A/N: Hello lovely people! This chapter is a little time jump from the last one which took place in late November. It's about 3-4 month.

Late February

Olivia and Fitz smirked at the grimacing face of the white-haired old man standing before the sprawling country house.

"He looks cheery," Olivia joked.

Fitz smirked. "Oh he's a day at the beach."

He cut the Jeep's ignition and got out of the car, waving politely at the old man as he walked around to help Olivia out of the car. She was 32 weeks along and just about everything had become an impossible chore for her. She smiled as he wrapped his arms around her much-expanded waist and eased her off the high seat.

"Careful. Don't crush Aloysius," she admonished as she tried to move the hand holding the sleeping cat from between their bodies.

Fitz smirked. "I couldn't crush that little butterball if I tried."

Olivia laughed. "Don't call him that. He's lost weight. He's almost back to his normal size."

Fitz looked down at the plump cat and smirked again. Since cutting out his sweets, the cat was definitely smaller but he was still quite fat for his size. "He's still a little fat bastard. He stole one of my shoestrings and only God knows where it is."

Olivia smiled as she rubbed Aloysius's head. "He knows it's yours and he's keeping it safe. Aren't you precious?"

"Oh whatever," Fitz replied, taking her free hand so they could walk to the house. "Hey Marty. This is my wife Olivia. Liv, this is Martin Crane."

"H'lo," the old man greeted when they reached him. "Come on."

He turned and hobbled up the cobblestone walkway to the house, not looking to see if they would follow. He opened the front door and stepped inside then stepped aside so they could look around the sun-drenched living room.

"Oh," Olivia breathed, looking at the wall of floor-to-ceiling wall of windows facing east. "This place is gorgeous."

"Mmhmm," the old man replied. "I'd never leave it if the neighborhood wasn't going to hell."

Fitz frowned. "What's wrong with the neighborhood?"

The old man grimaced. "When I moved here after the first war—the Great War, that is—I was looking for silence. Complete seclusion, that is. And I had it for a long time, near 'bout 30 years. Then one family moved in. Then another. Now the place is running over with children making the devil's racket all day."

"So you want to be alone in the woods?" Olivia asked.

"Mhm," the man replied, turning and heading for the stairs. He pointed with his wooden cane. "There's four bedrooms, and three bathrooms up there, and an attic. Down here you've got this room, the kitchen, the sunroom, and another bathroom. Look around wherever. I'm going to the back porch. Holler if you need something."

He hobbled away toward the kitchen and a moment later they heard a screen door slapping shut. Olivia smirked. "Well he's a ray of sunshine."

"Didn't I tell you?" Fitz laughed. "Well let's have a look around, lady bird."

They climbed the stairs, Fitz's hand planted firmly on her lower back. Olivia looked around the top floor. "We need carpet. We can't have babies running on these hardwood floors."

Fitz smirked. "Or we could make not running in the house a rule like it was when I was growing up."

Olivia looked back at him over her shoulder as she waddled toward the closest bedroom. "And how many times did you fall down while breaking that rule?"

"Good point," Fitz replied as he followed her into the room. It was carpeted and contained nothing except a desk laden with papers. Fitz looked at the yellow walls. "This is a nice color for a baby's room."

"But if we take the room at the end of the hall, the baby would be too far away." Olivia frowned, wrinkling her nose. "And we'll have to air this place out. It smells like cigars."

They went through all the bedrooms, Fitz smiling as he listened to Olivia's plans to change the house. She wanted to repaint all the rooms a sunny but soft shade of yellow, and all the bathrooms mint green with yellow accents. She wanted light brown carpet, and white eyelet curtains. She wanted to plant lemon and orange trees in the backyard, and tulips in the front. She wanted a white picket fence, and a swing set, and to repaint the front door red. Fitz had vague memories of his father listening to his mother talk about remodeling their old house, chorusing "mmhmm" and "alright" as she rattled off a million plans. They made their way downstairs and Olivia waddled through the living room to the sun room.

