REPOSTED CHAPTER. (Added scenes)

Chapter 9- Distance in Proximity

Hans lifted his head and squeezed his eyes shut while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Me too," I said, stifling a yawn.

"Get ready for bed," he said as he stood. "I'll be a few minutes."

I nodded, lost in my thoughts. I had forgotten. My distress did not go unnoticed. Hans helped me from my seat then took my empty cocoa mug and walked into the kitchen. I dragged my feet all the way to my room at the far end of the hall. After cracking the door to give myself a little privacy, I undressed, used the restroom and donned the shirt that Hans had set on my bed earlier that day. I pushed the plastic button through the fine slit in the fabric over my navel as he entered.

"That's far enough for now," he said. He shut the door and gestured towards the bed with an open palm. I obliged and flipped the covers back as he set the medicine on the nightstand. "Do you trust me?" he asked, while rolling up the sleeves of his mustard coloured shirt.

"Yes," I said as I lay down. I raised my arms towards my head and clutched the edges of my pillow.

"Then relax," he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested a warm hand against my thigh. My muscles eased. He reached across the bed and grabbed another pillow. "Lift your bottom." I did as he instructed without question and he placed the spare pillow under my hips. "Relax," he repeated as my breathing quickened. I nodded, taking a few deep breaths as he ran his fingers over my hips and hooked them around the hem of my underpants. He slid them down my legs gently but quick enough so that I did not have time to object.

"Ada, I need you to relax your jaw."

"What?"

"If you relax your jaw, you'll relax down here," he said. "Right now you appear to have things air tight." He chuckled and his eyes twinkled down at me as he rubbed my knees. "Do you remember when we first me?" he asked.

I nodded, welcoming his distracting voice.

"The car ride. The examination," he said. "You know me better now. Did I hurt you then?"

"No," I said.

"You let me-"

"This is different," I interrupted. "You were just looking then."

"You know I won't hurt you," he said. Did I? He hadn't always been so gentle.

I took another deep breath and tried to still my nerves. I let him pry my knees farther apart and position himself in between them.

"Good girl," he said. He started to trace circles over my upper thigh as his left hand reached for the medicine. I watched as he uncapped a preloaded glass barrel and grasped it between his palm, trying to squeeze some warmth into its surface. "Good girl," he repeated and lowered his gaze between my legs. Once he had the barrel in the proper location he looked back up at me and held my gaze as he guided it inside of me. His right hand never left my skin, and he did not break the eye contact. I felt a coldness ooze inside of me. Then as he guided the barrel back out, the cold began to burn.

I heard a clink as he tossed the injector onto the nightstand. I tried to pull my knees together but he was still sitting inbetween them so I pulled them towards my chest. He grabbed my wrists as I clutched the pillow tighter and gritted my teeth. I groaned and tried to lift my hips, kicking my feet back out and arching my back involuntarily. Hans moved his hands to my hips and pushed them back down onto the pillow.

"Hans," I cried.

"I know," he said.

"No, you don't."

"Shh," he said, tracing lazy circles over my pelvic bone with his thumb. He moved his left hand back up to one of my wrists and tried to stabilize me. "Stop squirming."

"I can't," I grunted through the pain. I kicked my legs against his side but he pushed them back down with his elbow.

"Yes you can," he said. "Breathe deeply. Still yourself."

"It feels like you poured salt in there," I said, biting my lips. I forced myself to still but whimpered as I trembled uncontrollably. He kept speaking to me and his hands never strayed from my skin until he got me to settle. Hans took a deep breath. I looked at his disheveled hair and watched that juicy bottom lip as the air from his lungs blew past in a breeze. His eyes still twinkled down at me. "It still burns," I said in little more than a whisper. I didn't even realize I was crying until he removed his hand from my wrist to brush away my tears. He sat back a moment and looked around the room.

"I didn't pose a challenge for you did I?" I asked at an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

He smiled, still out of breath and shook his head.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" I asked.

