An explosion boomed nearby, quickly followed by a stream of gunshots. The intensity of the blast sent another wave of debris into the air. Smoke piled on top of smoke, all mixing together into a dense blanket that covered any possible trace of life. Gunther didn't care; he didn't need to see right now, only listen. His heartbeat had synced with the thrumming in his head as he calmly sat with rifle in hand and a glaze over his eyes. Just waiting and listening.
Glass shattering.
Screaming.
Gunfire.
Shaking.
Brief silence.
More blasts.
Crying.
Bullets hitting the blockade.
Rain? Or something like rain.
Silence.
Breathing.
He took in a breath and held it there. With a sudden jerk he turned, sat up, positioned his rifle and shot out. He'd missed before, but this time he struck a German soldier in the shoulder, then the other shoulder, and finally in the chest until the man dropped to his knees. Gunther didn't need to see him fall, he just moved his attention to the soldier by the shattered window four stories up and shot at him. He missed as the man took cover and Gunther let out a curse. The battered building was holding up better than he anticipated. He could feel several bullets whisk past his head, a little too close for comfort. He finally let the breath out and moved back into cover.
It was only then that Gunther noticed that the soldier next to him had been shot dead. His empty eyes staring at the murky sky and beyond that into something endless. Cadet Davis. Gunther didn't really know him, he was an American soldier he'd worked with once only a couple weeks ago as they trailed across the fields near Aachen before reaching the city. He didn't know most of these men, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy as he stared at the boy's neck, exposed and bleeding still from the bullet wound. That's really what he was, a boy, barely nineteen years of age. He'd have to sign a letter to send to his family, something that said he'd fought admirably and died with honor. They all said the same thing; he signed about a million of them by now.
It wasn't long before he and Davis were covered in more smoke, both painted a murky grey from the smog. Gunther looked at what was in front of him, or at least what was left of it. The city had been torn down into nothing but a shell, emptied stores and crumbled houses. He couldn't help but wonder what it looked like before all of this.
As a child he was never allowed to visit the Nazi sympathizing nations, and so he had gone most of his life without experiencing the freedom of travel that those before him were privileged to have. He'd only seen Berlin once, many years ago in passing, after taking a late train to nowhere in specific. 'Anywhere except home' he'd thought that night in a lull. Not that, that place was really home to begin with, but he didn't know it then. It was a beautiful city, nothing like dreary London with its littered streets and its scowling faces. The people seem friendly, smiling as they strolled. Gunther thought he could've lived in a place like that. He was young, ignorant of what real torture was being held behind the closed doors of those charming houses. A smile didn't mean much if you were walking on eggshells. He still remembered the impression the Nazi banners made on him, how red they still looked despite the dark of night, like blood.
"Commander" he heard beside him, and Gunther turned in his head to find a serious face staring back at him.
It was Jethro, who looked worse for the ware with his normally pale face covered in grime and dirt. His eyes were a shocking blue in contrast to the rest of him, and one of the only details that stood out amongst the muck. Gunther had his doubts about him in the beginning, a German in the Allied forces wasn't something anyone heard of often. Hell, he had to set an example of two of his men after they had almost beaten the guy in some petty ambush scheme. Gunther's toes still ached from kicking their asses so hard, but it had to be done. Smith was under his care by orders, and even if he didn't like it or even trust him fully, Gunther would obey orders.
"The third infantry should be here soon Smith. We just need to hold ground a little longer."
"Yes but...a lot of men...dying" he sounded worried, or as worried as Gunther had ever seen him. He was right to be too, they were losing men at an alarming rate. The trek onto shore, through the forests, and into Aachen has been a long one. Gunther knew they'd face heavy losses the moment the plan came to his mind, and the reality of the situation was that there was nothing they could do about it. Men were dying of injuries, disease - hell he'd seen them die of fatigue - but he wasn't about to drawback. They'd just have to wait for reinforcements.
"We'll just have to tough it out."
Smith nodded as if he was expecting the answer. He glanced over at the carcass beside Gunther, moved it to the side as if it were a rock in his path, and sat next to him with weapon in hand. The next several hours were a blur of repetitive movements. Firing, covering, firing, covering.
Gunther had shot two more soldiers since then, Smith had finally taken out the German by the window and he had done it with such ease that Gunther couldn't help but feel a prick at his pride. He repressed a frown. No need for babyish tendencies, he would leave those for Jane.
Her name made him look to the skies. She had been here - there - several days prior, bombing the city. It had been a strategic advantage to have their best shock the Germans. Most of the calamity had been caused by their aircrafts, along with the tank. He didn't have the pleasure to see her in her element, but from what he'd heard she had danced through the skies and attacked viciously in that Dragon of hers. Now it was almost impossible to see the sky beyond the smoke, but occasionally if he tried hard enough, Gunther could see a sliver of blue in between the folds of yellow and grey. It was the first time he'd felt something close to peace that day.