"This room is mine," she declared. "I've got space for my cello and my easel. We could fit a piano in here too, at least a little one."

For Christmas, Fitz had gotten her a mahogany easel with an attached palette that she had set up in the middle of the living room, taking away the coffee table's space, and Fitz was excited for a space for it as he had nearly snapped his shin bone bumping into the easel when he came home at night. Plus her parents had sent her cello from Georgia, and a rocking chair, so their living room was overcrowded to say the least.

She pointed at the clearing outside the glass wall. "And if you put the swing set right there, I can watch the kids play."

She smiled when Fitz wrapped his arms around her, tucking his chin into the curve of her neck and shoulder. He held her belly in his hands. "I think we've got a home, Livvie."

"I think you're right."

XXXXX

Early March

Olivia grimaced, huffing as she waddled around the house trying desperately to break her water. She wished Fitz was there, but he had been called away to Germany. The Allies were making one last push to get Hitler to surrender, focusing all their efforts on German forces. Fitz and the best sharp shooters of his platoon had flown to Germany. They had been gone two weeks and she had only received one letter, so she guessed that the fighting was intense. She remembered his brief letters from the first time they were separated, when the war was the worst in France. She walked as fast as she could, pacing back and forth in the sunken living room to no avail. She was officially 38 weeks pregnant if her count was correct. Henry Fitzgerald Grant was apparently taking his time coming into the world. She plopped on the couch and picked up Fitz's letter to reread it for what felt like the hundredth time.

Dear Livvie,

This place is hell. It's worse than I remember. It's raining every other day and there's dead bodies in the streets. This whole country smells like death. I miss you so much. I can't sleep. Bombs go off at all times of night. The sirens are constant. I don't think Germany will ever be a real place for people to live after this. You can almost hear the screams of those Jews they burnt like firewood. They used parts of them for souvenirs, Livvie. Their skin, and bones, and teeth so I hear. Who the hell does that? God has turned his back on this place and us with it. I can't wait to leave.

Have you had the baby yet? I hope not. If you have, please tell me everything. Send me a picture if you can. I miss you so much.

Love,

Fitz

Olivia frowned deeply as she read the letter. She remembered the horror of Germany when she'd served there, the smell of dying and burning flesh hanging over everything like fog. She remembered the day she'd begged for a transfer. She had been walking home from the hospital when she stumbled over something. It was a child's shoe. She guessed it belonged to a little girl because of the pearl button on the strap. She looked around for the other and found it not too far away, in the doorway of an abandoned tenement building. She had bent to pick it up, wondering how a child lost both shoes on the street, but quickly recoiled upon finding it caked with blood. Her stomach roiled and she vomited on the doorstep then stumbled home, sobbing so loudly she couldn't hear anything else. The next day she barged into the administrative office of the infirmary and begged to be sent somewhere—anywhere—else.

She put the letter down then got up to walk around the living room again, clenching tightly and pushing in hopes that Henry would get the message. She thought she had succeeded until a knock at the door interrupted her. She waddled across the living room and opened it, expecting their closest neighbor Harrison or his wife Penny. They had been her closest companions since Fitz had left, checking on her throughout the day to see if she'd gone into labor. Penny had made her spicy chili as the older women had suggested something spicy might jumpstart her labor, and they took evening walks around the backyard to break her water, but so far nothing had happened. Olivia wondered if the doctor had misdated her pregnancy, or if Henry was being stubborn so his father wouldn't miss him. She could certainly see her and Fitz's offspring being that stubborn. She frowned at Colonel Beene standing on the other side.

"Mrs. Grant." He gave a brief salute. "May I come in?"

"Yes," she replied evenly, wondering what he wanted. She still loathed him from the day when he treated her like a nuisance for wanting to see Fitz, and judging by his frown, he hadn't warmed to her any. She stepped back and he stepped inside.