He nodded and reached to turn the light out. I felt his hands continue to run up and down my thighs, comforting me with his touch. Gradually, he lowered my knees to the side as I drifted. I felt the weight on the bed lift but did not object to his leaving. He had done enough for me. I heard him shuffle out into the hall to use the bathroom and tried to imagine that he was still next to me, easing the pain. To my surprise, I heard him come back into the room. Before I fell asleep, I felt the cool fabric of the comforter being pulled over my legs and the weight of the bed shift again.

Hans returned to work in the morning, as usual and I was left to explore my new surroundings. It was odd at first, living in someone else's house with a majority of their belongings. Granted, their clothes and more personal items had been removed. I was still sleeping in someone else's bed and eating their food. I felt unwelcomed and half expected a stranger to walk in the front door and throw me out. It was obvious that they hadn't been gone long.

There were two cloves of garlic, an onion and some ripened tomatoes sitting in the kitchen window. A few more tomatoes had ripened on a patch of plants outside. All of the floors and surfaces had obviously been cleaned before we arrived, as I didn't see a speck of dirt to occupy my time with.

I walked into the den and turned on the radio in the corner. I found a suitable station and turned up the volume so that easy music filled the house and gave it a more comely feel. I returned to my room and began to unpack my father's suitcase. I threw my shoes onto the closet floor and placed lotion on my bedside table, along with my books. The phone began to ring in Hans's office but I tried my best to tune out the noise and continue.

The next thing I removed from the suitcase was a small picture frame, graced with the image of my brother and father. Both were clad in their German uniforms and sported prideful expressions towards me. I've no doubt they would be honored to have me staying with Hans. I wondered what they would say if they were here. I wondered how much they knew about him or if they had ever met him in passing. I suppose those were things I wasn't meant to ever know.

The phone started ringing again in his office. I cracked the door to mute the noise but to no avail. It kept ringing over and over again and soon I found that no matter how quiet it was, I was listening for it. The slightest noise and I knew it was still ringing.

I walked into his office and without much thought, picked the phone off the hook and lifted it to my ear. "Colonel Landa's office," I greeted in my best secretarial sing-song voice. A familiar chuckle came from the other line. "Hans?"

"I knew if I called enough it would annoy you," he said. "Thank you for answering as you did."

"You're welcome," I said with a smile. I couldn't deny how nice it felt to hear his smooth voice. "Where are you calling from?"

"Roderick's office."

"You're not sick again?"

"No," he said, obviously pleased with my concern. "I had some questions to ask him but he is currently with a patient."

"Oh, well did you need me to do anything for you?"

"No," he said, feigning his confusion no doubt. "I thought this time I'd let you know that I might be late tonight."

I smiled. "Thank you. Is everything all right?"

"Of course. Just busy. Is there something there for you to eat?"

"I think so. I thought about cooking tonight anyway. You don't need to pick something up every night."

"I'm used to it," he said. "It's no trouble."

"Well if you don't mind I'd like something to do. I'll have dinner ready for you when you arrive," I said.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," I said.

"I meant in regards to your new medicine. Is everything alright? Dr. Kirsch will want a report when I see him."

"Yes, of course. Tell him it burned like hell," I said, laughing. "But now that I'm up and walking about I'm fine. Makes me dread going to sleep though."

"Last night should have been the worst," said Hans.

"I certainly hope so," I said. Then there was silence. "Well, I—"

"Ada," he said suddenly. "I want to talk to you about something tonight."

"Okay."

"Don't let me forget," he said.

"Well how am I supposed to remember when I don't know what it's about?" I asked, mimicking his silky voice to my own surprise. I found myself smiling, twisting the phone cord around a finger and twirling my ankle around. Am I flirting with Hans Landa?

"You'll remember," he assured me, sounding equally inviting.

"Tease." I am flirting with him. Stop it.

He chuckled. "I'll see you when I get home," he said.

"I'll be here," I said.

After I placed the phone back on the hook, I sat in his office chair for a moment. What was that? Did I really just—I just flirted with him. And it was kind of fun.

