Alright ladies and jellyspoons, is everyone all caught up? Is everyone ready to see what all is in store for Donny and Klara? Only a few more chapters left now – I'm predicting this will be my third to last installment of this story.

We are nearing the end.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Klara did not recognize the place that Kurt had taken her to once he'd finally removed the black bag from over her head. It looked as though they might be in a workplace of some sort, maybe a doctor's office – either way Klara's concern was not trying to figure out where she currently was. The German was far more worried about the fact that her brother had just kidnapped her, knew of her and Donny, and was currently having a quick telephone conversation with whom she could only assume was Hans Landa.

"Yes, just next door." Kurt was saying in their native language. "We will be there shortly, I simply would like to speak with her myself first." Klara stiffened when he turned to cast her an unreadable look – what did he and Landa have planned for her now that they knew all of her secrets? "Of course…of course…I understand you very well, Hans…alright."

He hung up the phone then and came to take the chair opposite of her, looking to her with that same unreadable expression as he relaxed in his seat and began tapping the desk separating them with his fingers. She hadn't dared to say a word yet, not even for the entire time that they had been in the car together, and had no intentions of being the first one to speak now. Klara had no idea what sort of fate awaited her now – she only knew she had to play this as smartly as she could if she wanted her and Donny's child to survive.

"Dear sister, I do not believe I have ever seen you so frightened before." Kurt commented as a smirk turned one corner of his mouth upward. "Or is that anger in your eyes?"

"Perhaps you see both?" Klara finally offered, somehow managing to find her voice. "I was just kidnapped and thrown into the back of a vehicle at my brother's command."

Kurt nodded his head slowly, pursing his lips for a moment. "That is true." He conceded before tilting his head in a scrutinizing manner. "Let me ask you this – what do you expect to happen tonight?"

I expect to be arrested, maybe even killed, by my own black-hearted brother, Klara thought to herself. She didn't dare to say the words aloud though. "I have already underestimated you in the past, Kurt, and that is not a mistake I intend to make again." She told him after a moment of hesitation, trying valiantly to keep her voice from trembling. "So you tell me, brother."

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not, but for a brief moment Kurt looked as though he might have been offended by her words. "Is that what you think of me now?" Kurt asked her in a measured voice. "Do you think me to be so cold-hearted?"

The words came out before Klara could stop them. "You have done nothing to prove me otherwise."

There was no mistaking the look on Kurt's face now – his expression went flat, his eyes narrowed a bit, and his fingers ceased their steady drumming on the wood of the desk. Klara inwardly cursed herself over and over again for her poor choice of words and held her breath as she waited to see what he would do next. Kurt stared her down in an unnerving way for a few more second before straightening up in his desk and pinning her into place with a no-nonsense expression.

"How long, Klara?" He demanded to know, abandoning any notion of politeness and choosing to get on with business.

"How long concerning what?"

Kurt shook his head, looking unamused. "You know what I speak of." Klara did know, she simply was trying to stall – though stall for what, she had no clue. When she took too long to respond, the German across from her heaved. "My patience has grown very thin in regards to you, sister. I suggest you begin speaking."

Do not try to play coy with him, Bathurst. It will only get you killed. "Since spring-time." Klara finally confessed.

Kurt's eyebrows rose at hearing that – he obviously hadn't expected for her and Donny to have been together as long as they had. "And how did you meet him?"

"He was running from Nazi soldiers." She explained, finding it uncomfortable and almost wrong to discuss her and Donny's relationship with Kurt. Speaking of the man she loved to a man like her brother made her feel as though she were degrading her and Donny's relationship some way. "I hid him in my home so he could avoid capture."

"And why would you do that?"

The rapid questions were beginning to make Klara's palms sweat again. If this was how all of Kurt and Landa's victims felt, then they certainly had her greatest sympathies. She was feeling more and more nervous by the second as Kurt continued to delve further and further into her secrets. "Many reasons." She admitted, thinking it better to tell him the truth for now. "Because of who he is, because of what the Basterds have been doing…helping him felt like the right thing to do."

"I see." Kurt said shortly, looking displeased. "You approved – or rather, still approve – of him murdering Nazis. Men like Emmerich Haugg for example." He surprised her a little by bringing up the now deceased Nazi that had tried so very hard to win her affections. "Why the look of surprise? You were there the night he died, were you not?"

