REPOSTED CHAPTER

Chapter 7- A Test of Loyalty

He made me relive events that I had already tried to erase. The alcohol on top of things might not have helped. Or perhaps it was the mixture of the memories, the alcohol and the medication—the latter two which probably shouldn't have been mixed in the first place—but when I awoke kicking and screaming I was surprised to find him at my side so quickly. So surprised in fact that in my sleepy and terrified state I swung out my fist in defense and he recoiled, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Hans," I gasped, covering my own mouth. "Hans," I repeated, moving closer to him.

He held up one hand in defense but remained silent.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "Here, let me see." I pulled his other had away from his mouth and he took a taste of his bottom lip.

"That's quite a swing you have," he said. The left corner of his mouth lifted quickly but only for a moment. At least he tried to show me that wonderful smile.

"I'm so sorry, Hans. I'll go get a damp cloth," I said and retreated to the bathroom. When I reemerged he was sitting on the edge of the bed tenderly fingering his lip. "Here," I said, gently dabbing where his lip had busted. It wasn't the best look for a colonel to have.

I was well aware of his body's proximity to mine along with my lack of clothing or rather my lack of his clothing. I tried to tell myself that it shouldn't make a big difference. There wasn't a part of me that this man hadn't seen by now but somehow it was still different.

"Bad dream?" he said, breaking the increasingly awkward silence.

"Gee, how'd you guess?"

"When someone digs their fingernails hard enough into their palms that it leaves a mark they aren't dreaming about puppies," he said while flipping one of my hands over.

His statement evoked a small smile but it quickly faded as I finished touching his lip. His bottom lip, red, slightly plump and smooth on the edge of a finger…

"Ada."

"Hm?" Wide-eyed, I realized what I had just been thinking and promptly returned my eyes to his.

"I asked what you were dreaming about," he said.

"You're a smart man. I'm sure you could guess."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No. I'm sorry. How does it feel?"

"It's fine," he said, standing. He took the damp cloth from my hands. "Thank you," he said. "I'll take care of this. Go back to sleep." With that he turned and vanished into the bathroom. I did as he asked though I had trouble falling back to sleep.

The following week went by far faster than imagined. I spent most of my mornings catching up on sleep, after which I'd take a long bath and redress the bandage on the cigarette burns, making sure to keep it clean. Hans had my lunch sent to the room every day. It was delivered by a young French girl with bright blue eyes and dark curls. She always returned exactly an hour after she had delivered it to collect any dirty dishes and scraps. All the while, she never spoke a word to me but smiled. I returned the favor but by mid-week I found that I craved someone to hold a conversation with. My French wasn't perfect so it was probably for the best.

Hans would walk into the room every evening between six and six thirty with a smile. It seemed that he was always smiling except when he was at his desk pouring over his paperwork. He didn't smile at that. We made light conversation at night and over dinner, mostly about me. To my disappointment, he spoke very little about himself but I never turned away the offer of intellectual conversation. He never failed to point out that my eyes glistened when I spoke of something I loved or enjoyed. And he never failed to flash that devilishly captivating grin when the blush spread to my cheeks.

I found that the antibiotics made me drowsy so he made sure to inject them just before I retired at night. The weather didn't help my energy level either as one night it started raining and it hadn't let up once. My left arm quickly began to ache from the shots. Hans wasn't exactly gentle with a needle but he applied the bandage afterward with a healer's touch.

After the fourth day, I realized that I looked forward to Hans coming home…home. I suppose it was beginning to feel like one. A home that I was trapped in but a home nonetheless. I grew restless knowing that my attackers were still out there. It wasn't that I didn't feel safe where I was, I just felt that I couldn't ever be happy unless I knew the threat was gone.

"Ada," said Hans, "solving a crime doesn't happen overnight. Take these Jewish families for example, the war has been going on for how many years now and I am still finding them."

"You think it could take that long? Years?"

"It's highly unlikely but still possible. Rest assured you will be taken care of all the while."

"I still don't see why you care so much," I said.

"Have I not already explained that?" he asked with a hint of annoyance in his tone. "My name is on your stomach."