I must have sat there in his office for five or ten minutes replaying those few lavishly spoken words through my head. What was I thinking? He was not someone to toy with but was I toying with him? I could have sat there and thought about him, his voice, anything and the hours would have passed without a care. I shouldn't have wanted to think about him. He wasn't supposed to be a fun or entertaining thought, was he? It was becoming increasingly hard to separate my heart from my mind and it might sound silly but a third force seemed to be working from inside as well—my soul or perhaps my conscience. I blamed it all on hormones and decided that an early start at dinner was in order to keep my mind off of him.

I looked through the cupboards and within the pantry and found very little to compose a complete meal but until we could purchase new things, this was all I had.

I was unbelievably excited for him to come home and taste…this concoction. He would have to be my guinea pig as I tested what he liked and did not like. I imagined it would be much like the first year of a marriage where I burn the meals and my loving husband tells me how great it tastes. But much to my growing chagrin, Hans was not my husband and though he did care for me, I would hardly use 'loving' to describe him.

Pasta it would be for tonight. There was half a box of noodles in the pantry and half a pound of hamburger that had been abandoned in the freezer. I tried to cook slowly so it would take up more time but I found my thoughts constantly going towards Hans so I started to move quicker to push them out of my head. After all, a good spaghetti sauce should simmer for at least three hours or so I've been told.

I went out back and picked what tomatoes I could from the plants growing near the window. It wouldn't be long before the weather turned suddenly and the plants would die. I combined those tomatoes with the ones that had ripened on the sill inside and dumped them into a pot of boiling water in order to help the skin fall off. While they cooked, I let the meat thaw in the sink and began to dice the onion and crush the garlic.

My thoughts had again strayed to Hans as I slowly chopped and listened to the music from the radio. I was hoping that cooking a meal would distract me enough or keep me focused on something other than Hans. However, I was failing miserably. Why did he have to be so alluring?

This whole 'distance in proximity' thing wasn't working too well. I wasn't even in his proximity and my thoughts could not stay away from those lips. They looked like they were just begging for a good kiss. They looked soft and I couldn't help but wonder what they tasted like- what he tasted like. What would his tongue feel like against mine? Against my skin? What about his skin? What was it like under all those clothes? Hmm. I bet he has scars. That would be attractive. Does he have hair on his chest? I wonder how firm his chest is…

"Oh my God. What has he done to me," I said out loud to no one in particular and looked down to discover that the onion and garlic had been sliced and diced who knows how long ago and instead I was now cutting air. "That's it," I said and placed the knife down. I fished a small pan out from under the sink and started clawing at the hamburger meat, ripping it into smaller pieces. Parts of it were still iced and rough on my hands but I could not get the God-forsaken man out of my head. I threw the meat into the pan and raised the heat, letting it brown.

A love song started to play on the radio and I groaned in frustration. That was the last thing I needed. I marched over to the dial and found a news broadcast. Turning up the volume, I hoped that these voices would block out the ones in my head.

"—and it has all been orchestrated single-handedly by none other than Colonel Landa, himself."

"DAMMIT!" I immediately switched off the radio. I first I was glad that I had missed the rest of the report but I had to admit, now that I was living with him I was even more curious about what others said. Certainly the media was not allowed to speak out against the forces. I wondered what sort of picture they painted of him…his work. My thoughts began to stray in the silence of the room.

"It's just hormones, Ada," I said to myself. "Hormones, hormones, hormones. You're pregnant. Makes perfect sense." I left it at that and dumped the garlic and onion into a bowl to be used later. I looked to see if there were any other herbs or spices I could use but to no avail. He'd have to let me go to the store.

