I don't own anything… wish I did. This show is amazing and all credit to the cast, crew, writers and directors.
oOoOo
Juliana's attention lingers on the tall, teenage boy mowing the lawn in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She was not sure how she would feel seeing him again, but she finds herself truly delighted.
"Thank you for the ride." She reaches into her pocket to pull out the change.
"$0.55," the man says, turning around to face her, "And thank you for the conversation, miss."
"It was my pleasure. Your homeland sounds beautiful." She says with genuine interest.
He chuckles. "This is my home, miss. I'm a New Yorker through and through. But yes, Pakistan is lovely."
As the cab pulls away, Juliana makes a mental note that not everyone in this world has the same sense of nationalism that she is used to. She feels a little silly for assuming things would be more familiar. She lets go of her embarrassment as her eyes wander back over to the teen mowing the lawn. She is so happy to see Thomas again.
She begins to walk down the sidewalk. Four houses away, three, two, and she slips off the sidewalk and twists her ankle. It hurts like hell, especially when she falls on her injured side. She hopes that she doesn't break the stitches open, and that another injury is worth it.
"Miss!" Thomas stops the lawn mower and rushes over. "Miss, are you alright?"
Juliana looks up and immediately wants to hug him but she contains herself. "I… I think I twisted my ankle." She lets the tears collect from the pain and then blinks them away.
Thomas admires her eyes, then glances to the front door. "You could come inside and I can get you some ice for your ankle."
She nods, and Thomas pulls her arm over his shoulder as he helps her to stand up. He is strong in this world and seems well. Juliana wonders if he has the same condition here too. Maybe in this world there is a cure or a treatment. Or maybe without the hostility, constant fear, and fascism, Thomas is allowed to thrive as a strapping young man.
"I am so sorry to inconvenience you." She does her best "bird with the broken wing" routine. She giggles a little to herself, thinking of how the other Thomas' father had called her out on it when he interrogated her in his apartment.
"It is no problem at all. Here's a step." Thomas clearly enjoys playing the hero, trying to make his voice sound a little deeper than it is. He peeks over and eyes wander to her chest a moment before he checks himself and focuses on helping her up the stairs to their entryway.
Juliana glimpses a picture of Helen and John on the hallway wall as they go by. They are much, much younger and John's smile is serene. She wants to pause but her side and ankle are hurting too much.
"Just a little further," he half carries her through the kitchen.
She pulls a chair out and Thomas leaves her side to get a bag and fill it with ice.
"Such a lovely home," she comments, looking into the living room. They have a small television and a mantle with father and son pictures mostly. A few photographs have John's extended family, including a slightly older man in a wheelchair who she guesses is his brother.
"Thank you. My dad isn't the best decorator, but his sister helped a bit." Thomas smiles, handing Juliana the ice for her ankle.
"Oh, where is your father?" She inquired half-heartedly. She had planned to arrive a little before he got home. She almost feels guilty, but she believes she needs Thomas to develop his boyhood crush in order for her to gain the sympathy of his father.
"He is at work, but he will be here soon." Thomas stands, realizing he hasn't finished his chores. "I'm sorry…" He looks at her quizzically.
"Julia, Julia Mills." She replies knowingly.
"Julia. That's a nice name." He gulps, "I uh, I have to finish my chores before my dad gets back. Um, you can rest and watch tv until your ankle feels better?"
Juliana nods, "That is very kind of you-"
"It's Thomas, by the way. Thomas Smith." His expression is cordial if not a little timid as he runs off to the front yard.
She turns on the television, searching for any news. She watches a man called Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. talk about equality for all at a small gathering in front of a church. His voice is compelling, full of conviction. Juliana cannot peel her eyes away from the screen and she wonders if this man could learn to travel, would he change their world too? But then, she doesn't know if he is alive or not in her world. Given the brutality of the Nazis, she knows there is quite the probability he has an opening in their world. She feels a tear drip down her cheek as she listens to his ideologies. He gives her hope for her own world.