"Perhaps you should take a seat." Cyrus wasn't sure how far along the woman was, but he didn't want her passing out on him. He wasn't entirely sure he could lift her if she hit the floor.

"I'll stand, thank you. What's the matter?" He watched as her eyes widened in terror. "Has something happened to my husband?"

"Yes ma'am." He wasn't sure how to tell her what had happened to Fitz, instead thrusting his dog tags out at her. "These were found in a mass grave outside Berlin."

"Is Fitz dead?" Olivia wasn't sure if she was shouting or whispering or if she had spoken aloud. She couldn't form a complete thought. She couldn't see anything except Fitz's dog tags, the pair he never took off, the pair that matched the ones around hers.

"We don't believe so. None of the bodies in the grave match his description." He tried to sound calm, or at least like he knew what he was talking about.

"Then how did you get these?" She snatched the dog tags more viciously than she'd meant to and thrust them into his face. Olivia had the distinct feeling that she was being lied to. Fitz was dead and in pieces and he just didn't want to upset her by telling her there was no body to bury because they didn't have enough pieces to make a whole corpse.

"He was taught to leave behind his tags where they would be found in case he was…captured, ma'am."

"Those Nazis took him prisoner?" She was definitely sure she was shouting then, her own voice ringing in her ears and making Cyrus flinch. "Then he is dead! Don't you know what they do to their prisoners? They burn them up!"

Cyrus frowned, watching her face crumple into tears. He almost reached out to comfort her, but thought better of it. "We don't believe that to be the case, ma'am. Fitz isn't Jewish. The prisoners taken in Japan were starved, and some of them were beaten, but that was the worst of the suffering. The ones who died were…suicides by proxy."

"What?" She stumbled backwards and Cyrus reached out to catch her arms, holding onto her as he carried her to the couch.

"Oh fuck," Cyrus muttered as he watched a dark wet spot spread on her yellow sundress.

Olivia looked down at her dress and grimaced. "Oh fuck."

Cyrus lifted her to her feet. "My Jeep's outside."

"I'd rather you go get my neighbors in the next house over. They'll take me to the hospital," she replied, sinking back onto the couch. It was bad enough that Fitz would miss the birth of his son, locked away in some Nazi camp, but to have Colonel Beene, a man they both despised, witness it would surely kill him. If he wasn't already dead.

"Ma'am, I don't like you. I don't even know you and I don't like you. I don't like your people. I'm a racist, I can admit it. And this war has taught me that I'll have to answer for that hatred because I can't conquer it. I'd rather be anywhere in the world and I'm sure you would too," he pulled her up off the couch again, "but I can't leave you here. We're going to the hospital."

"I don't like you either. You sent my husband away to die, and now you're going to ruin the happiest day of our lives. When we get to the hospital, I want you to leave," she replied, shaking him off and waddling to the door.

Cyrus smirked at her back, thinking that if he could, he'd dump her on the front steps like an abandoned baby. "I had no intention of staying, believe me."

"Oh shut up," she hissed, stopping in the front doorway and gripping the frame as a contraction ripped through her.

His hand on her shoulder, Cyrus led her to the car and drove her to the hospital in Paris. Olivia was relieved. It was her hospital. She would be with her nurses and her doctors. It wasn't the same as having Fitz, but it was a gentle comfort. Cyrus ushered her into the hospital and unceremoniously commandeered a wheelchair from a nurse to put Olivia in so they could board the elevator.

"Who's at the base from my husband's platoon?" she asked, grimacing through a contraction.

Cyrus shook his head. "Almost no one."

"Is Huck there? Uh, Diego something… Diego Munoz! Is he there?" She found Huck's silence comforting. He had dined with them for Christmas and sat quietly, gentle as a lamb, while Olivia played her cello for them.

"No. He went off to Germany too. That man could unbutton your shirt with a bullet if he wanted to," Cyrus replied. He wished Huck was there, or anyone who could relieve him of his current duty. He'd have sent her Roosevelt himself if she asked at the moment. He had never been so desperate for escape, not even when he was captured in Italy at the very beginning of the war.