Klara quickly forced herself to recover. "I might have been." She answered vaguely. "And there are many Nazis - like Emmerich Haugg - who have done terrible, unspeakable things." Klara said matter-of-factly, challenging him with her eyes to prove her wrong on the matter. And also like you, brother. "All of them deserved the fate they were dealt, Emmerich included."

"And what of me?" Kurt questioned next. "I am Nazi – would I have deserved such a fate?"

It didn't escape her notice that he spoke in past tense, as though Donny were already dead and therefore unable to be his downfall now. And though Klara was positive Kurt did deserve to suffer at Donny's hands, she knew better then to tell him that. "You are my brother, Kurt." She said simply, unable to think of anything better to say.

"That does not answer my question." He retorted – then he smirked (despite looking thoroughly unamused) as a dangerous glint entered his eye. "Or perhaps it does…"

Klara inwardly cringed, knowing she was going about this conversation entirely wrong. She should be trying to persuade her brother into showing her mercy, not provoking him further and further to anger. She sucked in a deep breath to calm her racing heart and switched tactics to try and remedy the situation. "Kurt, you are the only family I have left now. I have only ever wanted what was best for you." She told him in a sincere voice, only partially telling the truth.

"And have I not done well for myself, Klara?" Kurt immediately snapped back. "In just a short while I have become Oberscharführer Bathurst, am working with German's most renowned detective, and will only continue to climb in rank from this night onward." He explained, pointing his index finger into the desk as though reiterating his point. "I believe I am perfectly aware of what is best for me and am seeing to it with great success."

"This is not the sort of life mother and father would have wanted for you, Kurt." She said next, desperately trying to find some way to talk sense into her brother.

"And how would you know?"

"Because they would not have wanted to see their only son become a murderer of innocent people! It would have killed them to see you like this!" Klara confessed to him for the first time, finding his unyielding close-mindedness to be wholly disconcerting. "They wanted more for you! For both of us!"

"So what would you have had me do then, Klara?" Kurt asked acidly. "Abandon Germany and move to Paris as you did? Join the Basterds in place of the Nazi regime? Maybe even personally help the Jewish scum escape Europe?" He laughed scornfully and shook his head, watching her with disapproving eyes. "Do not be so naïve, Klara – it does not suit you."

His words made her heart pound against her ribs. She had already suspected that he and Landa had discovered her secret, but hearing Kurt actually speak of her involvement with the Jewish families to her face made her breath catch in her throat for a moment. Where had she gone wrong? Where had she made the mistake and given herself away?

"You know my secret then." She stated slowly, seeing no point in skirting around the issue now. "How?"

For a moment Kurt seemed confused. "Know what exactly?" He questioned with a note of suspicion. When realization seemed to dawn on him and his eyes went wide with disbelief, Klara felt her blood run cold as the mood between them shifted completely - any hold that Kurt had over his temper seemed to vanish in an instant. "Are you saying what I think you are?" He spat at her in a venomous tone, getting to his feet in his sudden anger.

Klara's eyes widened and she actually shrunk back from him in fear. Imbecile! Imbecile! Imbecile! She mentally cursed herself, unable to believe that she had just foolishly given away her own secret, and Klara had never hated herself more then she did in this moment – she might have been able to convince Kurt to show mercy up until that moment; now she may as well have signed her death certificate in her own blood. "Kurt – " She began to reason.

"Tell me the truth, Klara!" Kurt shouted, making her flinch.

She sucked in a shaky breath, watching him warily, then slowly nodded. "Yes." She confirmed meekly. "It is true."

"Say. It." Kurt demanded through clenched teeth, his voice gruff with animosity.

Klara gulped, practically quaking with terror now. "I have been helping Jewish families escape Europe." She admitted in defeat. "For over a year now – ever since I moved to Paris."

A second later Klara's head was jerked to the side as Kurt reached over the desk and slapped her forcefully across the face. Pain erupted in her left cheek but Klara didn't dare to move or even utter a sound of pain – she kept her eyes trained on a bookshelf to her right as she gasped for air, terrified of whatever might come next. Kurt only hesitated for a nanosecond before rounding the desk and locking his hands around her arms in a vice-like grip. She flinched again as he yanked her none-too-gently out of her chair and shook her in his anger.

"You traitorous whore!" He spat at her in absolute disgust. "You help the Basterds, you bed the Bear Jew, you dare to offer wrongful salvation to those parasites – those kikes!" Each accusation was accompanied by a firm shake. Klara would have tried to escape, but Kurt was simply too strong for any hope to break free of him. "How could you do this? How could you taint our family name in such a way?"

