I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LOOOOONG DELAY! I actually had a chapter twice this length, but after careful thought and discussion, I decided that it needed a lot more love before it could get posted. I've been thinking about how to fix it, and I finally just came up with a good idea today, so I am hoping it won't take too long to get it posted. ;-; Sorry guys! Thanks to my buds Turmanarmo, FaithfulWhispers, ahmadaziz, and Joey for help with this. Thank you guys SO MUCH it's insane. Also, I want to thank all of you for your kind and encouraging reviews! This story is so thick compared to stuff like OBUF that it really gets me thinking... and sometimes it also gets me stuck. xD Thank you for your patience and love!

The days passed quite monotonously as Sonja fell into a routine. She would attend to the corpse in the morning and ensure he had taken his medicine before he was served breakfast. The wound was cleaned and and dressed twice per day, morning and evening, and she had taken to investigating other aspects of his care—with Dänzer's approval, of course. To his diet she made some strict amends: more garlic and herbs, and absolutely no sweets. The servant she'd spoken with was the woman who'd prepared the tea—she nodded with a bowed head and folded hands, never raising her eyes to Sonja. An overwhelming urge to comfort the woman had washed over her, but it was hardly worth risking her cover. For all she knew, the handmaid was not modest but portraying a farce much like Sonja's own. Regardless, the changes in diet did not go over well, to say the least. To call Nico stubborn was to make a monstrous understatement. Meals quickly became a daily ordeal.

"You're kidding me, right? I'm not eating that Dreck." He pronounced the word with revulsion after giving the plate of food yet another disgusted sniff, his expression souring into something almost feral. Sonja gave him an encouraging smile, her eyebrows upturned.

"I assure you, Herr—I mean Nico, this will help you heal much more quickly. Garlic has been used to fight infection for centuries." Her voice was gentle and reassuring, even as her mind focused harshly on the form looming behind her. Dänzer shifted and his shadow followed, cutting a swath of gray across the bed sheets. Sonja despised the way he made it a point to stand behind her.

"Heh, I can get better without your nasty smelling trash food." The blonde gave her a smirk and crossed his arms.

Before Sonja could respond, Dänzer spoke. "Eat or have nothing." His cold voice was commanding and final. Nico glared up at him, all the humor falling away from his expression.

"Y'know, what the heck's your problem, old man? I thought you wanted me to get better. All you do is moan like you got something stuck way up your—"

"Herr Nicolaus," Dänzer interrupted him with a cold, seething voice. "It appears you are learning very little." He moved again, and Sonja watched his shadow slide across the bed until he was once again standing in her view. His eyes were on her. Nico snorted—he'd certainly missed the fact that the comment was meant for Sonja, not himself—frowning but not speaking as the tall, imposing man grasped a notebook off the chest at the foot of the bed. He flipped it open and his eye skimmed the page.

Days earlier, Dänzer had demanded strict documentation from Sonja and handed her the leatherbound notebook; in it, she recorded all activities with Herr Nicolaus. His blue eyes had watched curiously as she penned in details—she included everything from wound care to body temperature to food eaten. Now, those same eyes were boring into Dänzer, challenging him as he once again began to speak. "Perhaps I made a mistake offering you shelter." Sonja tensed slightly but otherwise avoided any reaction, listening further. "Your choice will be yours, Herr Nicolaus. Eat properly... or die of your infection after muttering like a lunatic with fever for a week. Certainly you would have done just so back in your gutter." Dänzer bit the words out with a sneering, venomous tone and a cruel smirk. Although Nico's eyes widened a tad, his frown only read defiance. He reared up and pushed his food tray away—a welcome distraction when it was taking Sonja effort to keep her mask carefully in place. Gutter?

"You think you scare me?" Nico spat. Sonja had to catch his plate before it slid off the tray and onto his sheets.

Whatever he'd planned to do was cut short, however. The door creaked open and a tall man that Sonja had not yet seen peeked inside.

"Herr Dänzer. You are needed." He spoke in quipped, short tones. With another shift, Dänzer tossed the notebook back down and moved away, stepping around the bed and exiting the room without so much as another word. Sonja watched with narrowed eyes. The man who'd peeked in was dressed not as a servant but with a different uniform. A bodyguard of some sort? She wished she could follow, but it was far too early to begin testing those boundaries. Even so, she was much more intrigued with those strange comments—this could be the perfect way to pry into how the two had met. She did not get the chance, however.

