A/N: Hiya, guys! Lots and lots of updates today, since I haven't had the internet for many days and I'm currently uploading these at school. But it should keep you amused until I can upload next. So, the fun, historical fact in today's chapter (I feel like someone on Playschool ahahah) is that, when the real Doc Roe came home from the war, he brought back a German Luger as a souvenir. It had a swastika on it. His mother took one look at it before telling him, "We're not having any of that in the house", and threw it in the bayou. I'm once again twisting some fiction into fact and saying that Luger was the one that killed Eberhardt.

No offense intended, to anyone, not to the veterans of either side or their families.

By the way, I've signed up for the Australian Air force Cadets before I can join the Army Reserves. A little nervous, but most of all excited. I also got all my 101st memorabilia I ordered, including an authentic Screaming Eagle patch from one of the men's uniforms, photographs signed by the veterans, and so on. Currahee, baby! :D

Enjoy, and review if you like! You guys never cease to amaze me. 3

xx

Emilie stared in shock at the man lying dead before her, then slowly looked down at the gun she was still holding in her hands. She let it drop to the ground, not thinking that probably wasn't a wise thing to do with a loaded gun. Some of Eberhardt's blood was plastered on her knuckles from where she had punched him. The familiar metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils, warm and fresh, and made her nauseous.

She never wanted this. Well, to be truthful, she would be lying if she said she had never dreamed of this moment, but she never thought she would actually act on it. She thought she would be glad to finally be free of him, but now she realised it was simply more blood on her hands. She had had to make a quick decision, one that meant the difference between life and death, and now she couldn't help wondering if she had made the right one. Surely there could have been another way. She hated him with a fiery passion, for sure, but death was so… Permanent, so haunting.

Desperately, she attempted to wipe the blood off of her knuckles on the grass shimmering with dew, but it only smeared the dark crimson further, imbedded it deeper into her pale, freckled skin. She began muttering to herself in Deutsch, the words constricted by tears she refused to shed, becoming more and more high-pitched as she choked on them, still trying to wipe her hands.

She heard the grass flatten under Eugene's boots as he walked over and crouched down beside Emilie, enveloping her smaller, bloody hands in his to keep them still; they were now scratched up and even more bloody as the small rocks in the ground had torn at her skin. Usually, she would have ripped herself free of him, telling herself she couldn't let herself be seen in that state, that she needed to appear strong and resilient and like it didn't weigh on her soul. But she was so tired, so exhausted with her act. She needed someone that she didn't have to lie to and hide her true self from constantly.

And right now, Gene was the best option she had.

Emilie leaned in to his touch, tucking her head under his chin. She continued to stare at Eberhardt's motionless body, not allowing herself to look away even when Gene attempted to turn her head away lightly with his hand. She could feel his heart racing, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly against her own however hard he tried to remain calm. "I'm a medic," she breathed into his jacket, soft voice laced with bitterness and loathing, directed only at herself, "I'm supposed to help people, not be the one doing the shooting." She broke off into German curses.

Letting out a sigh, he wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders while his other hand still gently held her own, his thumb making soothing circles on her wrists. "If you hadn't done what you did," he told her, words partially muffled as his cheek was resting on the top of her head, "Then one or both of us would be dead. I think you were pretty brave, miss Demont."

Though she understood why he called people only ever by their last names (she did the same), the name he had given her stung a little now. She used to find it adorable, enjoying the way he spoke her full name in his accent. But now she couldn't help wondering if he couldn't afford to get attached to her, or if he didn't want to. It shouldn't have mattered to her, anyway. They weren't married. They were in a goddamn war, for Christ's sake.

"All the soldiers are brave," she retorted, "But that doesn't mean that what they do isn't murder. I'm not judging them, Gene, but Eberhardt is the first man I've ever… Shot. And I just hope like Hell he'll be the last." She wasn't even thinking about what she was saying. She let her guard down around Roe, and that could end up being a problem down the track. But right now, she didn't care. She had so much shit piled inside her head that she hadn't even told her confessor, but there was something about Eugene that she felt she could trust. Now, however, wasn't the time to get into that.

"Don't beat yourself up about it," Eugene insisted.

Emilie rolled her eyes, which were wet and red from unshed tears that were piling up. "Don't act like this doesn't bother you."

"I never said it didn't."

There was silent for a few minutes, the only sound their breathing which had almost synchronised and the breeze that rustled the grass. She had a feeling that, if she had wanted to stay there the entire night, Eugene would have stayed with her, even if that caused hassles with his company. But she couldn't do that. So, sucking in a deep breath, she rose to her feet, muscles aching. Eugene let go of her hands and followed her, rearranging his medic bag, and watching her with concerned eyes.

"How the bloody hell am I going to explain this?" she wondered out loud, wiping away tears as she broke away from Gene and crouched down beside Eberhardt. Leaning forward, her hand hovered uncertainly over his sightless eyes before finally drawing down his eyelids. She bit back the words 'go to Hell'. She wasn't that heartless.

The other medic remained silent; clearly, he had no ideas. Or perhaps he simply thought they weren't any good. At that point, she would have gone with anything. Even at that moment, ideas and possible explanations were spinning through her mind that she was struggling to keep clear from thoughts of grief and regret. Finally, she reluctantly decided what to do. It probably wasn't the most sensible plan, but, either way, she would be the prime suspect. Besides, she had nothing left to lose.

She collected the Luger and stood up once again, walking over to Gene. Emilie dangled the gun in front of him by the handle before slipping it into his hands. "Want a souvenir?" she asked bluntly, "Here, have one with a story behind it. I don't need the thing."

He looked down at it uncertainly, and, as she saw something pass over his face, he recognised the distant look and knew he was remembering something traumatic that had happened, most likely involving a Luger; at first, he was unwilling to take it, but it was plain to see that he soon came to realise it was something rare he could take home from the war. It would also be worth a bit in a few years.

Tucking it into his pocket, Eugene raised his eyes to look at her. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay? I don't have to go back just yet if you don't want."

Emilie forced a weary smile, shaking her head. "I'll be just peachy," she promised, rubbing her palms together for warmth, "Now get out'a here. Scat." She locked eyes with him for a moment before looking down, face now deathly serious, voice guarded and hard. "And I'll understand if you never want to see me again. This wasn't exactly a perfect night." Just saying that made her heart squeeze painfully, which confused her greatly still.

Not giving anything away on his face, Eugene walked forward and enveloped her tightly in his arms. It was like her own, private safe haven, a warm place where the horrors of the outside world couldn't reach. Where time ceased to exist. The tears she had fought so hard to keep to herself threatened to reappear and finally fall and her body shook in the effort to keep them hidden. That only made his arms tighten around her and she pressed closer to his body, breathing in his comforting smell.

He could have walked away and abandoned her. Not many liked being in that deep, involved in a murder and such, even if it would have been justified and not really important under the cover of war, whereas in civilian life it was a mortal crime. She wouldn't have blamed him. But he didn't. Maybe he still would; she was so used to not trusting people and constantly expecting them to betray her and do the worst. But he seemed somehow different.

They were now well and truly in this together.