"Kurt, please." Klara pleaded, abandoning her pride and resorting to drastic measures. Had she not been pregnant Klara would have gladly fought back, but since that was not that case she tried a different approach – she had to try and find a way to make it out of this alive. "Show mercy! I am your sister!"

Kurt threw her roughly back into the chair, causing both it and Klara to almost go toppling to the floor. "You are no sister of mine." He growled.

For a long moment they stared one another down in complete silence; Klara with her cheek stinging painfully and heart pounding fearfully, Kurt heaving angrily for breath and looking very much like he wanted to hit her again. Before either could say or do anything more, however, the silence of the room was broken up by the shrill ringing of the telephone – Kurt glared at her for one second before marching over to the phone and yanking the receiver from its holster with more force then was necessary.

"Yes?" He asked in a clipped tone. "Yes…no…yes." Kurt let out a long, aggravated heave. "I will explain in a moment."

He hung up the receiver after that then stomped back towards her. Once he was close enough he grabbed her by the arm, hauled her out of the chair again, then began half-leading, half-dragging her towards the door. Klara didn't dare put up a struggle, but she did at least think it wise to try and talk him down again. "Kurt, I beg of you – "

Kurt pulled them to a screeching halt just before they reached the door and glared down at her, his nose only mere inches from hers. "No amount of begging will change what you have done, Klara, nor erase the truth from my memory."

Klara's eyes filled with unshed tears – this was it, this was the end. She had failed Donny and she had failed their child in such an unbelievably catastrophic way. "What will you do to me?" She asked in a soft, shaky voice, not even certain that she wanted to know his answer.

Her brother glared at her as he seemed to contemplate this. "I have not decided yet." He finally answered before beginning to drag her along again.

Once they were in the street, Klara recognized the block that they were on – the restaurant and bar that Kurt was leading her towards was one that she and Shoshanna had liked to go to here or there when grabbing late-night drinks; it was a good handful of miles away from Shoshanna's theater. There were two Nazis standing guard at the entrance and they straightened up as she and Kurt neared, seemingly unaffected by the tears on Klara's cheeks and the obvious fact that she was in a very poor position right then. They held the door open for them so she and Kurt could pass through with ease – as soon as they were inside the restaurant, they were greeted by Landa.

"Ah, Kurt! Klara! Welcome!" He said with a wide smile, his eyes glancing back and forth between the two siblings.

Klara realized quickly that there were three other people in the restaurant – there was a Nazi soldier sitting at a two-way radio (who only spared her a brief glance before continuing to pack up his things) and two familiar men loitering by the bar – two familiar Basterds, that is. Utivich set down the wine he'd been drinking while Aldo immediately got to his feet at the sight of her. Kurt shoved her towards them before continuing on toward his partner, immediately starting up a quick, hushed conversation with Landa once he was close enough.

"Klara?" Aldo asked uncertainly, looking both confused and a little bit apprehensive. "Yer s'posed'ta be gone, if memory serves me correct." He added in a low voice. His eyes were on her left cheek and it must have been obvious she had been hit, because his brows immediately furrowed in disapproval.

"I tried." Klara said weakly, crossing her arms over her chest as though that would bring her some sort of protection – Utivich was standing directly behind Aldo and watching her with alarm on his face. "Kurt captured me outside of the theater." Klara spared a glance in the direction of Kurt and Landa. Landa was watching her with an unnerving, unreadable expression on his face. "They know everything."

"Everything?" Aldo asked pointedly, shooting a look towards the region of her stomach.

Klara was caught a little off guard by his response. "Donny told you?"

"Yeah, he told me." Aldo confirmed with a nod. "Did ya tell yer brother 'bout it?" He pried again.

"No, that is the one thing they do not know." Klara told them, unconsciously moving a protective hand to cover her stomach. Utivich seemed to have put the pieces of the puzzle together quickly and stared at her in stunned disbelief as he realized she was pregnant with Donny's child.

"Probly fer the best." Aldo reassured her. "If they ain't plannin'ta kill ya already, they certainly would fer that."

If one was looking for comforting, consoling words, apparently Aldo the Apache was not the man to go to for them – Klara took absolutely no comfort in his words and felt her stomach turn uneasily. "What is happening, Aldo?"