No sooner had she opened her mouth to speak when the door creaked open again. This time, Sven stepped in, his expression bland. Sonja cursed mentally at the poor timing, although it wasn't exactly unexpected. Dänzer's son had consistently spent each afternoon playing the role of creepy wallflower chaperone, although thankfully he'd kept his eyes dutifully in the pages of books rather than on Sonja for the most part.

"Come," she said, moving the tray closer to the corpse once more. "At least try it." The food must have been cold by now—it had been sitting in front of him for at least two hours. He appraised it again, shot a quick glare at their dark guest, and then stole a small taste of the meal. Sonja wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but the over-dramatic gagging, choking noises he made as he shoved the tray away from himself were not quite it. She sighed, catching the plate a second time so that it wouldn't soil his white blanket, and glanced up to find Sven's strange smirk in place, his eyes fixed on her. This had become Sonja's every day.

The routine continued.

After two days of rejecting all but breakfast, Nico had finally succumbed to his hunger and choked down some garlic toast. Progress was progress, even if his eyes had bored into her venomously throughout the ordeal. It was unfortunate, however, that his contempt for the meal change made it nearly impossible to pry anything out of him. She'd have to wait until he brought it up.

It was after one of these long, slow days that Sonja retired to her room. Many years had passed since she'd given up on slumbering deeply, but the company of Dänzer and his son made even the most restless of sleep a near impossibility. Now that a few nights had passed, however, she was able to shift into light rest for at least some hours of the night.

—

The walls of the hospital rose ghostly around her, fuzzy and soft at the edges. She was bent over a small patient, a little girl with a scraped knee. The blood had coagulated; Sonja wiped it away and stitched up the cold, ragged lips of the wound. The skin around it was a sickly yellow in the wake of a bandage tied too tightly. She expected the skin to slowly take on reddish tones as blood flow returned, but it remained pale, mottled with yellows and grays.

A corpse.

Sonja stood and stepped backward, her breath catching in her throat painfully. She stumbled backwards into the hallway, and her heel bumped into something soft. The halls were piled high with pale, swollen bodies. Flies buzzed around them. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she darted into another patient's room. One with a light on. One in which she could still hear the soft whir of running equipment.

She froze in the doorway. Bodies were strewn all over the floor, covered in dirt and writhing as they starved to death.

Sonja fled.

Room to room, she slipped into the doorways, her panic and terror increasing with each cold, graying body. All dead. All of them.

A hand clapped onto her shoulder, and Sonja was paralyzed, her feet stuck to the floor rigidly.

"Good job. It had to be done." Frau Schwend's voice was a strange thing, missing all of its tough love and containing only the frightening shadows that were usually relegated to the corners of her lips—and only when she gave missions.

"I did this?" Sonja didn't say it. Her lips didn't move. Her voice did not reach her own ears. But Tatiana heard her heart's words.

"Of course." She responded.

"But I can't. These people are innocent—these are my people. I would never." She was still paralyzed, the hospital's ghostly walls shifting closer crushingly.

Tatiana laughed.

"No, my darling." Her voice was so gentle now, smooth like a poisoned needle sliding into a vein. "These people have not killed. You will never be like them."

Sonja sat up in bed, sweating and feeling her heart thud against her rib cage painfully. The wrong heart. It took her a long while to fix her other heart back into place—the porcelain heart that belonged here on this mission—and then lull herself back into a state of rest—not sleep. She listened to the sounds of the Dänzer Estate slowly coming to life. When the sun had finally risen, she rose to begin her daily routine.

—

The corpse was haphazardly splayed across his bed when she entered, full of life she never thought she'd want to see in him. She shifted that porcelain heart back into place forcefully once again. This mission, she thought vaguely, was going on far too long. At the sound of the door clicking shut, he stirred, though he was still only vaguely conscious. She turned from the door to face him again—only to find him scratching in a most unseemly way.

