REPOSTED CHAPTER

A/N: It's almost comical how I come to this site and am disappointed to see that no one has updated or created new Hans romances (non-slash)…then I realize that I, myself, have not updated. What's that famous expression? "If you want something done, do it yourself." So sorry for the delay. Hopefully this chapter is worth it. It's not as long as I had hoped for and it's not my best.

Chapter 10- Lessons in Warfare

He led me out onto the back porch with a warm hand placed upon the small of my back.

"Shouldn't we turn the light on?" I asked. "I'm not going to be able to see much."

"You don't need to," he said. "I'm going to teach you how to use a gun, just as I learned. I don't want you to focus on seeing what you're doing, I want you to focus on feeling it."

We faced the woods in the backyard and he stood behind me. It was extremely hard to focus with his chest pressed against my back but I did my best to try. When he said he wanted me to focus on 'feeling it,' I'm certain he was talking about the mechanics of the weapon but that was not was I was focusing on feeling. His arms wrapped around in front of me and held the weapon so that I could study it closely yet safely. I'm fairly certain while I was trying to tune out the sultry sound of his voice in my ear and the hot breath that tickled my neck he was introducing the parts of a hand gun- the grip, the barrel, the front sight and the safety lever. I'm almost 100% positive that he was explaining how to load the ammunition as I failed miserably to ignore the masculine blend of smoke, aftershave, and leather that began to intoxicate my senses. I was without a doubt not paying much attention as he explained to me the importance on how to grip the gun. At the time my attention was focused on my upper back as I registered his chest's vibrations as he uttered every syllable.

Sooner than I expected, he took my hands and positioned them on the weapon that now pointed into the woods. He widened his stance slightly and let his arms rest along mine, his hands on my hands, his warm breath caressing my ear and neck. My eyes had adjusted perfectly to the moonlit yard yet he insisted that I used my hands to study every part of that gun to know how it truly worked. Lastly, he asked me to aim and fire. If it weren't for his hands still guiding mine, I would have dropped the gun as the onslaught of stubble on his cheek grazed my ear. If he noticed, he didn't mention it. I hesitated briefly but did as he asked and without the adrenaline rush that I had experienced previously when firing a weapon, I found that it took a bit of effort to squeeze the trigger. The force caused me to stumble backwards but there was nowhere to stumble really, except further into him.

I fought my hardest but he could not be ignored. I figured that as long as I stayed strong and didn't throw myself at him, he would respect me. Somehow, the idea of being respected by Hans Landa seemed a great honor.

"Aim, we will work on in the light," he said at the end of my lesson. "You've got to start with basics first."

When we walked back into the house I immediately began to clean up our discarded dinner plates that had long been forgotten. He rummaged behind me softly then appeared by my side as I rinsed the remaining soap from a dish. He reached out for it with a small towel in one hand. I noticed that he had removed his field coat and tie and the sleeves of his mustard coloured shirt were rolled just short of the elbow. I continued to scrub and rinse while he dried and put things in their proper place. We worked in a comfortable silence and I couldn't help but think that we made a nice team.

When the table was cleared and everything was put in its proper place, Hans escorted me into his office where he placed one of his guns into my open palm and ammunition in the other. "Load it," he said. He stood in front of me with one hand in his pocket. "I want to see that you can do so."

I looked at the ammunition palm. There was one magazine and one spare bullet which could only mean he wanted a live round in the chamber. I pushed the magazine into the bottom of the grip and slid that top part back...I couldn't remember what he called it. Thank goodness he wasn't asking me to repeat the terminology. The live round was now in the chamber. I squeezed the smaller trigger on the grip and the magazine fell back out from the gun. There was now one bullet missing to which I replaced with the spare he had provided and shoved the magazine back into the gun.

"Locked and loaded," I said with a satisfactory smile. He smiled back appreciatively and removed his hand from his pocket. He held out a small key.

"This is the spare to the house," he said. "It's yours now."