"In a nutshell, the Jew Hunter just struck 'imself a deal with my commandin' officer." He revealed gruffly, turning a scathing look on the man in question. "Him 'n yer brother are gonna be granted American citizenship 'n go down in history as heroes." The words had been said with spite and Klara didn't blame him for it – the knowledge of Kurt and Landa's clean getaway left a sour taste in her mouth.

Klara opened her mouth to say something in response but the words died on her lips as soon as she noticed Landa heading in her direction. Every muscle in her body went rigid and her sudden nervousness was so great that it made her hair stand on end – she thought she saw Aldo take a protective step towards her out of the corner of her eye as Landa drew closer, but couldn't be sure. Landa came to a halt once he was standing in front of her but his flat expression gave no insight to whatever he was thinking or feeling in that moment.

"My, oh my, oh my, dear Klara." He said with a click of his tongue. "I have severely underestimated you." She started to speak but he simply held up a calm hand to silence her. "Do not speak." Landa instructed with an authoritative tone. "I have heard all that I need to." Then the man glanced at his watch before flashing her a bright smile. "Come, we haven't much time before we are to depart and there is still something I wish for you to see."

Klara had no choice but to follow him when he locked a hand around her wrist and pulled her back into the street – judging by the sounds coming from behind her, Kurt was forcing Aldo and Utivich to exit the restaurant as well. Landa's grip was tight to the point of pain but she only allowed herself to briefly wince, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt her. He led her forcefully to the middle of the street then turned her around to face the building they'd just exited; when he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders from behind in order to keep her in place, she quivered in disgust.

"Do you know what time it is?" Landa asked in an almost conversational tone.

Klara gulped past the lump in her throat and shared a quick look with Aldo. He was standing by a large cargo truck with Utivich, Kurt, and the two-way radio operator – the four of them were watching her and Landa with rapt interest. "No." She finally answered him.

"It is nearly eight o'clock – seven fifty-eight, to be precise." He went on to inform her. "Which means the delightful short-film entitled Stolz der Nation will soon be ending and that your lover's plan to blow up the theater should be well underway by now." Klara pressed her lips together in a tight line as a tear went sliding down her cheek – it was the first time she'd actually heard what the Basterds had planned. "Ah, seven fifty-nine now."

Klara understood now exactly what Landa wanted her to see and it was all she could do not to crumble to the ground. This night could not have possibly turned out worse – she had been captured, she had stupidly revealed her own secrets, she and her unborn child were more then likely about to be killed, and now Landa was going to force her to witness Donny's demise. Klara had always known that getting caught would not end well, but never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined a crueler fate than this.

After what felt like a life-time, Landa finally said, "Eight o'clock, my dear."

And in the next moment, as though Landa had known exactly when the Basterds plan was going to come to fruition, a resounding BOOM echoed throughout the streets of Paris. The ground below her feet quaked and the street lights around them flickered, but all Klara could seem to focus on was the explosion of fire that had suddenly erupted into the sky. She stared at the enormous flames in stunned disbelief for a long while, knowing exactly what building they were consuming but unwilling to admit it to herself just yet. It was Landa's next words that finally broke her resolve.

"And I believe that was the end of Sergeant Donny Donowitz."

Klara would have fallen to her knees if Landa hadn't still had a hold of her shoulders – Donny was dead.

Suddenly Klara could bring herself to care what might be about to happen to her - a feeling of numbness had settled throughout every inch of her body and she seemed to have lost her ability to speak or even think, save for the echoing truth that the man she loved had just died. She wasn't consciously aware of the fact that she was crying or that Landa, who seemed very pleased with himself, was pulling her back towards the others. Klara finally began to struggle some once she, Aldo, and Utivich were being forced into the back of a cargo truck, wanting desperately to run to the theater in the vain hope that Donny might have survived, but she was easily overpowered by her brother and tossed carelessly to the floor of the truck.

The last thing she saw was Kurt's triumphant smirk before he pulled down the door of the truck and locked them inside. Within minutes, the truck roared to life and then was on its way.


Approximately seven minutes earlier…

As soon as Donny and Omar were in the bathroom upstairs, there was a frenzied rush to get everything prepared. Donny ripped off his jacket at once, knowing good and well that they needed to be quick before one of those Nazi shitheads decided they needed to use the bathroom and found them out, while Omar hurried over to the trashcan – Donny valiantly ignored the blonde-haired woman floating around in his thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on what he and Omar were about to do.