Gunfire was exchanged for several more hours, one grenade had blown off an American soldier's leg and he'd screamed all the way as they carried him out of the line of danger. Gunther could see the exhaustion on the men's face and his heart raced as he feared the worst.
We're not going to make it before the third infantry arrive.
Yet, just as the thought left his mind he found himself proven wrong. The first and possibly only time he felt happy being proven wrong in his life. Beside him he could hear Smith let out a breath of relief. The sight of backup had scared the few remaining German soldiers into retreating further into the city, it was a move they regretted doing but they'd be stupid not to. When the coast appeared clear, Gunther ordered the men to stand; this was their freedom.
Sergeant Major Kippernook lifted a hand to stop the marching troops and saluted Gunther with such a sense of pride and respect that it almost brought the soldier to tears. He had stood his ground, defended his troops, done his job. That felt good. It felt more than that, but the words were lost somewhere in his buzzing mind. In lieu of tears, Gunther saluted his commanding officer and took a step back.
"We thank you for your service soldiers" Kippernook started in that regal manner of his. "The battle is far from over, there is still a lot of work to be done, but for now - rest. Soon victory will belong to the Allies."
The soldiers cheered, and Gunther swelled at seeing some of their tired faces brighten for a moment as if it was all forgotten.
"Sir, if I may" Caradoc gave Gunther the OK to proceed and they pulled off to the side as the soldiers began switching positions. "I'd like to update you on the status of the battle."
The two discussed the specifics, the number of casualties, the number remaining, ammo, until finally they were satisfied with the information. Supposedly the Germans had ran out of explosives about an hour back. That'd be a great advantage to them. Sadly, Gunther didn't receive the concrete answers he was looking for. If Caradoc believed that the war was won or that they had any type of advantage, he didn't let it slip out of his lips. Anything previously said to the troops appeared to be nothing more than pep talk. He didn't like that type of poppycock but he knew its place in war.
"Well done Breech" he gave Gunther a solid pat on the shoulder, which luckily didn't have the same weight of Ivon's hand. "Now get on that truck and I'll see you when the war's done."
"My apologies Sergeant Major" Gunther didn't hesitate but his heart pounded "I plan on sticking by."
"Gunther" Caradoc's tone was exactly what he'd imagined, serious and concerned the way a father's tone would be. Well, not his father of course. "You can't be serious boy. You've fought a good fight, but don't push it. Your body needs rest."
"I can't rest if I don't see this through" he maintained what he believed was very forward eye contact, usually this type of backtalk wasn't allowed in the military. His ass would be handed over on a silver platter if he didn't catch Caradoc on a good day; the man was noble, but he had his limits.
The military leader must've seen that Gunther wasn't taking a 'no' today, because he gave a deep sigh of contempt but nodded his head. "Alright, just don't do anything stupid" he pointed a finger closely to his face, in a way that did remind him of his father. "It'd be a damn shame if a good man was lost because of his pride."
Was it that? Gunther smiled a humoured, small grin. Sure he was prideful, but he stayed for more than that. So perhaps it was part honor, part pride that kept him so dedicated. Maybe part stupidity too.
"Yes sir." With a quick salute, Caradoc was on his way to the fresh soldiers. Meanwhile, Gunther turned his attention to his platoon. He gave several salutes and pats and other signs of admirable acknowledgement before helping them onto the trucks. Some groaned at him to come along, calling him a 'busy - body', 'work donkey' or 'show off'. He managed to somehow talk his way out of that one just in time to catch Smith overseeing the line of those who surrendered during battle. Many were German soldiers, but some were civilians, women even. Most of them glared at the blond with a hatred Gunther had seen many times as a child, something akin to disgust stirred in their eyes. Occasionally one would burst into a fit of rage, screaming something that Gunther recognized as 'traitor' or they'd spit on the ground near his feet, but Smith remained unfazed.
"Smith" Gunther placed a hand on his shoulder, which felt kind of strange since the German was taller and wider than him. "You're free to go. I'll stay and see to the rest of them."
"Okay" the German soldier gave him one final look. There was a suppressed emotion there, one of worry that lingered in the corners of his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. In lieu of words, he patted Gunther on the shoulder and walked away. He'd always been a quiet one, and though Gunther was skilled in the art of repression himself, he envied the blonde's calm temperament. Gunther had seen it in action time and again as they trekked through the forest. It was Smith's mastery in engineering that had been key in getting them to the city without much struggle. Gunther had never seen a man or creature alive destroy and rebuild so quickly, bridge after bridge until they made it into the fields. If he were to die, at least Gunther would remember him fondly, and with the look Smith gave him he seemed to believe Gunther was going to die.
If he did die he wouldn't mind it much. Better to die here than old and wrinkled, bent over in an armchair in some posh house with dusty trinkets. Gunther couldn't call the war his home - he wouldn't - not after everything he'd seen. What happened to those who lost themselves to this, who couldn't sleep, eat, drink without thinking, itching to go back only to become mad then die anyways. Sometimes it worried him how he couldn't adapt back in England. It was too quiet, too pleasant. Unsettling. The idea that he could lay his entire self to this bloodshed made his blood go cold. Sure there was a comfort in this, an excitement even, but he couldn't call it home. But the ideal picket fence in boring town wasn't home either.