I tried to picture him shopping for groceries and started laughing out loud. The two just didn't match. What locations do match with Hans Landa? Country roads? Cars? Hospitals? Restaurants? Hotel rooms? Beds? Beds…What does he dream about? Does he have dreams? He looked so peaceful when I caught him sleeping on his desk that night. The grey at his temple shimmered under the desk lamp. That feature is so sophisticated. I bet his hair is really soft. God, I wish I could run my fingers through it over and over again. It's always combed just right. I want to make it messy. I want to pull and tug at it until it's all out of place and we're out of breath and our lips are bruised and—

"HORMONES," I yelled as a drop of grease jumped on the burner and sizzled loudly, breaking me from my thoughts. I flipped the meat around as it continued to brown then removed it from the heat. The tomatoes had now boiled for at least 30 minutes. It was time now to remove the skin by placing them in ice cold water. As I did so, the skin tore away and I began removing the seeds and squeezing as much juice out of each tomato as possible. Afterwards, I dumped the water from each pot and chopped up the tomatoes, returning them to the hot pot on low heat.

I strained the meat and kept the grease, dumping it back into the hot pan along with the garlic and onion. They simmered until the garlic was a nice golden colour and then everything was thrown in with the tomatoes along with salt, pepper and sugar. I brought it to a boil then left the sauce to simmer. The clock in the hall chimed four times and I retired to the bathroom for a nice warm bath. The noodles would wait until Hans got home.

By the time seven o'clock had rolled around, I was starving. My stomach felt like this huge, empty void that kept growing bigger and bigger and therefore more and more empty. The thought of drinking down the sauce alone was appetizing. Its garlic scent had quickly filled the whole house but I was trying to be polite in waiting for him. He shouldn't have to eat alone. I wonder what he did for dinner before I came along? Did he always go out? Alone? With someone? Who? Or did he bring his meals back home to eat in solitude? Did he prefer eating alone? Has he always been alone?

Before I caught myself drooling over the thought of having him all alone, I made myself get up and scrub the dirty pans and utensils in the sink. By seven thirty, they were clean, dry and placed back where I found them but still no Hans. I was beginning to hate the nights that he worked late and hoped that they wouldn't happen often but as a man with a reputation for being focused on his job, I figured they would.

By eight o'clock I had wrestled with my conscious enough and thought I might pass out if I didn't eat something wholesome. I filled a pot with water and turned the burner on high. I sprinkled some salt in to the water and waited for it to boil before dumping the noodles in. While they cooked, I set the table and stirred through the sauce. Then, Hans came home.

He walked straight into the kitchen and rested his briefcase on a spare chair. He smiled at me and removed his gloves.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" I asked innocently enough.

"You remembered."

"Of course."

He walked towards me, his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. They glistened as they looked down into mine. He lifted his hands, now free of their material sheath and gently placed them on my neck, tilting my head upward so that the light would reveal his craftsmanship from yesterday. It was barely noticeable and really, I had already forgiven him. Perhaps I shouldn't have but I knew I had been rude for no reason to a man that was not accustomed to attitude. Still, that did not justify his actions but I forgave him nonetheless. Why? At this point in time I was finding it unbearably hard to remember as the surprisingly smooth pads of his fingers grazed my neck. I involuntarily shivered and knew that it didn't go unnoticed.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," I said. "You don't have to worry about it. It's nothing."

"Ah," he said with a brief raise of the eyebrows. "If it truly is nothing then what is this little purple mark right here?" He pointed a single finger sternly towards my neck. "Ada," his tone dropped from playful to sober. "You don't need to make excuses for me."

"I'm not."

He held that single finger up in the air and I hushed. "Does it hurt?" he repeated.

"No."

He nodded and turned back towards his briefcase.

"That's it? That is what was so important?" I took a step towards him and he turned back to me.

"I regretted my actions," he said matter-of-fact. "I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry."

"That was unnecessary," I said turning back to our dinner but he quickly turned me around.

"It was necessary. We've both had to deal with a lot lately. We should try our best not to take it out on one another. Agreed?"

"What have you had to deal with?" I snapped. "Sorry. Sorry, I know you're busy at work. I'm just tired and starving and—"

"Have you eaten anything today?" There were his piercing eyes, searching mine, looking angry. "Ada, you can't do this to yourself. I know you're not happy that you're with child but you have to take care of yourself. There's no excuse."

