down crawl across her body. Tears immediately spilt from her eyes, running thick rivulets down her face as she moved her hand away from her side, pulling her legs close to her, moving her hands to cover her face.
She pretended to be startled when the door clicked, looking up and ensuring a firm look of surprise pressed her features.
Zoller stood motionless in the doorway, taking in her diminutive frame, carefully curved against the far wall, her hands hovering in front of her tear-soaked face.
"Mademoiselle Loewe?" he asked carefully, brows furrowing in concern.
She felt a shudder of relief that it was him. Of course, she would have preferred Oscar, but Zoller was no Landa and she knew she would be able to see her way out of this situation. This would be an inconvenience, not a death sentence. The tentative look on his face filled her with hope. Here was a man who was afraid of tears, not inspired to violence by them.
Audrey battered at her cheeks, pushing the thick tears out of their pathway down her bruised face, pulling her composure with a few sharp breaths.
"Bonsoir Private Zoller," she whispered, gulping away her distress. The pain radiated through her still, causing new tears to replace the old. She was quietly grateful to her body for the gift that rattled her bones, making her tears as realistic as possible. "Excuse moi. Pardon, I wasn't expecting you."
"I was going for a walk and I saw the light on," he said, gesturing to the nearby lamp. "I just wanted to check that everything is alright."
He walked towards her as though she were a wounded animal. She stayed still, sniffling and battering her tears, worrying her lip as she darted her eyes away.
"It's ok," she said, nodding more to herself than to him. "I'm just working."
"You don't look ok," he said carefully. He reached her but paused a few feet away, crouching down to take her in.
She looked devastated, the thick tears that rushed her face staining her cheeks. She looked at him apprehensively, as if she feared he may lash out at her at any moment. Landa had not confirmed who had attacked her, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was a Party man. Perhaps a spurned lover? He had felt guilty that the idea made him momentarily happy, that perhaps she was not disgusted by the uniform that he donned, like so many women in France were. Zoller watched her tentatively sink back to the wall, her knees pressed to her chest, hands carefully coming to hover in front of her brutalised neck.
He sat slowly, keeping his distance from her as she sniffled softly. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to her slowly. She took it gingerly, murmuring 'Merci' as she wiped up any remnants of her upset. She calmed down, swallowing thickly as she looked at him once more.
"Are you ok Madmoiselle Loewe?" He asked softly.
She nodded weakly, wiping away the remainder of her tears.
"It just hurts sometimes," she said quietly.
She didn't elaborate on what that meant and he was a gentleman enough not to push her.
"Why are you working so late?" He asked, head tilting as he considered her.
"I finished your Jacket," she told him, eyes glancing at the pristine white uniform that sat atop her dress model. He glanced back and smiled, appreciating the perfection of her work.
"Merci Mademoiselle," he said. "But you did not need to rush it."
"I wanted to get it finished," she said quietly. She purposefully let her body relax ever so slightly. "Would you like to try it on?"
He paused but nodded, unsure of how to handle the situation.
"Ah Private Zoller," she said quietly, looking down. She let the burn of a blush snatch her face, much more inspired by bitter humiliation, but passed it off as embarrassment. "I… could you please help me stand?"
He nodded quickly, standing and swiftly moving to crouch beside her. She felt a frisson of fear followed by sweeping relief when his feet touched the floorboard, but he felt nothing. He looked only at her, his brown eyes intently focused upon her. She looked up and took his hand, carefully moving her legs beneath her as she stood unsteadily. She felt a fresh flood of pain run her side and she whimpered, the pathetic sound escaping her clenched teeth, eyes clenching, her bandaged hand involuntarily reaching for Zoller's forearm, clinging on to it as her body buckled. He waited patiently before helping her upright, hands staying on her as she looked up at him, blushed and tear-stained.
"I don't think you should be at work," he told her softly. She shook her head, coming to pat his chest with a friendly charm.
"Ah, but at least I am crying and getting something finished," she murmured. He laughed softly at her self deprecation, following her to the model. She gestured and leant back against the table, her body grateful for the support.
He tried it on swiftly, stripping from his boring brown jacket and donning the shining uniform with a quick change.
It fit like a glove.