"When I kill that guy, ya got thirty feet to get to that guard – can ya do it?" Donny questioned with a point of his finger, because if Omar couldn't then both of them were going to get their asses shot.

"I have to." Omar told him matter-of-factly.

Feeling satisfied with his comrade's answer, Donny turned to the towel rack, pulled out his pocket knife, then cut out a large chunk of cloth to use as a prop; he heard Omar rummaging through the trash for the champagne glass they'd hidden earlier. Donny made his way towards his comrade once they both had their glove-guns locked and loaded, intent on taking the glass of 'champagne' from him – Omar, however, hesitated to hand it over.

"Klara's pregnant." Omar stated quite obviously.

Donny frowned at once. "I'm aware." He found himself snapping irritably. Whatever had happened between him and Klara was absolutely none of his friend's business – and why in the hell was Omar talking about Klara right now anyway? "Now ain't the time'ta discuss it, either. Gimme the glass."

Omar still held the glass out of reach though. "Take off the bombs." Omar instructed him in a surprisingly stern voice.

Donny had been caught completely off guard by the order. "What?" He asked sharply. "The fuck are ya goin' on about, Omar? We don't have time for this shit."

"Take off the bombs." Omar repeated himself, frowning at him with furrowed eyebrows. "We don't both have'ta die tonight, Donowitz. You're not stayin' and blowin' yourself up. Not now – not on my watch."

Donny wasn't sure if he was more irritated with Omar for being a stubborn-ass and wasting precious time, or if he was more grateful that he was trying to offer him a way out. "I can't, Omar. I gotta job to do." Donny informed him with a shake of his head.

"You also have a woman who loves you and a kid on the way." His comrade argued back. "But me? I got nothin' holdin' me back – I got family, yeah, but no girl and certainly no baby." Was Donny insane, or was Omar actually starting to make a lot of sense? He could not suppress the flame of hope that was beginning to flicker inside of him. "We'll take out those Nazi fucks together, but I'm the one stayin' to see the job through. Now take off the bombs."

Donny hesitated for one more moment, unsure if he should follow Omar's command, then found himself dropping to his knee before he could talk himself out of it and beginning to unstrap his bombs. A strange, optimistic feeling consumed him once his ankles were free of what should have been his death (despite them still being in a highly dangerous situation), and he nodded to Omar gratefully as he went to place the bombs in the trashcan. He then rejoined his friend and patted him on the shoulder.

"I…" He struggled with what to say – things like this weren't his forte. "Thanks." Donny finally said sincerely, now unable to push the image of Klara away no matter how hard he tried. If fate allowed, he just might be seeing her again. "Now let's get this show on the road."

It was too easy to take out the Nazis guarding Hitler's private booth. With the champagne glass now full and the towel concealing his gun, Donny looked convincingly like an innocent waiter as he made his way out of the bathroom and towards the guards. He followed instructions and offered the 'champagne' to the guard furthest away; he blew the bastard's brains out before the guard even knew what was coming for him. Not even two seconds later, Omar came running into view and took out the other one just as Donny ducked down to avoid any gunfire.

For a long moment the two remained perfectly silent and completely still, waiting to see if anyone inside the booth had heard the commotion. Luckily it seemed that the gunfire outside had not been heard over the continuous gunfire taking place in the film, because a good thirty seconds passed by without anyone coming to investigate. Then Donny remembered that there wouldn't be much time before the bombs went off and immediately snatched up the dead guard's gun – Omar saw what he was doing and quickly followed suit.

"Remember – nobody in that booth survives." Donny reminded Omar as he made sure the gun was loaded.

"Don't gotta tell me twice."

Donny had just gotten to his feet again when the gunfire in the movie came to a halt for the first time. "On the count of three?" He suggested, tightening his grip on the gun and suddenly feeling adrenaline pumping through his body. "One…two – "

"What the hell is that?" Omar suddenly asked, frowning at the door before pressing his ear to it – what the hell was he doing now? "Listen."

Donny strained his ears to try and figure out what could have caught his friend's attention at such a crucial moment, then frowned as he listened to the unexpected, female voice – was that Shoshanna?

" – that you are all going to die!" The words were met with shouted, German protests that Donny immediately assumed had come from Hitler himself. He and Omar shared a look and stepped away from the door. "And I want you to look deep into the face of the Jew who's going to do it!"

"This is it." Donny said through heavy pants for air, knowing that Shoshanna's own plan was well underway and that they were on the verge of finally meeting Hitler face to face.