"Thank you," I said and tucked it into my pocket.

"One more thing," he said with a lift of a finger as he rummaged through his desk. "Take this, too." He lifted up a small leather holster and an extra magazine.

"A holster?"

"This one goes around your upper thigh," he explained, his smirk playful. "Specifically designed for females."

He handed me the holster and said, "Thank you again for dinner," as he planted a light kiss on my forehead.

"You're most welcome," I said, returning the favor with a kiss on his cheek. He seemed shocked by the gesture and an intense silence ensued where we merely stared at one another. Eventually the reverie broke. We exchanged 'goodnights' and I left for my room.

I knew I wanted it and I knew that he knew I wanted it. And though I felt at times that I would either melt or explode in his presence...under his gaze...within his grasp... I found enough strength in me to hold myself back. As time passed, I felt myself bursting at the seams to pounce him but I kept telling myself it was only lust. I was smart enough to know he held great power over others and as charming and persuasive as he could be, I would not let him have control over me. I would not let anyone ever have control over me. Not again.

Getting ready for bed, I realized I could still felt exactly where his lips had touched my brow. I smiled. He had me hook, line and sinker. It was only a matter of time before he started to reel in his catch. I found that for once I was utterly happy to be on the end of a hook...his hook and I would be patient. After all, he is the man and should be the one to take initiative in these situations. Perhaps he was being respectful of my space since he knew what I had been through. On the other hand, perhaps he wasn't interested in me at all. It was just a simple kiss on the forehead and already my mind was reeling. I had even gone as far as to think what our wedding would be like. That's just how girls think, I suppose.

It is not that I didn't gain anything from that night though. My own key...my own weapon...It was official. He trusted me.

I was torn from my reverie as I heard a knock on my door and turned to see Hans leaning against the frame, wiggling another glass barrel between his fingers. I groaned involuntarily. He chuckled and stepped inside my room.

"It has to be done, Ada," he said, shutting the door behind him. I wondered why he did that being that it was just us in the house but I did appreciate it. Overall, it made the whole experience rather private and intimate...almost forbidden. Seeing the light grin on his face, I thought about how much he must enjoy watching me squirm yet his comforting touch would make it all stop- the squirming...the seering pain...the world.

I made trips to the grocery store at least once a week if not twice since I could only carry so much at a time. Even though our new residence was part of the local milk route, I made sure to pick up extra as the man went through milk like a newborn child goes through diapers. I felt safe during my trips to the store. There were never any incidents that made me feel uncomfortable. In fact, any incidents that did make me feel uncomfortable were on the home front. I sometimes dared myself to make the first move but that was supposed to be his job. We had developed a comfort zone between one another yet I couldn't deny the unfailing want that crawled under my skin. A man that I was once hesitant to sit next to, I now was no longer afraid to share things with. He even made me laugh.

Even though we had grown more casual with one another, he always remained at least semi-professional. What's worse? I think this made me like him more. There were times I dreaded the thought of him coming home to tell me that my attackers had been found and disposed of and that it was time for us to part. I had grown too fond of him and for this reason alone sometimes wished my attackers would evade detection. What would happen between me and Hans when they were found? Would it be possible for me to still be part of his life? No matter what, he would always be part of mine and that was not something I could help. Could he easily let go of me?

For over a month I spent a lot of time alone as he would work late. I found comfort in the news reports on the radio as they spoke of him often and kept me informed. Another visit to Dr. Kirsch revealed that my burns had healed steadily, my finger was ready to be unwrapped and the etching on my stomach was now in the form of shiny white scars. Though still readable, the appearance was less grotesque. Unfortunately I still had to endure the cream at night but the burning had lessoned and Dr. Kirsch informed me that it wouldn't be long before we could stop.