She watched him move his body about, admiring her work with a fresh boyish grin. She tilted her head towards the large mirror across the room and he hesitated, glancing between her and it.
"May I?" He asked. She gestured with a smile, watching him preen himself in front of the mirror, thrilled with the outcome.
"You are incroyable," he called back, eyeing every inch of perfect form-fitting material. "Superb craftsmanship Madmoiselle Loewe. You are truly gifted."
"Merci," she said easily, hands wrapping the edge of the table behind her, a small smile pressed to her face. She pushed down the rage that she once again had to stitch the uniforms of the men who had stolen her life from her. She closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself, looking up to see him still enjoying the view.
"Would you like to take it now?" She politely asked.
"Non, I'll retrieve it tomorrow," he said with a smile. "Settle my account, of course."
She smiled tiredly and nodded, her hands still clutching the bench behind her.
"Are you finished for the day then, Mademoiselle?" He asked. She nodded, stretching her neck and softly rubbing her right eye.
"How are you getting home?" He asked conversationally as he passed the jacket back to her. She tentatively placed it back on the dress form, exhaustion hitting her.
"I will walk," she sighed softly.
"Mademoiselle," he said carefully. "It's 9.30."
She looked up, eyebrows furrowed before her face fell, furious with herself that she had let herself lose track of time. She never did that. She was meticulous and careful, but her body and mind were so clouded by stress and pain that she could see how she had let the time pass by.
"Ah," she said, stepping away and sitting on the nearby stool. "It's ok, I'll sleep here."
Zoller let his brow rise, taking her in.
He had never seen anyone look so tired. She was still black and blue, her body curved over in a subconscious choice to protect herself. She looked up, her elbow on her knee as her chin rested in her palm with a small smile.
"Thank you for telling me Monsior Zoller," she said.
"I can walk you home."
There was a beat of silence as she stared at him, unsure of what to say.
"We are not held to the curfew," he said. "And if anyone stops us, I'll gladly explain you were finishing my uniform for me."
"I don't know-"
"Please Mademoiselle," he interrupted. "I would like to."
She considered it for a long moment before nodding, standing tentatively and smiling weakly at him. Fredrick retried her basket for her, ignoring her protests to carry it. She put on her coat and he held his arm to her. She hesitated before placing her fingers in the crook of his arm, silently grateful for the physical support, feeling hateful that she needed it at all.
He spoke aimlessly for a while. He liked movies, he loved the films of Max Linder, he found him charming and thrilling. He loved the director Georg Wilhelm Pabst and Leni Riefenstahl. Audrey didn't know much of any of what he spoke of, not having attended a cinema in four years, but instead she smiled politely, watching him with polite adherence.
"What do you like Madmoiselle Loewe?" He asked after a very long monologue of his cinematic interests.
The pace they took was slow and leisurely, Audrey's battered ankle and frame not able to tolerate anything faster.
"I like Robert Southey," she said.
"The poet?" He asked in surprise. She nodded. She knew Hans Landa would have seen the book that Oscar bought her, fully aware that someone would have watched that very public afternoon. She felt comfortable telling Zoller this, unfused if it were to snakes it way back to Hans Landa.
"Oui," she said. "I find him very cathartic."
"And do you like movies?" He asked. She considered for a moment before nodding.
"My father liked movies," she confided. She watched for his reaction but he did nothing but smile pleasantly.
"I liked Camielle," she said. Zoller gave a knowing smile at the answer. "I cried very much when she died."
"Any other films?"
"I really liked It all happened one night, I think Clark Gabel is very handsome," she mused.
"He's very charming," Zoller agreed.
"But he does always play a bit of a bully," she said with a scowl. Zoller Chuckled, watching her think quietly.
"Any others?" He prompted.
"Oh, and my favourite film is the bride of Frankenstein," she laughed. "Embarrassing, non?"
"Really!" He laughed, thrown by the answer. "Why?"
"I don't know!" She laughed. "I was so frightened! But it was also strangely romantic? I know it is so silly, but I really adore it. Valarie Hobson is a delight."
"Oui," he chuckled.
"I liked her hair," she hummed.
Zoller laughed once more and she looked up with an easy smile.