"Honestly," she spat, her tone disgusted. "Please make yourself decent immediately." His response was to blink at her blearily, glance at what his hand was doing as though it were disconnected from him entirely, and then give a tired chuckle.

"You probly do it too." His voice croaked, filled with drowsiness; his smile became even more sloppy.

"How dare you?" She seethed through clenched teeth. To hell with this. Dänzer was gone, the rat wasn't here—Sonja stormed forward and cuffed his ear.

"Yow!" He awakened instantly and scrabbled to sit up. With a hiss, he dropped one hand to hover over his wounded leg, the other still clutched to his ear. "Hey, c'mon!"

"You will behave like a proper gentleman so long as I am here, do you understand me?" His face unscrunched, allowing him to gaze up at her in owlish shock. "Well?" She demanded an answer.

"Ahh... yeah. Okay." He said finally, still quite dumbfounded. When she angrily pointed a finger at his chest, his eyes grew even wider.

"Do not fill up silence with slovenly sounds like ah. Do not say yeah, say yes. And most of all, do not say okay." She poked him in the chest with each command, her voice rising all the while.

"O—yes. I got it. Ach du liebe zeit..." He muttered the last part under his breath, rubbing the back of his head.

"And straighten your hair." She added, shaking her head and stepping toward the chest at the foot of his bed where her medical bag lay.

"You're real different when the old man's gone, huh?" He asked. Sonja slowed to a pause with her hand reached inside the bag. Had she really let her guard down that much? The answer was an obvious yes. She was making the mistake of seeing her corpse as a patient now that her goal was to heal him—or rather now that was her goal was tentatively to heal him until her letter received a response. She grasped her scissors from the bag, then turned to face him once again.

"I have simply come to understand you better, Nico." She smiled, raising her scissors to prominent view. "And I expect you to act like more than just a large child."

"Hey," he protested only halfheartedly, his eyes trained onto the scissors with suspicion.

"Do not address people with hey; that is incredibly rude." She stated. He blinked with surprise, silenced.

"But I used to say it to Gramps all the time. He never thought I was rude." Sonja very nearly threw back a useless comeback without thinking—why did he have to be so defiant—but she composed herself once again with a frown.

"And exactly how old were you when he died?" She blurted. It sounded as though it had burst forth from her mouth, a thoughtless retort—which was a perfectly intentional farce—but in truth she was making a calculated attempt to pry. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I dunno, it was a long time ago." He mumbled.

"Say 'do not know'—and you must have some idea." She pressed, snipping at his bandages yet again.

"I don't know." He bit out the words, his voice taking on a hard edge, and she paused to look up at him. "Don't you have better stuff to do than bug me all the time?" He crossed his arms and glared out the window.

For just a moment, Sonja feared her letter had been a grave error. She had blatantly endorsed the idea that this corpse was an innocent and deserved further investigation. Was he concealing his past to hide something corrupted and vile? But no—his expression had been too emotional, too visceral to indicate secrecy and conspiracy. No, he was hurt, not hiding. Relief washed over her. Unfortunately, she'd hit yet another wall with her prying. She would have to be patient once again, regardless of how much she may not want to be. It wouldn't do to lose all of his trust, now would it?

"I apologize," she said, finally unwrapping his wound and beginning to clean it once more. It was beginning to scab over nicely. "I did not intend—"

"It's fine, don't worry about it." He interrupted with a somber tone, though he looked far more uncomfortable than angry.

In the end, it seemed as though it truly were fine. By the time she'd finished cleaning his wound, he was as amicably talkative as any other time, although he carefully skirted the sensitive topic. Sonja didn't mind too terribly; she was patient.

—

That night, Sonja did not make the mistake of sleeping too deeply. She laid between sleep and waking until she heard the manor bustling to life hours before sunrise. Blinking slowly, she listened as the muffled, distant clatter of dishes occasionally drifted up from the kitchens. When the gravelly tones of Dänzer's voice joined them, she rose.

"...while away. I expect nothing less." He was saying as she sank to a crouch on the stairs in silence. His voice was already alert despite the sleepy hour.

"Jawohl." Came the rigid response, though the voice was far more quiet and difficult to hear. Sven. "When shall you return?"

"Concern yourself with more important things, like your studies." He groused in response. "My business in Darmstadt is my own."