Could he ever find that somewhere? Could he ever settle down and feel satisfied? He'd never really had a home, a house yes, but it was just four walls and a roof. A real home. It was something he'd always lacked, but it hadn't bothered him this badly since childhood.
A prisoner broke him from his thoughts when he grumbled something Gunther's way. His German was rusty, but by the look on his face it certainly wasn't a compliment.
"Get yer asses moving!" Gunther barked, cocking his gun "You'll find I'm not as forgiving!"
It wasn't long until Gunther was back under cover. This time closer into the center of town, a new environment to get used to but the rush was back. Of course his muscles still screamed for some release but his mind was going. This time he was alone, the soldiers beside him long dead and yet to be picked up. Shots were soaring over him, at times he could catch the spark of a bullet grazing a surface and he'd return in kind. Soon he was lost in his concentration, trying to aim for an enemy soldier whose head was peeking over a car. If only he could -
His body flexed and jumped. Someone had touched him. Reflexively he swung his arm out and pinned the threat the to the ground beside him; there was a brief struggle as Gunther reached for the knife saddled to his leg and raised it to the man's neck.
"Jesus."
Except it wasn't a man at all. It was Jane, staring up at him with an expression of annoyance as if he'd swatted her with a fly swatter instead of almost killed her.
"Jane" Gunther's voice gave way to the surprise he felt at seeing her. He knew she was alive but he'd never expect to see her back on ground. At least not until it was all done with. The ravenette gave her a smile, it felt a little out of place on his lips but the feeling was genuine. Jane smiled in return and tried to sit up, but the knife didn't let her move much.
"Oh, apologies" he withdrew his knife and helped her back on her knees. Jane chuckled, not seeming to mind much.
"How embarrassing would that be? Making it through air combat only to be killed accidentally by your Commander."
"Well maybe you shouldn't sneak up on people."
The quaint expression on her face disappeared instantly, replaced by her usual anger. Gunther was somewhat sad to see it go. "I didn't, you just were just hell - bent on killing that Nazi - which you missed by the way. A lot."
"I wonder whose fault that was" he bit sarcastically, turning away from her to stare forward again.
"You must not be talking about me? I've been seeing you miss shot after shot for a while now."
How long had she been sitting there? "You were watching me? Admiring perhaps?" he smirked to avoid looking as embarrassed as he felt.
"Yeah, admiring how terrible you are at doing your job."
"Always have something to say" his eyes rolled, and for a split second he felt fine. There was this brief sense of normalcy, like two friends - if they were friends, Gunther wasn't quite sure - catching up after not seeing each other.
"What're you doing here Jane?" he cast her a concerned glance. She looked like a boy with her red hair pinned up and tucked underneath her helmet, dirt all over her face. "Weren't you supposed to be feet - up in the base camp by now?"
"And you?" She looked a little sheepish but smiled it off. "You're still here. Why should I let you have all the excitement?" He opened his mouth to say something but she interrupted him. "I wouldn't just go packing. I couldn't stay still long enough thinking I could be doing more, you know?"
He didn't say anything, just looked at her for a while. Of course she'd do this to him. Wasn't that night enough, or did she have the goal of dumbfounding him regularly now. He hated to admit how similar they were. Absolutely hated it because he hated her. Right? Well, he didn't particularly like the way she looked back at him now, eyes attentive and lips slightly parted. They were cracked and irritated he noticed, like their usual selves and nothing like the night at the gala. But that looks of hers was still -
His chest felt strange, heavy, and it made him uncomfortable beyond belief. He turned away from her to face enemy territory and readied his gun. "Close your mouth Jane or you'll catch flies." He could hear her scoff and turn as well, her movements purposefully gruff. He almost felt like laughing, but stifled it - she did have a gun in her hands after all. Might as well not tempt her.
"I'm glad to see you" he said as nonchalantly as he could muster. Jane must've thought he was still being cheeky because even in his peripheral vision he could see her give way to a silent, snarky laugh. "I mean it. You're safe y'know? That's a...I'm just glad."
Jane didn't turn to look at him but muttered a quick "Thanks." It wasn't sarcastic or dismissive but maybe... flustered? She'd found it surprising and Gunther felt a bit insulted by that. Surely she should've known that he at least cared about each of his soldier's safety. Although, this time it was different somehow saying it to Jane, it was just...different.
Maybe he'd inhaled too much smoke today.
"Your men are - " he began, now rather desperate for a change of subject, but Jane didn't let him finish.
"Skilled? Zestful? Prepared - "
"Rambunctious" he corrected with a grin on his face. "Stubborn too. Must be an American thing."
Jane shot out, catching an enemy soldier who was trying to sneak past by surprise. He quickly retreated.
"Can't say it's just an American thing, after all, you're still here too Breech."