"So? I'm sure it's only because I claimed you were my husband. I bet if I had said someone else's name then theirs would be on my stomach."

"I still take it as a personal attack. Perhaps you're right. Or perhaps they hate me and that's why when you claimed you belonged to me, it only fueled their fire."

"I didn't think of that," I said shamefully.

"I'm not saying it's a fact," he said, calming his tone. He rested his hands on my shoulders. "I'm saying it's a possibility and as a detective, I have to consider all possibilities. A lot of enemies would love to get their hands on me. I can't be too careful."

"I understand," I said. "I guess I didn't think you were capable of feeling fear."

He smiled graciously. This time it was sincere. "Just because I choose not to show it doesn't mean it isn't there, no matter how small that fear may be," he said. He was human after all. "Have patience with me, Ada. I will find the men who attacked you."

"Then what? What will happen once you find them?"

"That's none of your concern," he said.

"I need to know."

"You need to calm down," he said.

"Don't tell me to calm down," I said, raising my voice. I pushed his hands off of my shoulders and turned away from him. "I am calm." I knew I wasn't but I hated how he was always right. He placed his hand on my shoulder again and tried to turn me around. "Don't touch me," I said, surprised to find myself fighting tears.

There was that look again. His gaze was solid and focused like it was when he first sat next to me in the car. Only the deepest reaches of the ocean could match the coldness seen within them. Smile gone, he was completely closed off. He let his hands fall to his side and waited for me to say something else.

"Please, don't look at me like that," I said quietly, avoiding his piercing eyes. "I'm sorry. I just wish to be alone." He made no move to stop me as I walked past him and into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I sat on the toilet lid and began to cry. I felt so stupid. Of all things, I certainly didn't want to be alone. I was alone all day.

I tried to rationalize my thoughts but they kept getting jumbled and more confusing. Cabin fever. I was sick of being inside and lifeless. Everything and nothing was in my head at once. I wasn't even sure what I was upset about anymore but I knew one thing. I wanted out. I wanted out so badly I was literally pulling at my hair and gritting my teeth, trying not to scream at the top of my lungs. I thought maybe screaming would feel good or maybe it wouldn't make me feel anything. I was going crazy locked up in this hole and I'm not sure if it was better with him here or not.

I emerged from the bathroom hours later no doubt looking a fright. My hair was sticking up in odd places and there were tear stains down my cheeks. I chanced a look at Hans who immediately dropped his eyes back to his desk. What was so entertaining on those papers, I wondered. I spent the rest of the night sitting near the window and staring at the outside world. We didn't speak.

After a while, lost in my thoughts, I began to nod off and turned to see Hans, fast asleep in his desk chair. His head was resting on his right arm and his pen was tangled in his fingers. I listened closely to his breathing, soft and subtle. A small smile graced his lips and I found myself wanting to touch him if even just to brush a finger through his hair. I refrained for the time being and went to bed myself.

The rain and gloom continued to blanket the city for the remainder of the week. I didn't bother to get dressed anymore. In fact, I hardly bothered to leave the bed and I knew I was a thorn in his side. The tension between us was so strong in the silence that it could've been cut with a knife. I had hoped to steal glances at his notepad while he was out during the day but he took most of his work with him. So I, as always, was left in the dark.

However, there was a map, folded and hidden beneath a book on his desk. There were several locations highlighted. The first mark circled the town of Elmshorn, about 30km north of Hamburg. The second circled Syke, 20km south of Bremen. The trail moved farther south west and stopped at the city of Mannheim, Germany. On the edges of the map, written on top of the waters in a masculine yet controlled hand were the words Basterds' largest scalpings.

I was slightly angered at my discovery. What an idiotic assumption and to come from Hans of all people. The trail that the Basterds had made was only now getting close to France. So it would be silly to even consider them to be my attackers but I suppose like he said, all possibilities were open especially since my family had been killed near that last city of Mannheim, not far from Strasbourg and the border between Germany and France.