"Marcel." Shoshanna's voice echoed out to them. "Burn it down."

"Holy shit." Omar said with a quick laugh – he had a wild look in his eyes right then. "Is this woman serious?"

They received their answer a few seconds later – as eerie laughter began to fill the theater, accompanied by frightened screams, an orange glow could suddenly be seen through the cracks of the door just before the distinct sound of an explosion sounded from the other side. Donny and Omar looked at one another with impressed expressions, shared a nod of understanding, and then kicked the doors in as they silently agreed that their time had come.

And the moment that they did, it was like Hanukkah had come early.

As soon as the doors were open Donny caught sight of Hitler and Goebbels, who both looked equally stunned by the turn of events. He and Omar wasted absolutely no time at all to begin firing at will, immediately popping both of the helpless shitheads full of lead until they had fallen dead to the ground. Donny thought he heard a scream from his left but was too consumed with triumphant elation to acknowledge it – as Omar's gun sounded again, he knew the man had taken care of whoever else remained in the booth.

"My name is Shoshanna Dreyfus." Though the screen had been blasted apart, the audio still could be heard over the screams and hysteria below. "And this is the face of Jewish vengeance."

The flames of the fire were growing and it was unbearably hot in the theater, but all Donny could feel right then was a strong sense of accomplishment.

Hitler was dead. The war was over, they had won, and now the atrocities being done upon his people would come to a stop; this notion brought him such elation that he walked up to the edge of the balcony without really thinking about it and began firing into the crowd below – he hoped at least one of the bastards he killed now understood that the world always worked in circles and that the time had come for them to reap what they had sown. Donny also hoped with all of his might that Kurt Bathurst and Hans Landa were somewhere amongst the frantic crowd of people and that they died agonizing, excruciatingly painful deaths – he was finally jerked back to reality when Omar shoved him in the direction of the door.

"Go!" He yelled over the commotion. There was blood all over him, but he didn't seem to care or even notice. "Not much time left! Get outta here Donowitz!" Then he turned back and continued firing into the crowd.

Donny immediately dropped his gun and took a moment to slap Omar on the back. "It's been an honor, Omar." He hollered, sticking a hand out. "You're one'a the bravest sons'a bitches I know!"

Omar smirked gratefully, shook Donny's hand, then jerked his head towards the door. "Take care'a that kid, Donowitz!" He instructed, releasing Donny's hand. "Now get outta here before ya start cryin', ya woman!"

With his friend's last good-natured insult lingering in the air, Donny let out a short laugh then turned on his heal and went tearing out of the booth.

He had never run so fast in his entire life. Donny could still hear Omar's gunshots and the sounds of both frightened people and the roaring fire consuming Shoshanna's theater, but they faded off some as he raced down the hall, cleared the short flight of steps, and ran past the bathroom where he had stowed his bombs. He knew that he couldn't have very much longer – probably less then a minute – and he took the winding steps down to the lobby two at a time, stumbling here or there in his haste. Klara's face was all he could see as he sprinted for the front door and it encouraged him to push himself even harder, the knowledge that they would soon be reunited giving him his second wind.

He'd managed to make it this far, it'd be a crying shame to die now.

Donny felt relief like he never had before once he burst through the doors and ran out into the streets of Paris – he'd made it out alive. But he still didn't stop running, because he knew that when the place did blow he would need to be as far away as possible or risk getting rained down on by debris. He knew there were other Basterds nearby, the ones that had taken his and Omar's original duties, and was just starting to make for their hidden position when –

BOOM.

The force of the blast knocked Donny off of his feet even though he had managed to put some twenty yards between him and the theater. The heat of the blast washed over Donny as he flew forward and he braced himself for impact, letting out a short sound of pain when he landed hard on the pavement.

Immediately pain erupted in his arm, ribs, and on the right side of his face. Donny cringed in pain, gritting his teeth as he rolled onto his back and trying diligently to ignore the metallic taste of blood invading his taste buds. Debris began to hit the ground around him, but though he knew he should get out of the way he couldn't find the energy to do so. He felt drained, weak, and knew he was on the verge of passing out.

"Donowitz? Shit, Donowitz!"

The voice was a familiar one that he was pretty sure belonged to Hirschberg. It was also the last thing that Donny heard as his head dropped onto the pavement and the world around him faded into darkness.


What will be the fate of Donny and Klara? Find out in the next chapter!

Review my loverlies!