"What about Teddy? Theodore Banks. Is he there?"

Cyrus almost whooped. "Yes! He can't hold a damn gun level so they left him behind! I'll dump you with the doctors and go get him for you!"

Olivia smirked, grunting through a contraction. "You're a true gentleman, you pasty fuck."

Cyrus squeezed her shoulders, smirking. "You're a barrel of fun too."

The elevator dinged and Cyrus rolled her out toward the desk. A redheaded nurse looked up at him. "She's having a baby."

The nurse looked at Olivia, sweating and groaning gently as she tried to breathe her way through a contraction as she had coached dozens of women to do in the very same ward. "I'd say so."

A few nurses approached and Cyrus looked at all of them. "Take her. I have to go."

"You can't leave her," a round nurse said with a frown on her ruddy face. "She's having a baby. She needs someone to look after her."

"I can't—"

"No you can't," the nurse interrupted with a tone of finality that surprisingly struck Cyrus dumb for a moment. Olivia was impressed.

"I need to make a phone call then," he finally replied.

The nurse pointed a chubby finger at the phone on the desk then wheeled Olivia away. She gave her an almost maternal smile. "It'll all go quickly. You'll see."

An hour later, Olivia dreamily registered Teddy's voice as he joined her at her side. Cyrus stood on the other side of the bed, frowning as he wiped sweat from Olivia's forehead. "Hey Liv, it's alright. Well shit, no it ain't cause Fitz isn't here. But I'm here and I'll help. I guess."

"Okay," she replied, taking his thin hand in hers. She could feel the world fading as the morphine worked on her.

XXXXX

Berlin – three days earlier

Fitz shook off the feeling of impending doom as he skulked through a muddy trench. Germany gave him a bad feeling in general, but that day felt different. If he were more of a pessimist, and more superstitious, he would have guessed that it was death creeping upon him, but he tried to keep a hopeful, pragmatic view on things and guessed it was his lack of sleep and home sickness bothering him.

"Stopp!" someone shouted in German behind him and his platoon. They all froze and Fitz frowned, cursing to himself. "Geh auf die Knie!"

Fitz wasn't very good at German but took a good guess at what they were demanding. He held his gun above his head as he slowly turned and knelt before them. His platoon followed suit. The Nazi soldiers approached them slowly, their rifles aimed at them. Fitz was accompanied by three other men. There were at least 5 Nazi soldiers. It was too dark to get a proper count. A tall blonde with ice blue eyes strode to them and aimed at his gun at each of them individually.

"Wer istbereit zu sterben?" he asked. No one replied, looking at him cluelessly. He frowned, realizing they didn't speak any German then beckoned one of his soldiers and hissed something to him in German.

The man, younger than the one who was apparently in charge, scowled at them. "He wants to know who is ready to die?"

Fitz closed his eyes, seeing only Olivia and their baby. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

He repeated the prayer over and over as he and the other men were pulled to their feet and marched out of the trench. The leader threatened them in German and he continued in silence. As they passed a mass grave, headed for a building atop a hill that he guessed was an internment camp, he dropped his dog tags in an open grave full of rotting bodies. He prayed that they were found soon, if for no other reason than for Olivia to have a body to bury so she didn't spend forever waiting for him. He had already figured out that he wouldn't make it home.

In the building, a cold, dank prison that reeked of death and vomit, he and the men had their boots and belts taken from them before the leader shouted something at his men. Fitz wasn't sure what the command was, hoping it wasn't a call for their execution. He got his answer when his men were led away individually and he was thrust into a cell near him. He stumbled over a body and apologized but received no answer. It wasn't until he sat on the floor that he realized the man was dead. He gasped and scurried away from it, bumping into another.

"Sorry," he replied immediately and breathed a sigh of relief when he received an answer.