"Stop acting like you really care. What would it matter if I died in your hands? The enemy wouldn't have me. You wouldn't have to put up with me and this ticking time bomb in my belly."

"I'm not killing you. That's absurd, would you listen to yourself? I do care and killing you won't solve my problems but keeping you here rather alleviates them, I find."

"What?"

"I'm not going to lie," he walked towards me so that we were only inches apart but he did not touch me. "It has been years since I've had a home-cooked meal, not to mention one cooked especially for me." He placed one hand on my upper arm and the other tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You were right. This is nice, isn't it?"

"I don't want to over cook the pasta," I said and turned away from him. A low chuckle resonated from somewhere deep within him but I tried to ignore it. I dumped the pasta into the strainer and shook it about, making sure to rid of all the water. I heard him shuffling behind me and glanced over my shoulder to see him removing his hat and coat.

I was beginning to think that I was only attracted to the idea of Hans Landa instead of Hans Landa himself. He was certainly a nice thought but when he was actually in my presence I was either irritated or confused which only frustrated me more.

Our dinner was actually quite pleasant and I was terrified that it might turn awkward, but never did. He kept the conversation flowing nicely and laughed away the seriousness of our previous exchange. He told me to relax and reassured me that I was safe here and as always, would be taken care of.

"Don't stress anymore about your attackers. I don't want to hear you speak another word about it. I understand your frustrations but these things take time. Don't stress about the child, either. Don't think about the child."

"It's hard not to," I said. "And if I'm thinking about that, I'm thinking about my attackers."

"I know," he said and pulled a cigarette case from his pocket.

"Hans, what are we going to do? I don't know how to be a mother. I don't want to be a mother, not yet at least. I bet it's going to look great when the carving on my stomach begins to stretch."

"Stop," he said. "You'll think yourself to death." He stared me down with a gaze that told me to drop the subject.

I looked down at what remained of our dinner. "I'm sorry dinner wasn't great. There wasn't much in the house."

"Dinner was wonderful. Thank you, again," he said.

"It could have been better. We need fresh food. What do you think?"

He gracefully plucked a single cigarette from his shiny case and placed it between his lips. Seconds later, he produced his lighter and with a subtle click and hiss the tiny flame emerged. He lifted it to the end of the cigarette and blew out the flame through the right side of his mouth like a professional. Setting the lighter down on the table, he turned his attention towards me and raised his eyebrows with a smile, encouraging me to continue.

"I was wondering if you'd allow me go to the store tomorrow?"

"For what?"

"For what? What do you mean 'for what?' Fresh groceries," I said.

His expression jerked as if to say to himself 'wake up.' "Sorry," he said. "My mind was elsewhere."

"It's all right. I know you've had a busy day," I said, standing from the table and beginning to clear it. "You go on to your office. I'll take care of this."

He looked up at me and placed his hand gently around my tiny wrist, silently imploring me to put the plate back down. I did so as he stood and reached inside his jacket. The familiar leather wallet came into view and he shuffled through the bills for a brief moment, the cigarette carefully lodged between his lips.

He went to hand me some money then pulled the bundle back, a playful glint in his eyes. "You really don't have to. I don't mind picking up dinner. I'm used to it."

"It gives me something to do. How do you expect me to not think about things when there is nothing to help take my mind off of them?"

"Very well. I suppose I won't always be here when you're hungry." He handed me a small bundle of cash. "You are to go within the daylight hours only," he started, holding my hands between our faces. "Stick to the main roadways. No alleys, no side streets if it can be avoided. And you are to only go to the grocery store," he said and started to release my hands. "And I want you to tell me which days you plan on going."

"Hans," I said, my tone laced with annoyance. "I'll be fine." I tucked the money into my pocket.

He cast his eyes to the side and frowned. "Do you know how to use a gun?"

"Of course," I said. "I shot one of my captors remember?"

"You pulled a trigger," he said. "There's a lot more to a firearm than pulling the trigger."