Gunther shook his head. He didn't like it when the mirror was pointed back at him, though this had been one of Jane's much nicer ways of using this tactic.
"And I'm glad you are" she muttered the last part like it physically hurt her to say it and it caused him to finally laugh.
"Champion save."
"I hate it when you say that" Jane scoffed, but their conversation was cut short as a grenade was launched into the air and landed several feet in from of their cover. Gunther's eyes widened and he and Jane took cover immediately, but the explosion still pushed their huddled bodies backwards. The area filled with smoke and there was a distant ringing in Gunther's ears that disoriented him.
'Take a second then compose yourself' he urged, finally finding his gun and crawling on his arms to better access the situation. He could barely see three feet in front of him, but Jane's shadowy figure made a distinct outline. As he moved closer he could see she was kneeling on her haunches, blood dripping from her head underneath her helmet. She didn't look too hurt, with a stern expression on her face and her gun in position.
"Jane!" They needed to move. The makeshift cover of steel and items had been blown to almost bits by the strike, and new cover was needed immediately. "We must retreat to the far - left side, there are - "
Jane cut him off, a bad habit of hers, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. He saw her mouth move but the ringing made it difficult to hear much of anything. He caught a "moving right", "spotted", "going after" and it wasn't long until he caught onto what she was saying.
"No! Jane this is an order. We move to new cover now! Don't you think about - " but she was already moving. Gunther almost growled, hitting the dirt with an aggravated fist. Just as he was starting to find some sort of agreeable qualities, Jane had to remind of why he absolutely despised her at times!
"Disobedient, stubborn girl" Gunther mumbled as he moved in the direction of cover. He wouldn't try to go after Jane, it was far too risky to try and run after her during one of her reckless escapades. When he had the chance to Gunther ran, a trail of bullets flying past him with a rain of 'clink clink' sounds of impact. He felt as one grazed his shoulder and once he reached the wall he cursed. The wound was superficial, but the blood was already soaking through his clothes. There were also metal fragments sticking up and out of his arm in a messy zig - zag pattern. He groaned. Just about a week ago he'd been shot on the side, and he knew he couldn't take anymore careless risks.
"Commander" a soldier who Gunther didn't know approached him "it seems they've been hiding a stash of explosives we didn't know about. We thought they'd run out of grenades but - now we're not sure how much more there is."
Gunther shook his head; his immediate thoughts ran to Jane but he wouldn't let her cloud his mind. "No, there can't be much left. They've exhausted their resources and we've bombed the rest. I take this as a last resort. Hold positions for now, advance on my call."
He waited for the smoke to clear and shot out. It was just a threat, something to let them know that they were still alive and kicking, and hopefully something that might deter them from shooting one risky, stupid soldier. There was gunfire back and forth. The soldier who'd approached Gunther was shot in the arm a couple times but not without taking several men himself. The brave bastard pushed through, though Breech didn't know how. When the coast was clear he signaled them to wait as he advanced. Creeping against the wall, he rushed forward from point to point, only stopping briefly to make sure the coast was clear. From his new position Gunther could see the scatter of body parts and innards sprawled on the floor from the explosion. He felt a drop of something land on his neck and grimaced at the idea of rain. It'd set them even farther back, but when he touched the spot it turned out to be blood. No doubt there was something or someone up on the gutters that had began to leak.
Gunther rubbed his fingers together until the blood dissipated somewhere in the material of his glove. It was then that he heard strange clacking sound. At first it was faint but as it grew more rapid, Gunther grew more concerned. Was it a trap? He brandished his knife; a gun would do him no good if he was attacked in the dark. He entered the hollow building. As he grew closer to the sound, which now echoed against the walls, he could make out a figure but it was strange, deformed, and... shaking? Gunther hadn't seen anything like it, and for the first time his heart began to pound in his chest out of fear.
'Steady' he calmed himself, the grip on the knife tightening.
Whatever it was it hadn't heard him approach, simply shaking like it had been. It wasn't until he'd gotten close enough that Gunther realized what it was. A dead body. Now, he'd never been one to believe in ghosts or demons, maybe back in London when he was about five and had seen Nosferatu once and couldn't sleep afterward for two weeks. Instantly he felt a sense of relief wash over him, and he stood up albeit quietly. It was clear now that there was someone hidden underneath a dead body and whoever it was, was shaking like a leaf.
If it was one of his men, then Gunther would give him a reason to shake.
Gunther made a grab for the body from the side, yanking it off of the soldier in one quick tug. The man let out a whimper of all noises, tucked closer into a fetal position with his face buried in his knees and hands over his helmet. He wasn't dressed like a German. Gunther's eyes widened with anger. It was one of his.
"Just what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
At the sound of English the man looked up, though in reality he looked more like a boy with his reddened, tear soaked eyes. Gunther kneeled down to grab him by his shirt, giving him a rough shake.
"Are you in here hiding under a body like a coward while my men are out there dying?! You better hope a German doesn't walk through those doors soldier because I'd let him eat you alive!" The boy didn't say anything, but his face looked like a deer caught in headlights. The grime and blood covered his freckled face and his lips quivered, but none of it tugged at Gunther.