As far as the baby was concerned, my tummy remained small but I could tell a difference. It felt tighter and more solid. My breasts had grown extremely tender and started to increase in size. I wasn't very fold on this as I was quite happy with the chest I had but I knew it would all pass in time and tried to remind myself that patience was a virtue. Though the morning sickness had waned, I found myself developing cravings for odd food combinations. These confessions created the most disgusted look on Hans's face.

"Peaches and mashed potatoes, pineapple and peanut butter," I said.

"Ugh." He looked at me with the corners of his mouth turned down and his nose crinkled.

"Chocolate and salsa," I continued. "Tofu and chocolate, grapefruit and chocolate...basically anything with chocolate."

To this, he laughed and it was music to my ears to hear that chuckle erupt from his chest. I smiled as he went back to reading and I finished ironing his shirts. When he returned home the next day, he handed me two bars of the stuff. "Mix with it what you will," he said. "But if it's any of the pairings you mentioned last night, I'll have none respectfully. Please keep our dinners as normal as possible."

I cooked most nights but he insisted on taking me out once a week. Though he said it was imperative that we were seen together, I don't think he was referring to the media being present on some of our outings. He didn't seem to mind the attention and he flaunted me around like a trophy which I played along with agreeably but I hated the cameras and the endless questions. I let him do all of the talking which he didn't seem to mind either. I wanted to know what reporters wrote about us...what people thought. I knew in time I would find out.

It was a Wednesday night and I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when the front door was thrown open with such force that I heard it hit the wall before it was slammed shut. I turned yet no one was there. "Hans?" I called out. The only response I received was the sound of the bathroom sink turning on full force. I turned towards the hall and noticed dark red splatters and spots trailing to the wash room. "Hans?" I called out again as I rushed to the door.

I braced myself against the frame of the door. His field coat, hat, gloves and tie had been thrown in a pile that rested on the toilet lid. Sleeves unbuttoned and shoved upwards, he was scrubbing blood off of his hands in haste but I saw no wounds. Since he would not answer I sought to wedge myself in between him and the sink. He let me in without protest but a peculiar expression crossed his features. It almost looked like an apology.

I looked at the front of his white shirt which was now drenched in blood and immediately started to undo the buttons. Blood also covered his heather blue thermal but not as much which told me that he was not injured. This blood belonged to someone else. Further study showed me that it had splattered on his boots, his pants and even the little white skull on his hat sported red. Though he must have tried to wash off what was on his face, remnants were smeared around his hairline. It was everywhere. What had he done?

He allowed me to help him out of his shirt and to my surprise, the thermal. They were added to his pile of dirty clothing which I would take care of later. First, I had to take care of the man that wore them. His chest exposed, I couldn't help but run my fingers along the growth of hair that spread over the middle. He was shaking. He leaned forward with his palms pressed firmly to the counter and me in between them. His head rested on my shoulder and I trailed my hands to his back.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he said with a tremble. Shivers continued to run through his body and I tried my best to still him, holding him, rubbing his back, whispering in his ear.

"Deep breaths," I said. "Calm down. You want to tell me what happened?"

I felt his head shake on my shoulder and he stood up straight, looking at me with sadness reflected in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.

I wrinkled my brow. For him to react this way, it must be extreme. This was not the Hans Landa I knew nor the one I had heard stories about.

"Dr. Kirsch is dead."

"What? How?"

But before he could answer we both heard the sound of the front door clicking shut and the light tread of footsteps in the kitchen.

We both turned our heads towards the hall. Hans grabbed his gun from the counter and slowly cocked the safety lever back with a light click. I regarded him with wide eyes and wished there was a way for him to tell me what was happening. However, his actions told me exactly what to do. He bent down quickly and slipped his hand under the hem of my skirt. Rising, his hand glided up my thigh and my breath hitched in my throat at the sensual gesture. I leaned back against the sink and tried to hush my breathing…tried not to moan in pleasure as his fingers trailed over his destination and with expertise, he removed the smaller pistol he had given me from its holster. He handed it to me as the hem of my skirt fell back into place. With a wave of his free hand, he pushed me behind him and we waited.