"It's alright."

Fitz squinted in the semi-darkness at the man, trying to make out his features, though his dark hair obscured the left half of his face. "Do I know you?"

There was something terribly familiar about the man but he couldn't place him. The thin man grinned grimly. "Yeah you do, pretty boy."

"Stephen?" He wondered how it was that he had found a familiar face, and if his reunion with Stephen was God's consolation prize for his impending death.

"How have you been, you bastard?" Stephen grinned, reaching over to clap his shoulder. "And what are you doing here? Last I heard you were in Paris living the high life."

Fitz smirked. "Last I heard you were killing Japs two at a time. How did we end up in this hell hole?"

"We got duped by that rat bastard Uncle Sam. He told us to enlist like good American boys, and to fight the good fight, and look at us. Sitting in a piss-scented cell waiting for dog food for dinner."

"Dog food?" Fitz frowned, thinking perhaps he'd starve to death before the Nazis could put a bullet in him.

"It's some kind of ground meat, maybe horse. It might be pork. I can't say for sure. It's keeping me alive so I'm not too worried." He nodded at the dead body. "That bastard threw the plate back at them and demanded a bullet. They were too happy to oblige."

Fitz looked at the body. It didn't smell too bad so he wasn't sure how long it had been there. He looked back at Stephen. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Is it still February?"

"No. it's March 15th."

"Beware the Ides of March," Stephen quipped and gave a bitter laugh. "I've been here two weeks then. They haven't killed me yet, so I guess it's fine. They kicked my ass yesterday though. If my German was better, I'd tell you why but I can only guess that I was terribly offensive."

"Well you don't look too bad." Stephen didn't look like he'd suffered too much from anything more than a lack of sunlight. He was sallow and thin, but alive and in his right mind. Fitz could only hope for a similar fate.

Stephen laughed then lowered his voice and said, "There's talk that the regiment is collapsing. The Allies are closing in on Hitler. Some of the soldiers think he's already dead because no one's seen him. My German isn't the best, but they haven't been paid in a few weeks. There's something murky around here is all I can say for sure."

"So then we might get out alive?" Fitz whispered.

"That's my nightly prayer." Stephen leaned against the back wall of the cell, an almost insane smirk on his face. "Glory, glory hallelujah/ Glory, glory hallelujah/ Glory, glory hallelujah/ Our god is marching on! Fat chance of that. God's long left this place."

"You've gone crazy," Fitz remarked.

Stephen shrugged. "At least I'm not shell-shocked. Just bitter as hell."

XXXXX

Present day

"Talk," Stephen commanded as he and Fitz sat out in the sun on the hot yard before the jail's front.

"What?" Fitz replied, squinting the sun. He wasn't sure what made the prison so cold and damp when it was so hot and dry outside.

"Talk. If you don't talk about something that makes you want to stay alive, you'll be like him." Stephen pointed at the corpse of a young man lying a few feet away from them. "He just leapt up and took off for the gate. They shot him immediately. I laughed because that's what he wanted. They hit me with a rifle butt but it was worth it."

Fitz snorted. "What should I talk about?"

"Your life. You've been having happier times than me."

Fitz found his first smile. "Liv and I got married on July 27th. She wore the prettiest dress. I wish you'd seen her smiling. I've never seen her so happy, except when she told me she was pregnant. You should see her now. She's so cute, waddling around with that big belly."

"Think you've got a son in there?"

"She says it's a boy. I'm not so sure." Fitz continued to smile then suddenly looked very serious. "I've gotta get back to her and my baby."

Stephen nodded. "You'll get there. I promise."

The blonde man appeared before them and barked an order. Stephen and Fitz only stared at him. He sighed and pointed at the door. They stood and wobbled into the prison.