In the distance, she hears Thomas finish the lawn mowing and replacing the machine in the garage. He then comes back through the house to find her watching the news. He grins at her before going to the back yard to start raking the leaves.
When the Reverend Doctor finishes, Juliana decides to learn more about this world. She peruses the shelves of books in the living room, standing on one foot. She is overwhelmed by the sheer amount and diversity of them. A few books stand out to her, including a Bible, which she has only seen one other time in the Neutral Zone. There is a newer looking book, To Kill A Mockingbird. And one she thinks is most important, perhaps worth bringing back with her if possible: The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. She takes it from the shelf and returns to the couch. As she reads, she finds herself caught up in memories of home. Before she realizes she is even getting tired, she drifts off to sleep.
oOoOo
Reichsmarschall Smith sits in his office, thumbing through a list of names and faces. Each picture has a large red slash through it. The list is much longer than John had realized. He knows he has been very effective at tracking resistance over the last ten years, but he is still surprised.
He is not sure they have the manpower to spare to ensure all these people are still dead when they are still actively looking into the assassination of Himmler. Attempted assassination, he reminds himself. As of yet their Fuhrer is in a coma and holding on to life. Things in the Riech are as yet unchanged.
John does not know who he can trust with this information. It would likely be best for those who already know about the machine to be tracking potential travelers. He would have less to explain and they would understand the significance and classified nature of the project.
A few days is probably too long to be away while Hawthorne is being interrogated and tests are being done on the quantum transfer device. John mindlessly drums his fingers on the desk as he picks up the phone. "Yes, this is Reichsmarschall Smith. I need a flight out tonight. My assistant will handle the details. Heil Himmler."
He trades the phone for a cup of coffee, and drags his thumb slowly around the rim. His thoughts drift back to his family. Helen and his girls are gone and he cannot decide if he should chase after them or let them go. Are they truly safer away from him? Has he made a mistake? And then his thoughts unravel and find his deepest ache.
Through the myriad of emotions, his countenance becomes forlorn, then blank, then finally ends on veiled vengeance as he thinks about his son.
oOoOo
Juliana's dreams start pleasantly enough, being back home with Trudy. Then John Smith breaks into their house clas in his SS black trench coat. He shoots Trudy, then turns the gun on Juliana. His face his the same as she always remembers it-hardened, combative, eyes full of hate and destruction. He shoots her.
"Thomas, I'm home!"
Juliana wakes with a start. She moves too quickly and sends a sharp pain through her ankle. She lets out an uncontrolled cry.
"Thomas?" He calls down the hallway in a confused tone and she gulps. She closes her eyes and reminds herself that this is not the Reichsmarschall. This is not the murderous hunter, the wolf. This is not the man who shot her.
"I'm sorry," Juliana calls back, sitting up and straightening her skirt and blouse.
"Hello?"
The man who appears from the hallway is not at all who she expected, and yet it is him. John Smith emerges with a salt dusted beard and charcoal hair disheveled. His is dressed in slacks and a button up shirt with a casual jacket. She remembers him dressed in similarly casual attire when she visited his house in the Reich. Her throat tightens.
"Hi, sir." She tries to keep the fear from her voice when her eyes flutter up to meet his. For a moment she is stunned. His countenance is confused but friendly and his eyes, Juliana realizes she never noticed the color of his eyes. She has felt his penetrative gaze and looked into the intense, soulless orbs. Here, she sees his eyes for the first time-they are crisp emerald and captivating.
"My name is Julia Mills." She finally finishes her introduction.
"Welcome to our home, Julia Mills." John grins at her, with a raised eyebrow. "But may I ask why you are here?"
"Oh that." Juliana is disarmed. This John exudes levity and she can't help but chuckle in his presence.
"Yes, that." He nudges, as he walks around the couch setting an old brown leather bag on the table. When he faces her in the living she sees there is still no menacing glare, no tight lipped grimace. Just a man wondering why this strange young woman is on his couch.
She sighs. "I was clumsy, actually. I twisted my ankle out on the sidewalk and your son, Thomas, was kind enough to let me come in and rest it." She tries to move her ankle again but cringes as it stings.