If that was the most recent attack then it would seem that the Basterds had gone silent for the time being but I knew little of the ways of war and tracking enemies. Though I did check the map everyday to see if he had added any new developments, I was unsure why my curiosity had peaked. I blamed it on the lack of having anything else to do. I had glanced over the books on his shelves but they were topics that didn't much interest me. I had reached the point of boredom and possible depression that I didn't feel like trying to get myself out of it. Someone else would have to pull me out and right now the only someone else I had was Hans. I didn't see him helping anytime soon.

The next day it was as though the rain had been given a time limit to deliver and that time limit was almost up so the sky let loose and heavy downpours began to flood the already soaked streets below. Six o'clock came and went as did seven o'clock and there was no sign of Hans. I found myself feeling the first signs of panic when eight o'clock arrived and he wasn't home. I felt sorry for having yelled at him the other night and not talked to him since. I felt guilty for shutting him out when he had offered me so much. If even just a little, I wanted Hans to walk through the door and I stared at it from my perch on the bed waiting for the knob to turn.

Nine o'clock arrived. The rain had let up but I still paced the room, waiting for his return. I thought about getting dressed but I honestly didn't have the attire to go out into the muddy streets looking for him. And why would I look for him? It was a stupid idea that I pushed aside. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Surely, he was fine they must've gotten stuck in the rain. I made excuses for him, some were rational.

It wasn't until 9:23 that I saw the knob turn and Hans entered. Drenched to the bone, his uniform dripped on the floor. He closed the door and removed his hat while I rushed over to the small closet and grabbed a large towel.

"You're soaked," I said, helping him out of his trench coat.

He looked at me with a small grin—the first I had seen in days—and a glint of surprise in his eyes but he said nothing. Before I could catch myself, I was unbuttoning his uniform. His hand caught mine and there was an unreadable look in his eyes.

"I'll get you some dry clothes," I said and walked over to the armoire.

He followed me still and stopped me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"We haven't talked in days and all of a sudden you want to take care of me," he said. His voice was scratchy and his eyes glassy. Yet he still was able to look angry.

"Are you sick?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said, grabbing a fresh pair of slacks and a long-sleeved thermal shirt from his armoire. He brushed past me, into the bathroom and began to draw water into the tub. I let a few sneezes pass and a couple nasty coughs before I pulled the red dress on and paced the room some more. He was in there a while and I could hear him moan after an awful demonstration of what it would sound like to hack up a lung. He had taken care of me in my time of need and I was a complete stranger to him. Though this seemed nowhere near as severe, it seemed only right that I do the same for him. After all, he was still a stranger to me.

I turned as I heard the bathroom door click open. He stepped into the room dressed in dry, grey slacks and a heather blue thermal shirt that hugged his frame rather nicely. He looked confused as I was dressed.

"I thought I might fetch you something to eat," I said lamely. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten?"

He stared at me for a minute. "No," he said quietly. "I haven't."

"Where do you get our dinners from? I'll go get you something."

"You don't have to," he said.

"I want to."

He sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. He rubbed his eyes, scratched his head and eventually looked up at me. Pointing to the bathroom, he said, "My wallet is in my uniform. Bring it here."

I obliged happily…probably more happily than I should have been. I went into the bathroom and saw that he had haphazardly piled everything into the sink. I'd have to take care of that later. I reached into the pockets of his coat and pants until I found a black leather wallet and pulled it out. He asked me to pull out fifty marcs and leave his wallet on his desk. There was a lot of cash inside and I had half the thought to take out extra while he wasn't looking and leave tonight.

"That should be more than enough for dinner," he said between coughs. He looked like he was about to fall asleep on the spot. Dark bags hung under his eyes and his nose was slightly pink and irritated. "I'd like a light soup if you wouldn't mind. Get what you wish for yourself. The restaurant is just across the street," he said while pointing at the window. "On the corner, across from the barber shop."

He didn't look at me while he spoke. I had ample opportunity to take the money and go but I didn't have the heart to do that to him. Perhaps if he had been more cross with me, it would be easier but I knew that the longer I waited the harder it would be to leave. I slipped 100 marcs more from his wallet before placing it on his desk.