Darmstadt. Sonja ducked back up the stairs to her room undetected. That was half a day's travel from here alone—his absence could last far into the next day.

The engine of his automobile cranked loudly to life as she lie in bed, and as the auto faded into the distance, she finally allowed herself to drift into a light sleep.

—

The routine would break today. She cleaned his wound a bit more quickly that morning and forwent measuring his swelling. Instead, she focused on how she'd depart from her duties in order to make use of Dänzer's absence. She had noted that silences were rarely tolerated by the corpse; it gave her a solid understanding of what she'd already noticed: he was bored beyond description. That was exactly why she took advantage of a pause in his neverending commentary. As she quietly rebandaged his leg, she addressed him.

"Would you like to read something? I can surely get you a book if you would prefer." His lack of answer gave her pause, so she glanced up from her work. His eyes quickly shifted from her to the window. "It must be tedious to sit for so long," she added. His mouth moved in an odd way, and she realized he was biting the inside of his cheek in thought.

"Yeah, I guess." As he said it, a rather forced smile appeared on his face. Sonja returned her attention to his wound as she responded.

"Please give a proper answer. I guess displays indecision." She glanced back up to see his expression foul into annoyance yet again. He crossed his arms, saying nothing as she snipped the fabric and tied it, then stood to tuck the roll back into her bag. "I'll get you a book," she stated pleasantly.

"Yeah—yes. Dankeschön." He was scratching his head with an uncomfortable expression, watching her leave the room.

"Bitteschön." She smiled and departed, clicking the door shut.

—

The book lie was perfect, of course. It would allow her to dig through a few offices and provided her with a backed alibi. She had just finished digging through Dänzer's study, carefully noting the way he had meticulously aligned the items on his desk and in his drawers and then replacing them all properly. Unfortunately—and as expected—she found nothing of interest. She moved on from there, sidling along the walls to avoid stepping on creaky boards as she padded through the third floor's hallway. This top floor seemed mostly unoccupied, and the first room she found herself exploring was being used for storage. Paintings cloaked with thick covers were on the walls—she peeked under one of the velvet drapes to see the portrait of a young Dänzer with a woman at his side. She cringed at the thought and moved forward. Out of habit, she slid her fingers under the lips of tables and the other furniture pieces in the room, searching for hidden items. Her luck was running dry, it seemed, until she reached a table pressed back into a corner near the door.

Her fingers brushed paper.

Sonja crouched and narrowed her eyes dangerously—long rolls of paper were taped to the belly of the table, hidden from the world otherwise. She tore one free carefully and then unrolled it, still crouched. Her eyes grew wide at what was on the paper.

It was an art work.

It was a modern art work.

The image was post-impressionistic, although it used only gray tones—charcoal was the artist's medium—to portray a chromatic, abstract cityscape complete with cars, towering buildings, and streets reflective with rain water. Her eyes were drawn to each detail, and her parted lips formed a whispered, nearly soundless word: "Beautiful." She tore her eyes away and then tucked it back into place, pressing hard to set the now-twice-stuck tape. The second painting was in the same abstract style, but it depicted the mirror-like surface of a lake with tall pines and jagged mountains as a backdrop. Even in the simple charcoal, the detail was stunning. Sonja was left awestruck once again—the scene was captivating beyond words.

But it was also disconcerting. The Reich hadn't pursued modern art the way they had sought out and destroyed "un-German" books, but it was no secret that they worked to demonize it. Sonja certainly wouldn't be surprised if they did eventually collect and burn paintings. Pettiness was no stranger to those who sought power; if Goebbels wasn't below releasing mice and stink bombs into theaters playing an "un-German" film, surely it would be no leap to see his corrosive gaze turn to fine art.

So why did Dänzer have modern art stashed away like this? Was it his at all or did it belong to another in the household? Surely Dänzer would have a better place to hide his paraphernalia. After tucking the second painting back into place, she unrolled a third, sucking in her breath as the paper unfurled. This one, though still in charcoal, was unlike the others—an incredibly detailed portrait. She thought she was seeing Sven for a moment, but there was an unfamiliar curve to his face, and his hair was both longer and lighter in color. He wore a smile that was small but brilliant and full of life. Somehow, Sonja could almost feel affection emanating from the artwork; the artist had put love into this. These were not acquired by whomever had hidden them. They were created.