"Ah, I see. May I?" John motions to her ankle and she gestures her permission.
She wonders if he suspects a lie. Instead, he crouches down, focusing on her ankle. His motions are cautious as he removes the ice, and feels around gently. It is obviously swollen. Juliana didn't know what it would be like to be touched by this man. Obergruppenfuhrer Smith had always startled her like a wolf stalking its prey in the woods, triggering her amygdala responses, keeping her always on edge in his presence. This John has strong hands with a delicate touch.
John speaks compassionately, "That is quite the sprain, Miss Mills. It looks painful." He replaces the ice before he stands.
"I'm glad Thomas helped you in. It looks like you probably shouldn't walk on it for about a day or so." He puts a hand in his pocket, and gestures towards the phone on the wall with his other. In a consoling tone he asks, "Can I call someone for you?"
Juliana casts her face down. "I… No. There isn't anyone to call."
He pauses a moment to scan out the living room window and finds Thomas in the backyard raking the leaves. He suddenly has the air of a well-pleased father. He walks over to knock on the window, and Thomas looks up from his chores. He leans the rake against a tree and comes into the house through the back door.
"Dad! You're home." Thomas looked from his father to Miss Mills.
"I see you've been the caring young man I raised you to be." John couldn't help but beam.
"Well, it was that or leave Miss Mills on the sidewalk. That hardly seemed polite." The boy looks over at Julia. "Are you feeling any better?"
"I feel fine, although apparently I shouldn't walk for a day or two." She offers a small smile, eyes darting between John and Thomas. What would the Reichsmarschall think of all this? She notes a camera will need to be purchased and a film made. And for that, she will need a job.
"Is someone coming to get her?" Thomas asks his dad. "Or does she need a ride? I can drive!" He offers enthusiastically.
"She doesn't need another injury, Tom." John jests. He then turns back to Julia. "It sounds like you don't have anywhere to go?"
Juliana knows it is time to lay it on thick, to be the damsel in distress, revealing the broken wing.
"It's… a long story. I came out here to New York looking for work. But I… I was shot in Chinatown five days ago. Gangsters, they think." She sighs, as if to imply she has the worst luck.
Thomas exclaims, "Holy shit!"
John's mouth is agape in surprise. He closes it and gives Thomas a look before adding, "What he said. I'm glad you're alright but… should you even be up and about already?" His concern is palpable. She knows it is working.
Juliana brings her hands to her lap. "I don't' really have a choice. I came out to New York because I am looking for an old friend. I haven't heard from her in a while and this is the last place I got a postcard." John and Thomas are both leaning in, intrigued. "Anyway, she had told me to come look for a job out here a ways back and then we would get an apartment together. After… it happened, I was in the hospital and now I have bills to pay...So I came to a slower part of the city to visit local businesses and schools to see if they need any secretaries or office assistants."
Reichsmarschall had been right, she knew how to lie. It now all came on instinct. Here she sat, a spy from another dimension and across from her was a typical teenage boy and his father.
John looks lost in thought for a moment, before he pulls himself back to the room. "Thomas, can I speak to you for a minute?"
He stands and Thomas follows him to his office in the hallway. They don't close the door but whisper. Juliana can make out Thomas' voice more easily than his father's since it is higher and lacks John's low raspy quality.
She hears a few phrases: "I don't mind," "That's a good idea," and "You taught me to help others."
John and Thomas return, and Juliana looks up at them trying to seem anxious. "I should probably get back to my chores." Thomas says briefly, smiling at Juliana before heading back outside.
"Well, perhaps you could stay in my office. There is, a um…" Suddenly John looks a little awkward and uncomfortable.
"It's okay, Mr. Smith, I can call a cab and find a motel nearby." She slowly stands on one foot. John chortles and Juliana cannot help herself, she is incredibly fond of him.
"I'm sorry Miss Mills. It just felt uncouth to invite you to stay the night when I haven't even introduced myself." He looks over at her. "Hello, I'm John." He puts out a hand for her to shake.