XXXXX

Paris – present day

Olivia was amazed how much the little girl looked like Fitz, and even more at how she somehow simultaneously resembled her. She could see her nose, and her chin, but there were Fitz's eyes, and his dark hair, and his plum bottom lip. The baby's complexion fell in the middle ground between her parents', and Olivia briefly wondered if she would be brown when she took him home to Georgia. Tears pricked her eyes at the thought that she might be going home to Georgia alone, and perhaps to stay. If Fitz didn't come home, she'd have to go back to Georgia. She supposed she could go to California and live with Celie and Tess, but looking at them every day would just make her think of Fitz even more. And she knew she'd never get over him anyway, but living with his sisters would make it so much worse.

"I'm your mama. Do you know that? I'm your mama. And I love you so much. You're the best thing in the world And I know you heard me call you Henry all those months but you're not a little boy. I promise," she said softly, blinking away her tears. She caressed her little face, and her eyes opened. The baby looked up at her seemingly in wonder. "You look so much like your daddy. I wish he could see you. He will. I promise."

Teddy peered down at the baby from her bedside. "She's so tiny."

"Isn't she?" Olivia kissed his tiny nose. She counted her fingers and toes, smiling when she wrapped her tight fist around her index finger. She looked up at Teddy with a smile. "Do you want to hold her?"

"I've never held a baby before," he replied. Olivia scooted over so he could sit down then placed the baby in his hands.

"Hold her head just like that. See, it's easy." She smiled as Teddy looked down at her.

"She looks just like Fitz…and you."

"She does." Teddy gingerly handed her back and Olivia caressed her cheek. "What are you gonna name her?"

"Julia Celeste Grant," she replied, smiling at her baby girl. "Do you like your name?"

She kissed her nose again, breathing in her sweet baby smell, and the newborn gave a small smile. It didn't last long but it brought tears to her mother's eyes nonetheless. She smiled at her as she wiped them away. "I don't cry all the time. I promise. Mama's just so happy you're here, and so sad your daddy isn't."

Teddy pulled Fitz's camera—Olivia's Christmas present to him to capture their lives—from his pocket. "I went to your house and got this. Do you wanna take pictures for Fitz?"

Olivia finger-combed her wild hair. "I look so bad. Maybe we should wait."

Teddy shook his head, raising the camera. "I don't think you look bad. And I bet Fitz wouldn't either. Smile, Liv."

Olivia smiled, holding Julia up so her face could be seen. Teddy snapped a few pictures of Olivia and Julia then some of Julia by herself in the little plastic bed beside Olivia's. He hoped his friend made it home to see them.

XXXXX

Berlin – two weeks later (April)

It had been a long 14 days. Fitz was sure he'd lost at least 10 pounds, and he was losing track of the number of days as he lost track of the hours. He had seen 8 men die, fi5ve of whom had begged to be killed. The food had dried up, even for the soldiers. He saw them splitting hard rolls and nothing else. He wondered what that meant for their resources, guessing things were bottoming out. He sat up on his thin mattress, made of what he guessed was hay, wondering what Olivia was doing. He wondered if she'd finally given birth, if they'd had a little boy or girl. He wondered if she was still hoping that he was alive. He prayed every night that she could somehow hear his thoughts of her, promising that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Stop thinking and talk," Stephen prompted.

Fitz jumped. He had assumed he was asleep as he lay facing the wall. "We've got a cat. My uncle died and left him to us. His name is Aloysius and he's a bastard. He pees on my shoes. I don't know why. Liv says it's because he wants other cats to know that I have a cat but I think he's just being spiteful. He loves her, and I get the distinct feeling that he doesn't approve of our relationship. Maybe he pees on my stuff so I'll leave and he can have Olivia all to himself. He's the fattest little bastard. Liv feeds him everything. Some days he eats better than I do. I'm willing to bet he's eating better than me now."

"I've never been a cat person. My aunt had one when I was growing up that used to scratch me if I got near it," Stephen replied.

"I've never really liked cats either. Al is okay, I guess. I wanted to get a dog but now we've got that spoiled bastard of a cat so I don't think we can. He's probably gonna hate the baby for getting between him and Liv."