"Speak soldier!"
"A - a - ah" the boy's shaking hands covered his own in a very weak attempt to have him let go. Gunther would've punched him right there and then but he didn't have the time for that. "I - I'm sorry." His voice was shaking as much as he was. "I just - I - we - " he glanced over to the body that was now on the floor, his eyes watering again at the sight "wasn't supposed to."
Gunther sighed, easing his grip. He looked at the body on the floor and noticed the man's face had been blown apart, pieces of bone poking out of certain areas, an eye missing completely. He looked back at the kid and gave him another shake, but not as rough as he had beforehand. "Get up kid. You'll see much worse than this." The soldier did as told, getting up from his knees; he wasn't taller than Gunther but was much thinner and frail. He screamed draftee. An image of Davis flashed in his mind. The boy also had more dirt on him than any new infantryman should've.
"Left behind?" Gunther asked, noticing a dark pool of dried blood on the wrapping around his waist "Jesus, kid."
"Left?" the tanned boy said, touching his side as if noticing it for the first time. There was a hollow look in his eyes that Gunther knew led to trouble, and he snapped his fingers in front of his face until a sharpness returned.
"Yes, left. You should've been halfway to the base camp by now. You're lucky I even spotted you here or who knows, you would've been left completely." The boy scrunched his lips, deep in thought. His hand clenched deeper into his side in what Gunther believed was a realization of pain. Once the shock passed, the pain came back. It was always one or the other.
"Wanna keep fighting a war that's over?" Breech half joked, clearly picturing this poor sap doing something that stupid.
"I want to go home" the kid admitted, looking at Gunther guiltily. Normally the commander would've snapped some sense into him, tell him to man up, but the truth was that with his wound he was in no room to fight anyways.
"Well, you might just get your wish Private - ?" Gunther waited for his name.
"Gardener" as if remembering himself for the first time since their conversation, the soldier straightened his shoulders. Gunther could see a bit more of attentiveness in his eyes, but they were still rimmed with fear. "I'm sorry Commander, I just - "
"No need kid, no time really" Gunther interrupted because there was no more time for talk. Keeping inside was only safe for so long until they became sitting ducks. "I have to take you back, no choice. The wound's not gonna get us very far moving forward. Can you walk?"
"Yes" Gardener shifted the strap of his 98K rifle around his shoulder.
It'd be simple enough coming back the way he entered. In the distance Gunther could hear the ring of shots. They'd have to be quick.
"C'mon then" he urged as the two moved stealthily to the door again, but they didn't get far.
"Oh no!" Gardener cried, pushing Gunther back in the nick of time. Gunther jolted backwards as an M1 bayonet nearly took his nose off. The Private wasn't so lucky. He'd taken a sharp stabbing to his left rib; the blow knocking him flat on his side. The German soldier didn't give either one much time to react after that, continuing to swing wildly. Gunther tried to hold him by the arm but it was useless; he couldn't get a good grip. The soldier surprised him with a punch to the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Gunther reached for his own knife but was tackled to the floor. His head hit the concrete hard, leaving him disoriented and if it weren't for his helmet Gunther was sure he'd be dead. He could feel the hot trickle of blood pool around him as he wrestled the German, one hand trying to blind the man while the other attempted to push the knife away from his neck. The two struggled for dominance until it became apparent to Gunther that he'd lose. He looked to Gardener for help but he was still on the floor gripping his sides.
'Maggots!'
Gunther growled as he was forced to use both hands to fend off the knife, which had begun to pinch into the skin of his neck. He could feel the flesh giving way and splitting open, suddenly hot with blood.
"Arhhh!" Abruptly the Nazi was knocked over, a sickening crack sound echoing throughout the building. Jane stood behind him with her rifle in her hand, holding it like a baseball bat. Her eyes were frantic as they landed on Gunther. He felt his own eyes reflect that worry as he looked at her. She must've been out of ammo or gotten into some type of skirmish because she was fresh with scrapes. She opened her mouth to speak but let out a painful shriek instead. The crack sound, which Gunther previously believed had been the Nazi's skull, had been his helmet and while he was bleeding profusely from his nose, he was in no way out. He'd taken the small chance he had to stab Jane straight through the foot. He'd been in the process of getting back up when Gunther dove to pin him back onto the ground, and the two men struggled once more. Luckily, Gunther learned quickly and punched the man in the jaw as strong as his fist would let him. The first punch stunned him enough to give him the opportunity to wrestle the knife away from his hand. The second and third punch and every punch that came after that was out of sheer adrenaline.
The need to live. The need to kill.
The German pushed back, trying to stop him but it was useless. He had the upper hand now. The last punch was for Jane, for thinking he could even touch her. Finally, when his knuckles couldn't take it anymore he took the blade and shoved it into the man's head that to end it all. His breathing was the only sound after that. In and out. In and out. Ragged. His heart drummed at an exciting speed; he could feel its thrum vibrate his whole being. In and out.