"Well, now that we've been properly introduced, you are welcome to stay in my office. There is a twin bed there." He puts his hands in his pockets. "It isn't the most comfortable bed, but I've found myself on it a few times after late nights grading or reading."
"Thank you, Mr. Smith. I really am very appreciative. I'll find some way to repay you" She is getting a little tired of playing this pat, but she knows it has always affected him. For better or worse, it gets results from most men. She is almost grateful the other John pointed this out to her.
John shakes his head as he walks back over to his chair. "I get called Mr. Smith all day by my kids. I would prefer John."
"Your kids?" Her expression cannot conceal her curiosity. She knows Helen is dead in this world. "You're a teacher?"
He gestures to the books that line his walls. "I will let you guess the subject."
"Literature?" She finds herself extremely amused. What would Reichsmarschall Smith think of all these books? He would probably see to their burning himself.
"Indeed. I generally have to teach the classics, but it is nice to incorporate some of the more recent novels. They just connect better with the students." For the first time, he finds the book beside her. "Ah, now that is not something I think my class would enjoy, but it is a fascinating analysis. What did you think of it?"
Juliana glances at the book, then back at him. John is sweet, thoughtful, and talkative. She feels she really can trust him. "I did not get very far before dozing off, but it is rather intriguing. I never thought about how the Nazis came to power in the first place, the circumstances of near depression and growing nationalism in Germany."
"Yes. It seems people, governments specifically, regularly underestimate the extremes human beings go to when regularly disenfranchised… In the case of the Nazis, Hitler was able to capitalize on that and the growing nationalism while scapegoating the Jews, homosexuals, anyone really."
His voice deepens, hoarse and serious. It sounds so familiar, but lacks all of the animosity. "In comparison, you would think our government would realize that civil rights activists are not making unruly demands. In fact, the only reason people ever protest is to draw attention to places where the government is failing them." John becomes lost in thought, reflecting on the interconnectedness of fascism and rebellion.
"You sound like a teacher." She teases, returning him to the present moment.
"You are very right, and here I know nothing about you and I am droning on about politics." He smirks, his eyes full of passion. "I apologize if I have offended you."
"Not at all. I find it refreshing to hear someone speak so candidly about what is wrong with the government, especially concerning racism and civil liberties. It… wasn't like that where I grew up." She offers openly.
"From the south then?" He assumes.
Honesty, she thinks. "No actually, from California. San Francisco."
"Whew, I'm surprised. They're known for being quite liberal." He crosses his hands in his lap, and fidgets with his fingers a little.
"My family… they just don't think about how the government impacts everyone, and how it can be so much better. And I think they are afraid of change, even if it is for the better." Juliana met his eyes.
"That is common in most white families, I should think. We've had our say a long time." John sighs. As he looks at Miss Mills, he feels ever interested in her. She seems so intelligent and yet as though she might break if touched. Her demeanor seems confident and yet coy. She is a beautiful young woman, but what is she doing alone in New York?
"Anyway, you're probably hungry and in need of rest and not a philosophical tyrade." John stands.
"I can cook, if you have anything." Juliana offers.
"In your condition? I should think not. I'll order pizza." He calls Thomas in from the back yard.
"Pizza?" Thomas' enthusiasm is so young and carefree, where pizza is the best thing in the world.
"Pizza would be lovely." Juliana smiles, even though she has only had pizza a few times and has little idea what to expect.
"Great. I'll call in for delivery. Is pepperoni and sausage alright?" John reaches for the phone and the other two nod.
Juliana doesn't know how she will ever explain to anyone in her world about the father-of-the-year, liberal English teacher John Smith. Will she tell them about how he ordered pizza and let her stay in his extra room without knowing anything about her? Maybe she will tell them he is fiercely anti-fascist and supports civil rights, which given he is a white man in America isn't actually a given.
She reminds herself that however relieving this day has been, she has much to accomplish and very little time. If she doesn't do what needs to be done here, there may be no one back home left to tell.
oOoOo
Authors note: the domestic scenes got long but alas, I just want to capture the contrast. More first world stories coming. Reviews are welcome!