The sound of a creaking floorboard—the stairs?—jerked her into succinct motions. Roll up the painting. Reapply it as best as possible with the tape. Secure a safe location. She froze, eyes flitting over the room and settling on another table. This one was packed closely to a couch so that, were she to duck underneath, an intruder would have to sidle into an odd position to catch sight of her at all. But before wasting the effort of sliding into place, she listened carefully for any other sounds. Silence met her.

It remained thus for long enough to make her feel secure, so she stepped to the door in silence and slid it open. The woman who set foot into the hallway was no longer Sonja but Sister Sara, lost and curious. Her act did not go to waste.

She wasn't alone.

Sven stood peering at her, halted in mid-step and eyes widened like some feral creature of prey. He was no more than ten steps away. Sonja swallowed, the tension in her muscles rising, but then her eyes slid over his form and it was all she could to do to avoid smirking.

There, tucked against his arm so that, without careful study, it seemed to melt right into the shadows of his black jacket: another rolled up artwork wrapped in brown paper. Sonja permitted herself a smile, though she kept it pleasant and gentle rather than triumphant.

"Herr Sven! Oh, I am so glad to find you. Could you help me find a book? I wanted to supplement Herr Nicolaus's studies." She smiled and then, when he continued to stare at her in silence, allowed her face to slide into concern. "Oh my, I do apologize for my discourtesy. Since Herr Dänzer suggested I use resources, I had thought to seek them out. Deepest apologies if this was untoward." She bowed her head respectfully. At that, he seemed to shift back to life, visibly relaxing from the half-step pose he'd been frozen in. Then that odd, tiny smile found its place on his features.

"Ask the servants on the first floor." He stated simply, his voice almost inhumanly composed. Sonja had to be impressed; if he was nervous, it no longer showed. But the chink in his armor had been apparent, and even now he held the roll of paper awkwardly close to him, refusing to shift his arm and risk drawing attention to it. After all, this was no collection of art hidden from the world for safe keeping, this was a secret lifestyle. A man like Dänzer would never condone an activity of such indulgence and expression.

"Dankeschön, Herr Sven." Sonja smiled even more pleasantly. She held a new card now, but it was worthless if she did not tip her hand just a little. Pretending to suddenly notice his roll of paper, Sonja feigned pleasant surprise, tilting her head. "Oh, those are yours? They are beautiful." Her words were a dagger pressed to his throat—his whole body tensed up again, and before he could respond, she had nodded him a farewell and headed back down to the first floor. No need to prolong the interaction.

He would come to her.

Erhmmmm, wonder where this is gonna go. :T

If you're interested in Sven's art style, look up "charcoal post-impressionism." Post-impressionism was seen as controversial at this point in Germany and much of Europe, although certainly not as much as some other styles (like surrealism and cubism). However, Sai's artwork is so traditional and really quite beautiful in the manga that I couldn't bring myself to give him too dissonant a style, like much of the post-WWI modern art was.

As of 1934, the German government hadn't really lashed out against art in any large way. It wouldn't be until about 1937 that you'd see that happening significantly. Books, on the other hand, had already been burned by this point, so it's no stretch of the imagination for Dänzer to play into the anti-"un-German" art movement. I still think it's more accurate to blame not the art style but his utilitarian parenting style—which certainly includes crushing senseless things like emotions and expression.

—

Glossary:

Ach du liebe zeit (ahch du LEE-beh tzite in which that "ch" is a guttural h sound... you guys know the one. xD): This phrase is hard if not impossible to translate to English literally without it being complete nonsense. It's an exclamation that can mean something along the lines of "Oh for the love of..." or "Oh my goodness!"

Bitteschön (BIT-teh-shern): You're welcome kindly.

Dankeschön (DON-keh-shern): Thank you kindly.

Darmstadt (DAHM-shtaht): A city in Germany.

Dreck (dreck, man. It's just dreck): Dirt, filth.

Goebbels (GEUR-bulls with a hard g as in "game")

Jawohl (ya-VOLE): Yes, yes sir. Used often in the military, but not exclusively.