"I've never really liked babies either. All they do is stare at you. And they're heads just wobble around. It's creepy."

Fitz laughed. "Babies stare at you because they're trying to learn about you and everything else."

Stephen finally rolled over. "Do you think your baby is black? I mean, of course it is, since Liv is black. But do you think it looks black?"

Fitz thought for a moment, having never really considered it. "I don't know. I just figured it looks like me and Liv. I've got no idea what color it'll be. I'm guessing something like coffee after you put a lot of milk in it. Liv isn't dark, and I'm whiter than flour, so I honestly don't know. I wonder if it's gonna have my eyes. All us Grants have blue eyes, but Liv and her mother have the same brown eyes."

The soldiers entered, talking rapidly to each other. Stephen sat up and dropped his head. Fitz knew he was listening to them. Stephen had developed the habit so the soldiers didn't notice him paying attention. They passed the cell and Stephen looked up at him.

"Something's going on. They're talking about American soldiers being nearby."

Fitz's heart jumped. "Do you suppose they'll kill us before the soldiers get here?"

"They'll probably barter for their own lives with ours."

Fitz could only hope it was true. The soldiers reappeared, their rifles in hands, still talking. Fitz could see concern etched on their faces. He wondered how close the soldiers were.

"There's at least two dozen soldiers. They're outnumbered."

Fitz could hear the soldiers loading their guns and putting on their helmets. He watched the leader bark orders, pointing in different directions. The men nodded and went off to their assignments.

XXXXX

Paris

"Stars shining bright above you/ Night breezes seem to whisper I love you/ Birds singing in a sycamore tree/ Dream a little dream of me," Olivia sang softly as she looked down at her baby girl. She sat on the back porch, in the rocking chair graciously left behind by Martin Crane, the old man who owned the house. He had frowned in his cantankerous way, something Olivia and Fitz discovered was seemingly inherent as he never smiled, and told her to keep the chair for the baby.

Julia suckled on her mother's breast, clad in only a white cotton diaper. April had brought unexpected heat and Olivia was dangerously close to stripping down to her own underwear. The neighbors shouldn't have been close enough to see but she had discovered everyone was friendly. They stopped by in pairs or clusters, sometimes only the women and sometimes families and sometimes only children, to check in on her. She had only told them that Fitz had been called away to Germany, not that he might not be coming back. She didn't want them pitying her. And she didn't want to address the possibility that he might not be coming back, not aloud, not yet.

The neighbors always brought food, or flowers, or came by to do some chore. Penny always came over to help with the laundry, helping Olivia hang the diapers when they came out of the washing machine. Olivia had been surprised the old man had one as he had no other appliances except a stove and a radio. He had sold it to them cheap, saying he'd beat his clothes on rocks in a creek out in the country where no one would see him if he chose to do it naked. The woman who lived across the dirt road, Marguerite, came over to do dishes with Olivia, bringing her babbling little boy Armand with her. The little boy was immensely fond of the baby, sitting by her cradle and rocking it gently for hours while he rolled his toy train back and forth. Some of the older neighborhood children did chores for nickels, taking out the trash and weeding the garden. The older girls helped her finish unpacking, hanging the clothes and curtains, holding the baby while she sorted through the mail. Olivia often wondered why something as miniscule as a country made white people so different. At home in Georgia, white men on her doorstep would have sent her running out the back, but in France it only meant that someone was bringing her freshly scaled and gutted fish from the local river, or had a box of baby things sent by their wife, or had gotten her mail so she didn't have to make the trip.

Olivia smiled at her baby girl. She had darkened slightly, to about the color of buttermilk, and her eyes had developed brown specks a week prior that eventually turned them a light shade of hazel. She only had a wisp of hair, a curl that dangled on her forehead like Fitz's, and Olivia could see that she had his ears. Julia's eyes drooped and Olivia smiled. "Is it about time for a nap, sweet pea?"