Breech looked back to Jane but she was cradled over the young, tanned boy whispering something he couldn't hear to him. The blood on Gunther's hand was nothing compared to the one surrounding Gardener now. 'He's dead.' Maybe she felt him staring or maybe she read his thoughts because she looked right at him, eyes pleading.
"Help me."
Gunther lay back in the bed and re - adjusted himself but it was useless - there wasn't a single comfortable position in this God forsaken bed! If it could even be called that. Everything hurt when he moved this way and some things itched when he moved that way.
"This is useless" he grumbled to himself before finally turning over and placing his feet on the floor. He tried brightening the room with the only lamp in it but that wasn't much better either. No paperwork for him then. He sighed. He was just uncomfortable all around, bandaged up like a teepeed tree, aching, and stiffer than a board. He wouldn't be back in action for a while he'd been told. Another head injury like the one he received and he'd be in a coma for sure. He'd have to notify someone back at home that he wouldn't be on the field for much longer.
"I have to call..." but he paused. Who did he have to call? There was no one waiting to hear from him. Certainly he couldn't call his father; he was still on the run somewhere, trying to escape what Gunther knew was a just punishment for corroborating with the enemy. He scoffed with bitter amusement. All for what? A couple stashes. It was always about money for Magnus; he never cared about his son, never even gave a second thought as to what that might do to Gunther's position or reputation. The countless days he'd spent convincing government officials that he didn't know where his father was. It was all a huge mess, and like all huge messes Magnus made, he left Gunther to clean them up. Even if he could, Gunther wouldn't call him. The mere fact that his thoughts had trailed to his father infuriated and also saddened him. It was a stark reminder that he was without roots. Lonely. Without a home to come home to. If only he could've stayed longer at Aachen, even if his body broke into pieces.
He groaned. He didn't mean that, he just wasn't...thinking straight. Gunther tried to convince himself it was the head injury making him so crazy, but in truth he knew it was always his father that brought him to such a dark place. His hands gripped at the edge of the bed. When had his fingers started twitching like that? His head snapped to the door when he heard it click open, and he was surprised to find Jane there.
"May I?" she asked, possibly with more caution than he ever imagined she had.
He nodded but Jane just stayed at the doorway, hands fiddling nervously. Was she ill? If there was something Jane wasn't, it was shy. Gunther raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Jane didn't move. Was she waiting for a direct order? An official go - ahead?
"Bat bladders Jane, just come in already" Gunther imitated her eye roll the best he could. He thinks he did rather well at it actually. "I don't bite."
Jane scooted forward, well it was more liked hobbled really with the cast she had on her foot. Her toes peeked out but Gunther could see how swollen they were in comparison to an average sized foot. She closed the door behind her and walked to stand beside him. Strange, they'd never spoken in private before, did she have bad news about the boy?
"How's - " "I want to tha - " they started at the same time, shutting up quickly afterward.
"Sorry" Jane said in a way that made him believe it. Her hands were still fidgeting in a way that made him want to shake her. What was going on with her? She'd been acting strangely ever since they'd been dispatched from the clinic tent.
"I was just gonna ask how the kid was doing?"
"He's doing better" her words came out quickly and almost breathlessly. For the first time that day she smiled at him, a warm flush tinting her cheeks. She must've been very worried about him. Why did that make him feel...strange? A bit something like worried? He scolded himself for being so childish.
"That's good, I saw the nurse - the one with the braid - she was taking good care of him. Didn't leave his side since we got to the tent, but he didn't wake up by the time I left."
"He still needs a lot of rest. The nurse and him have history" she cleared her throat as if it were suddenly dry "I should clarify, they used to live in the same neighborhood, so she worries about him."
"And you?" Gunther tried to seem casual, leaning back slightly on the bed, though the question had been itching his curiosity. "You and the uh...kid have history?" When Jane kept quiet he took it as a yes, smiling a bit to not demonstrate any sign of - disappointment? What was that feeling he was sensing? And what did it matter anyways? Gunther himself had had plenty of flings, especially in his youth - just none so close still. "You don't have to answer" he shot her a wink, chuckling a bit because in truth he'd never seen her this quiet before.
"No" she said finally in a rush "not like that anyways. We're just friends. He's a good friend of mine from childhood you see."
"I was just teasing, carrot" he waved her off dismissively, but inside he felt - or at least he swore he felt - something close to relief. "No need to explain yourself."
"I - well first of all - don't call me carrot" she huffed "and secondly I - well I wanted to thank you. Earnestly. Drake is very dear to my heart and the nurse's and he's...well he's not a fighter by nature - "
"You can tell."
Jane shot him a disapproving glare that made Gunther raise his hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, that doesn't mean the young chap doesn't have a pair on him. He saved my life, and I'm grateful for that. Proud actually."
"Then accept my gratitude on his behalf as well. I know you wanted to stay and fight, but you turned back for me - erm for him and me. I know that if it wasn't for me you'd still be out there." She sounded as guilt ridden as she looked and it tore at him a little.