"Why don't you lie down and get some rest," I said, hoping his senses were not still strong enough to detect the anxiousness itching beneath the surface. I would leave him while he was down. It was the only way I could slip through his fingers.

He nodded and looked towards me. I smiled and grabbed his trench coat off of the rack. "I'll be right back," I said as I placed it around my shoulders and stepped through the door.

150 marcs and the clothes on my back… Where would I go? What would I do? How long could I hide from Hans Landa? The questions raced as I descended the back stairway to the alleyway. I crashed into the door in my haste but was welcomed by the fresh air.

I had never understood what people meant when they said the air was 'crisp' but now I did. Alive and clean after the rain, I inhaled deeply and slowed my pace. A smile played on my lips as I graciously walked to the restaurant for something to eat.

I decided to sit down and eat my dinner there as I mulled things over in my mind. My medication was still in the room. Could I go without it? Should I go without it? Would Hans care? Would he bother to look for me? If he found me, what would he say? Think? Do? Was he worried that I wasn't back yet? Did he think I had any intention of leaving him? I sat at the restaurant until just before it closed—over two hours after I had arrived.

Before I left, I hesitantly ordered his soup. If I go back now, he'll be angry it took me so long. If I simply never came back, he couldn't fuss but I started to think realistically. How could I get away? I couldn't. It was that simple. I had no means of travel and he knew where I came from, where I lived. Worst of all, I found that I feared being on my own so soon after the incident. They were still out there. Hans was a means of protection for now.

I looked up at our window to see the light on, backing the silhouette of a man standing at the window. He didn't see me but he was watching the streets. Hans was waiting for me.

I entered into the building by its main doors for once and used the elevator to get to our floor. I didn't bother to enter quietly since I knew he was awake and boy did he look angry. Still sporting the glassy eyes with bags underneath and a raw nose, he turned to me with fire in his gaze.

"I'm sorry," I blurted. "I know you're starving, Hans. I'm so sorry but I needed the fresh air desperately. I felt like I was dying in here. I swear it wasn't my intention to make you angry."

His face seemed to soften and he sighed, rubbing his eyes again.

"Did you get any sleep while I was gone?" I asked hopefully as I walked over to the table and started unpacking his dinner.

"No," he said, barely above a whisper. He took his seat and allowed me to serve him with little objection. Milk was of course the drink of choice and the chicken soup steamed nicely as I poured it into a bowl. I set the bag to the side and placed his trench coat back on the rack.

"Would you like me to put the change in your wallet?" I asked.

"I'll take it," he said to my dismay. He looked at me just then and I know he saw the panic in my eyes but I quickly tried to cover it and reached into my pocket to produce the money. I had folded the returned bills separately by habit of mine and was able to pull them out without any of the other bills sticking to them. He eyed me suspiciously as I reached into my other pocket and pulled out the coins. I rested both in the palm of his outstretched hand and waited for him to speak. He didn't.

In fact, he seemed more dangerous when he didn't feel well then when he was fine. I suppose that when dynamite is under extreme temperature it doesn't matter how long the fuse is. It could blow if you breathe on it the wrong way. In a nutshell, that's what it was like living with Hans.

"I'll go lay your clothes out properly so they dry."

"Already done," he said and gestured to the seat across from him at the table. There was no smile on his face but I tried to act as pleasant as possible as I took my seat.

"If you're mad that I took so long, I'm sorry," I said. "I've been stuck inside buildings for the better part of a month. I need a break. And you were right. I'm beginning to feel like I have nothing to live for…nothing to fight for and it's depressing."

"I'm not mad," he said, downing his milk.

"You look mad."

"To some I always look mad."

"Not to me. You usually smile all the time," I said to which he plastered a lovely though fake smile on his lips. It made me laugh. "Can I get you anything else? Do anything for you?"

"No. Thank you," he said, the anger seemed to have faded. "Thank you for dinner." He pushed the empty bowl away and sat back in his chair.

"Thank you. You paid."

He closed his eyes and nodded once.

"You need to get some rest," I said, rising from my chair. I walked over to the bed and turned down the covers. "No more sleeping on your desk. At least not for tonight."