"A varied taste," he said, silently impressed by her choices. "Do you like Linder?"
"I like Chaplin," she said.
"Ah, I have always preferred Linder!" Zoller said.
"Non!" Audrey scolded. "Think of the kid, the lion cage, the non-sense song! Come now, do you have no taste!"
He conceded on her point about the Kid, chuckling at the fact she had told him off.
When they arrived at her apartment he had kissed her hand and bowed to her.
"Merci for the company Madmoiselle Loewe," he had said with a fresh boyish grin.
"Merci for the same," Audrey said with a smile. "And for getting me home."
She had let the smile fall only when she was halfway up the stairs, a frisson of pure rage running across her. These men, these uniformed bullies who thought that her time, her mind, and her body belonged to them. How stupid they all were. How pathetic. Zoller looked at her as though he were a puppy dog but she knew the word 'Jew' would be enough to end it all. How utterly sickening he was. A mix of them all, their perfect hair and uniforms, filled into her mind and she felt her jaw set hard with hatred. She hoped she was the one to hand them over to the Basterd's. She'd ask Aldo the Apache if she could scalp Hans Landa herself. A twitch of a smile hit her as she imagined lifting the skin and hair from his skull.
She was so lost in her raged filled thoughts as she shut the front door behind her that when her name was called she had dropped her basket.
"Where were you."
She looked up to see an agitated Oscar in the hallway, glaring her down.
"Work-"
"It's after nine-thirty," he interrupted, eyes wide and wild. "Did you walk?"
"Zoller walked me home," she began. "He found me when I was trying to get the papers, so I hid them again and-"
"You're always telling me to be careful," Oscar interrupted, looking furious. "Always telling me, and now you're fraternising-"
"What?"
"Oh no, wait, flirting," Oscar spat. "Flirting with the enemy-"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Audrey cursed, suddenly filled with rage.
"I could hear you two through the open window," he spat, sneering at her. "I supposed it is easy to feel full of righteous anger until the enemy is handsome-"
"Watch your fucking mouth," Audrey hissed as she stormed forward, pushing Oscar hard in the chest.
"So, what, you two are friends now?"
She tried to slap him, but he snatched her wrist and backed her to the wall behind her, pinning her hand between them.
"Oscar-"
"I am trying to save a life," Oscar said, eyes wild and frightened and angry.
"Oscar-"
"I am trying to help you-"
"You are hurting me-"
"You have no idea how dangerous this is," he continued, ignoring her, his hand shaking against her wrist. "How much trouble we are in. You have no idea what I am trying to do to keep us alive-"
"Oscar-"
The pain was dragging through her body and she felt nauseated by it, bile rumbled in her, her eyes losing focus against the onslaught that his body pressure was placed against her newly damaged ribs.
"You need to get those papers-"
"Get off-"
"You need to stop flirting with the fucking enemy!"
She vomited on him and he stumbled back as she slumped down the wall to the floor with a loud thud, her arms coming to wrap against her ribs as she let out a choked gasp of relief. Her head lay against the hardwood as she tried to make her breathing shallow, her arms wrapping to protect her.
"Audrey?"
He was knelt in front of her, trying to push her hair from her face so he could look at her.
"Audrey, Audrey what happened? Audrey, did he hurt you? Audrey?"
"Get away from me," she whispered, curling closer against her aching side. She could smell the sick in her hair as she curled in, her eyes clenched closed. His hands stilled on her and she felt the trickle of a tear run down her face.
"Audrey I'm sorry," he whispered. "Christ I'm... Audrey, I'm…."
"I tried to get the papers but Zoller showed up," she murmured. "I had to hurt myself to make myself cry, to try and distract of why I was even on the floor at all…"
There was a pained silence between them both.
"Audrey I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can I see? Can I look?"
She shook her head and curled herself closer, her knees coming to her chest as she tried her best to shield herself from him. From the entire world.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "God Audrey… we just… we need those papers."
She felt the tears drag down her face as she shook her head, her eyes closed.
"Go away Oscar," she whispered. He did as she asked, hesitantly but eventually leaving her be.
She had stayed there well into the night, her mind spiralling as she considered every terrible decision that had led her to that position.
She had nowhere to go and no way of getting out.