"Nonsense Jane. I know you want to be back on the field as badly as me. You did right by your brother by going back. You saved his life. No amount of fighting could've ever been reasonable enough not to." She was reckless with her loyalty, but he'd prefer that any day to a heartless bastard. "Though" he smirked ruefully "if you ever disobey an order like with that stunt you pulled back there, I promise you that you won't even get a taste of action next time."
"Noted sir" the sir was obviously a jab, but he liked the sound of her saying it "but I'd like to point that I helped take down a vital enemy soldier with a secret stash of eggs." There was no hint of regret in her voice. Where did she get the gull?
"Helpful" he stalled sarcastically, even though it was. It was just that he'd rather suffer another brain injury than let her off the hook. "And your foot? It's staying I hope?"
Jane lifted her swollen, bandaged foot for him to see. It looked like it weighed fifty pounds.
"Yes, luckily the nurse says I'll make a full recovery. Just no running from me for a while….and no flying either" her voice dropped at the second part. She tried not to look too disheartened but it wasn't working.
"I wish I could've seen you" he admitted to her surprise "I heard you flew so naturally that the enemy mistook you for a bird."
Jane laughed. "Yes, a bird that shoots missiles and wrecks entire cities."
"A dragon then" Gunther amended, earning a smile from her. There was a heat behind her eyes that he'd either never noticed or that suddenly became very present. Both possibilities made his chest constrict.
"How's your head?" Jane stepped forward, a look of concern painting her face.
"Just about as good as ever" he smirked, leaning forward to look up at her more closely. The dim, flickering light from the lantern made her hair look like fire. "Sadly, the doctor told me the injury didn't make me any smarter. Said I can't improve from brilliant." He expected Jane to scoff at him or at the very least give him a quick retort, but she did neither. Instead she slowly reached her hand out and cautiously ran her fingers across the tips of his bandages. She looked forlorn but the heat in her gaze was still there. He stayed still unsure of how to react and just looked up at her. Should he pull away? Her fingers were so delicate, so soothing as they brushed against his skin that he didn't want to pull away. Her eyes weren't looking directly into his but at his head, lips frowning with concern. Genuine concern. One that he'd only seen reserved for others but never him. Soon her entire palm caressed his head, fingers brushing against his temple and cheek.
Gunther closed his eyes, letting himself just feel her for a while before leaning into her touch. Her palms were rough, calloused from the endless toil war brought but they felt comforting. Familiar. These were hands he'd recognized despite not being touched by them before. Yet the rest of her seemed so unfamiliar, so vague to him that now it almost made him restless with curiosity. He needed to know more about her. He'd felt that way ever since she left him seeing lights after their dance. Her image burned into the back of his mind; a craving he couldn't put away. He needed to know what the curve of her waist felt like, and if the skin on her shoulders was soft and what other parts of her were rough and jaded like her hands. He opened his eyes to find Jane looking at him now.
This time he wouldn't be the one to look on as she walked away. His hands came up to grab each side of her hips, pulling her closer. The act itself wasn't rushed; moreover, he'd done it just as gingerly as she'd reached out to him, and to his surprise Jane followed his moves without reserve. He nudged his head against her hand, signaling her to keep going. Her fingers skirted down his scalp, running through his hair and Gunther shuddered at the sensation. His own fingers started to work, rubbing small circles along her hips, even over the cotton shirt he could feel her bones. It wasn't enough. He gave her another glance for permission and when she didn't reject him, he began to pull up the fabric. Her skin was hot and smooth on his fingertips. Hungrily he ran them up the curve of her waist, his thumbs stroking her ribs.
Jane grabbed onto his hair tightly. Normally it would've hurt, but his senses were too distracted by the way she felt on him. His head spun but he swore his eyes never saw more clearly. She was much softer than he'd ever imagined, her exposed skin a pearly white and unblemished except for a small scar on the right side of her stomach. It reminded him of the dress she wore that night and suddenly he wished she was wearing it again. His reaction would've been far more different if he saw it on her now.
The image made his heart quicken, her skin suddenly feeling like electricity under his fingers. Gunther's hands slid back down to rub meticulous circles again at Jane's hip bones, thumbs exploring the dips and rises of that area. Jane's own hands caressed the tops of his ears, the sides, his neck. She bit her bottom lip anxiously, sliding her hands down to the collar of his shirt before giving it a faint tug. It was a request he was quick to understand and happy to comply with. Gunther raised his arms and embarrassingly he let out a small groan at the pain. His other senses weren't completely numb it seemed. Jane helped him, taking the shirt off carefully then tossing it on the bed. He probably didn't look his best, wrapped up like a mummy in some places, scars and scratches littering a good portion of him. He thought she would've stopped then and there, maybe he was too bent out of shape for her tastes, but Jane simply paused. In the dim light he could see her bite her lip again as she looked over him, running her tongue over her bottom lip to soothe it. He felt a low rumble stir in his chest. He was done taking it slow.