"Where will you sleep?" he asked.

"If you can survive the desk, so can I," I said.

He walked into the bathroom and grabbed my medication, loaded the syringe and sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the spot beside him.

"I was going to do it myself," I said. "You don't feel well." I held out my hand to take the syringe but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me with such force that I landed on the bed, flat on my back. He leaned over me, squeezed my arm as I squirmed and forced the needle into my skin. "Ouch," I hissed as he pulled away. "You're mean when you're ill."

He smiled. "You think I'm always mean," he said and put the syringe back in the bathroom. I stood from the bed, rubbing my arm and waited for him to come back in and sit on the bed. I flicked the lights out in the room and turned his desk lamp on as I packed the dishes away to be taken back to the restaurant tomorrow.

I strolled back over to the desk and took my seat in his chair. His wallet still set on the top but was not placed exactly how I left it. He knew. I immediately looked towards his form on the bed. He was lying on his back and his eyes were closed. Breathing slowly, I couldn't be sure if he was acting or truly sick and tired. But he knew. He must've known. A man like Hans knew how much money he kept on him. He counted it. He knew it was gone. The bastard knew.

I decided to keep the money with me. I figured it could possibly make him think that he'd miscounted. Besides, I never knew when I might need it. I propped my feet upon the desk and went to click the light out when I heard him call to me.

"Ada, don't sleep there. Come here," he said patting the bed at his side.

"Hans?" He knew. He knows.

He slid to the side to allow me more space but still I did not budge. A single finger from his right hand lifted and pointed down towards the mattress—a firm but silent statement and his straight face left no room for argument. I kicked off my shoes and did as he asked, sitting next to him on the bed.

"What is it?" I asked.

He looked at me with an odd expression, one of contemplation and subtle pleasure. "When I was waiting for you, I could have sworn that you were going to leave me. I thought surely you'd take the opportunity to leave while I was down," he said. He knew and he had the audacity to toy with me over it. "Guess I was wrong." And there was that smile.

I tried to keep my expression pleasant. "Does that happen often? You being wrong?"

"I'd like not to think so" he said.

I desperately hoped he couldn't see through my grinning facade but regardless of the dark circles underneath, his gaze could still pierce and seemed even more terrifying than usual. I felt my heart pounding in my chest so hard that I thought my ribcage would burst any moment. That was if I hadn't already lit his fuse or breathed on him the wrong way. The dynamite was still highly unstable. I tried my best to play the part of the hospitable hawk.

Leaning on one elbow, I raised a hand to his cheek. It was hot as a firecracker. "Are you running a fever?"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "It's only a head cold. Lie down and go to sleep."

I didn't want to over-act and make him suspicious so I let a single finger run over the grey hair near his ear then pulled my hand back. Lying flat on the bed I closed my eyes and secretly prayed that he wouldn't take the opportunity to stab me while my guard was down. It was an unsettling little game we had going on here. Silent but unsettling.

Luckily, when I awoke the next morning I found that I was still alive and in one piece. Though I hadn't slept well the night before due to more nightmares, I was awake before he left for a first. Hans stood by the window, straightening his cuffs and his tie. They had to be in the perfect position before adding his coat.

"Good morning," he said with that increasingly infuriating yet gorgeous smile.

I grunted involuntarily. My stomach was churning unpleasantly and as I sat up I felt the need to rush into the bathroom before I regurgitated stomach acid all over the bed. I covered my mouth with my hand and bee-lined for the toilet. Lifting the lid, I fell to my knees and things flew out of my mouth that I don't recall having put in there in the first place.

Within seconds, Hans was next to me. Everything was in place except his coat was not buttoned.

"Think you could have given me something?" I groaned.

"No," he said, pressing him palm against my forehead. "No fever."

He was right as rain. "You're feeling better I see," I mumbled against the toilet seat.

"It was just a head cold," he said. "I'm fine."

It was then the thought occurred to me that he might have been feeling fine the whole night; that the 'head cold' was all an act and a very persuasive and convincing test of loyalty.