She glanced at Aloysius, who was dozing on the windowsill. "Seems so."

She stood and looked down at her stomach. There was a small layer of fat but she was surprised by how much of her belly had been Julia. Her breasts hadn't gone down in size but she guessed it was the milk. She smirked at Aloysius, who had lost a bit of weight running around chasing robins, only to retreat when they turned on him. "Come on, Al. Let's go have a little afternoon nap."

Aloysius roused and followed her into the house, nudging the screen door shut.

They went upstairs and got into bed, a bed she and Fitz had yet to share in their new house, and she lay on her back with Julia on her chest, her breathing choppy as she whimpered. Aloysius curled into the curve of her waist, purring softly. Olivia rubbed her baby's back, almost wanting to cry herself. Something about the sound of her baby crying tugged at her heartstrings like nothing else, and the feeling of being in bed without Fitz made her chest feel heavy.

"Say nighty-night and kiss me/ Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me/ While I'm alone and blue as can be/ Dream a little dream of me," she sang. She hoped somewhere, wherever he was, that Fitz hadn't forgotten. She prayed that the hell he was living in didn't steal his hope for them. They still had plans to do everything in the world.

XXXXX

Berlin – one day later

Fitz didn't have to speak German to know that the Nazis were spinning. They had donned their war gear and given them back their boots, suggesting they were either going to kill them via firing squad, or trade them like cattle. Fitz wasn't sure which he was hoping for more. He wanted to get home to his family more than anything, but he was tired of all the fighting. It was April 4th. His enlistment had been up for 3 days. He didn't care how he got out of the situation. He just wanted out.

"The Allies are playing guerilla," Stephen whispered as they were thrust in a large cell with the other prisoners. Fitz counted 7, meaning that 5 more men had died since he'd last taken count. Fitz himself had been beaten for calling a soldier an asshole, but other than that he and Stephen had been left alone. "They don't know where they are. They're panicking."

"They've only got those guns, and a few hand grenades, and they've been out of food for a week. I'd be panicking too," Fitz replied.

"One of them shot himself this morning," a gaunt blonde man whispered. Fitz looked at him. His head seemed abnormally large on his bony neck. Fitz could count his ribs, and his skin was nearly translucent, making his green eyes bulge and glow.

"How long have you been here?" Fitz asked.

"I don't know. What day is it?" he asked in reply.

"April 4th," Stephen answered.

"I've been here since winter. Maybe January. I don't remember anymore. I hurt one of them when I got here—snapped his arm—and they threw me in the cellar. If it wasn't for drinking rain, I'd have died."

Fitz produced the half roll he'd been given for breakfast. "Eat this."

The man ate it slowly, chewing like he was afraid to swallow. Fitz guessed he'd been hungry too long to eat properly. He looked at the other men. They all seems catatonic, gawking at the light shaft coming in through a small window up too high to see out of.

Fitz heard a boom and a shout, but he couldn't decide if it had come from inside the prison or outside. He heard gunfire and more shouting but they seemed too far away for him to make sense of anything being said. He watched as the gaunt man fell to his knees. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by Thy name. Thy kingdom come. They will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen."

Fitz dropped to his knees beside the man and the other soldiers followed suit. The man began repeated the prayer until the others joined in. Fitz had never prayed so hard in his life as the noise increased. An unmistakable explosion silenced them. Fitz knew it was grenades. He wondered what was going on, who was winning. There was another explosion, this one extremely close but Fitz couldn't tell from where. He wondered if they were being bombed aerially. He didn't have time to look up as another grenade went off. He could still hear the shouting as they all pushed to the back of the cell to avoid the rubble of the opposite wall collapsing. He knelt and began praying again.

A/N: Sorry for the little bit of the cliff-hanger! All I can say about the possible outcome is that Fitz will live. But there's a month between the present time and Hitler's surrender so things might get worse before they get better. Don't forget to review! XOXOXO