Gunther yanked her closer to him, peppering quick kisses on her skin. Jane squirmed above him, probably wanting to come down to him but he held her in place. He loved the way she fidgeted with every needy kiss, her nails grabbing him hard by his shoulders. He worked his way up, kissing a trail up and around her belly button. Remembering the small scar he stopped to give it some special attention, passing his tongue over it before taking a quick nip at the area. Her skin felt like heaven between his teeth.
He could hear Jane let out a small gasp above him, her hands greedily bringing his face closer to her. She chuckled breathlessly. "I thought you said you didn't bite."
"Guess I lied" Gunther smiled against her. He kept scrunching the shirt up as he worked, but it was annoying now, obstructive more like it. His eyes met hers "Off" he commanded. Jane was more tentative than he was. He was wasn't used to this shyer side of her, but a small part of him relished it. It made her seem so vulnerable that he had to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her right then and there. Hopefully, there would be time for that later on. For now he leaned back, giving her the space she needed to use her arms freely without worrying about hitting his head. He could see a faint redness creeping from her neck up into her face. Slowly - almost agonizingly slow - she lifted the material over head, her wild curls lifting and bouncing into their haphazard pattern around her shoulders. Gunther immediately drank her up. Freckled in scars and bruises across her body, she looked amazing to him. Her frame was much thinner than it looked with all the bulkiness of their combat armor. There was a sturdiness to her arms, years of training had made her taught, yet there was a frailness about her too. If he was being too forward, it was too late to take it back. His eyes kept wandering in every direction, trailing every line and shape, every inch of skin; it was almost impossible to keep them still but he finally settled on her face, which he realized he liked most of all.
Not wanting her to feel awkward with his stillness, he smiled and pulled her in again, taking the shirt from her hand and tossing it to the other side of the room. Sitting at the edge of the bed made it easy for Jane to climb on top of his lap, her face coming close to his. Her weight felt nice against him, like she belonged there. Two pieces of a puzzle fitting together. One of his hands held her in place while the other brushed away a few loose strands from her face. He didn't get the time to tuck them properly behind her ear before Jane kissed him. Her lips felt as chapped as they looked, but they were warm and inviting. Gunther kissed back with equal fervor, caressing each side of her cheeks; the strands fell back onto their faces face, but he didn't care. He felt like a man dying of thirst, like letting go of Jane would surely kill him of need. It felt millions of times worse than that night he'd so desperately tried to find a drink in the crowded gala. Funny how she could take and give the way she did. She was always surprising him.
Sadly, after a while Gunther did have to have to stop for air, and though the separation was brief, he was left needing more. Jane must've felt the same way with the way she whimpered when he stopped. It wasn't long before he was at it again, spraying kisses onto her neck and jawline until her whimpers turned to moans.
"Promise me that I'll get to see you fly one day" he murmured against her skin, scraping his teeth along the area.
"I promise" Jane gasped, running her nails across his shoulder blade.
She grinded herself against him and Gunther had to stop and press his face into her neck to keep from making a sound. When she did it again - he was sure she wanted to prove some kind of point - her name finally stuttered out of his mouth. If he thought he was in control of this, he was sorely mistaken. Maybe that was her point, and he smiled at it. Of course she'd be trying to show off even now.
He rocked her backward, grabbing her by the back to get a better angle at the rest of her. From what he'd heard from the grapevine, army women usually wore some type of corselette under their uniforms. Little one - piece numbers that were supposedly fit for active duty but also kept the shape. Jane on the other hand wore a simple, rather dirty men's undershirt similar to one he'd always worn but tighter and much shorter. Once he'd heard her say to the nurse that she hated wearing corsets and that brassieres made her feel like a traffic cone. He almost laughed. This was completely her in every way; her skin and clothes and hair and undergarments - it all screamed Jane.
"You are sublime" he cooed, kissing her shoulder, her collarbone, her chest. He could've sworn he saw her redden a few shades darker, but it could've also been a trick of the light.
"You know" she said, wrapping her arms around him to hold him close while he kissed "I think I'm starting to grow an appreciation for the English accent."
"Champion" Gunther laughed as he heard her groan loudly.
"I hate you" she reminded him, running her hands up his chest before pushing him on his back onto the bed. Her body looked even better from that angle, and he ran an admiring hand up stomach, thumb rubbing against the fabric of her strange bra. Would he ever get tired of touching her? He'd hate to think he never could again after this.
'Don't worry about that' he chastised himself with a small frown, one he didn't think Jane noticed until she came down to kiss it away 'Just focus on now.' And now was great because he had his fingers running up her spine as she she worked her way down his neck. Her skin rising in goosebumps. His touch exploring hers; a new terrain without destination.
In that moment Gunther felt as if he didn't care if he didn't have a home to go to, and he didn't care to need one either. She made him feel unrestrained rather than cut loose. Alone rather than lonely. Not a boy lost but a man simply roving, enjoying the view as he went.