A/N: This is for Fallacy! Love her!

17.12.1944

Snow, Overcast, -5 Degrees Fahrenheit

All of the available troops and nurses have left the tent; only I remain. The Germans have launched a surprise attack, something Mr. Kakashi—Captain is his formal title—suspected was a ploy to separate the Americans (us) from the British and force us to surrender to the Axis powers. That would not ever happen, though. General Bradley would never let the Americans surrender, not when we are so close to winning this war.

I am worried about the nurses as well, mainly Megan and Stephanie. We went through the very early stages of the Battle of Hurtgen Forest together before being repositioned here in Ardennes, and Megan still hadn't recovered from that ghastly head wound she received while digging up one of our men after the first round of fighting. It was a shell from the other side, I believe, and she most likely has artillery shrapnel lodged in her brain; the entry point was the left temple.

I very much relied on her knowledge of femoral artery wounds in particular, and other major wounds of the leg. She apparently saw an incredible amount of leg wounds during her posts, and she helped Stephanie and I on more than one occasion. I just hope nothing bad happens to her, though I fear she will not return. This attack took everyone by surprise, and the preparations were hasty, perhaps too hasty.

After the news of the initial attack reached us yesterday, there was a scramble for clean uniforms and weaponry (and, for more isolated parties, a pornographic romance novel) and the entire unit deployed from our area, even including some sick we were watching. After everyone left, I put on a spare uniform that forlornly lay solitary on a sick cot, just to see what it was like. After wearing these unbearable calico abominations for so long, I was only trying to see what hell the fabrics factories made the soldiers endure. I took Captain's helmet, too. I was sure he would not mind a bit.

I went outside and planned to walk around and clean a spare rifle, when I just felt sad all of a sudden. It came on me so fast I did not know what to do but cry. I tried singing a song to myself, since that usually helps, when I heard a gunshot very close by. I dodged to the side and looked around me, and there was a German sniper in full view across the river on a small hill. If he was trying to attempt camouflage, he failed miserably. I took up the rifle from the snow where I had dropped it and, loading the cartridge, shot back at my mysterious assailant.

I could tell even yards away that he was under the influence of some drug, probably a hallucinogen of some sort, and was extremely dehydrated. When he passed out into the snow, my suspicions confirmed, it was only at the extreme persistence of my conscious that I felt the need to show mercy, which compelled me to drag him in the tent.

I accomplished this by means of a makeshift stretcher, and deposited him on one of the empty cots. After removing his outer clothing for sterilization and general inspection, I found no papers on him, and he was not wearing dog tags, which struck me as odd. I assume he has dropped them, but I do not feel the need to find them at this point, and there will be no finding anything anyway in all this snow.

I prepared a rag and some precious water for his fever, which was beginning to fester at an alarming rate, and washed his head and arms off. The patient, as I mean to call him here until he is well enough to provide me with a name, woke up in a delirious state and spoke to me in rapid German which I did not understand. His eyes were clear for several minutes after I managed to calm him, but began to fog over again as he slipped back into the fever, normal for someone suffering deliria.

He awoke many times for several minutes consecutively, and each time I have pushed back the dehydration a little more. This morning he sat up in bed and made eye contact with me as I gave him additional water, and even had the strength to insult my lack of food for his breakfast. While looking for something to sate his hunger, I found this blank journal tucked into the ration boxes, and decided to keep logs on the situation of things, especially the patient's condition and all I can find out from him. Perhaps he even has information on the whereabouts of my comrades.

Unfortunately, the only things that Sakura girl managed to find out the next day were Deidara's name, that he had a major attitude, and how much he loved to fly planes, all in very broken English. Deidara had spent the majority of his life unsatisfied, ignored, and tossed aside, and he planned to take advantage of his situation whole-heartedly.

Sakura was a good nurse, Deidara supposed, but she had an atrocious temper. And for some reason he couldn't put his shaking fingers on, he just loved to rile her up. Throughout his second day in the tent, he made it his personal mission to make her explode, unrestrained fury permeating every canvas wall and pulling her hair out in wads.

In his shop in the little German city, he barely saw women except on the days he went shopping for groceries and, very rarely, clothing. Everything else was taken care of by the government after they had become interested in his line of work all of a sudden. Perhaps the scarcity of women in his life provoked him to stare unabashedly at the girl when she brought his thin soup to him, admiring the way her nurse's outfit left a lot to the imagination. Most men would find him crazy for his opinion on how women should dress, but Deidara liked using his imagination. He had a good imagination, and hated letting it go to waste.

Then again, it was most likely what provoked him to impulsively reach out for her as she turned from his bed—empty bowl in hand and scowling at his shameless ogling—and soundly goose her from behind. She acted as delightfully planned, shrieking and throwing the bowl up as it flew from her grip, landing with a muffled thump as it hit the tent floor. Whirling around with both hands protecting her humiliated backside, Sakura glared at Deidara, hoping, he supposed, to slap him in the face and scream unintelligible English in his general direction. What actually happened, though, which involved her tripping over the bowl on the ground and falling flat on her face, was so much more satisfying.

Deidara burst out laughing, feeling relieved. Being injured was such a wonderful thing, and he wondered why he didn't do it more often. All the stress of his past life seemed to melt temporarily away with a single clumsy action of this American girl. This was just great. Vaguely he wondered if she was good in bed, and if the cot would be able to stand up through all he planned to do with her.

He hadn't anticipated what came next, however, as Sakura burst into tears, sharply shoved herself to a crouch and darted out of the tent, stumbling once or twice on the way, hands covering her face as she sobbed.

Momentarily stunned, Deidara could only stare after her, motionless. Actually, that's what I do all day. Should I feel guilty? Well, maybe I shouldn't have laughed. Still, she's only a woman. A gust of air surged from outside, bringing with it bits of snow and ice and the sound of a terrible grief. Okay, she can't be that put out about it. It has to be something else. Crazy American women. Deidara decided not to feel guilty about it, because he didn't, and go and see what was wrong. After all, she had left the tent flap open, he was a patient recovering from extreme medical conditions, and the cold wasn't helping anything. If he happened to see her while he walked precariously to tie down the flap, well, then that was just coincidence. And if he apologized in his very best English and offered a hand, then it was only the effect of delirium.

Deidara slowly pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, gasping for air. Every move he made seemed taxing and exhausted him, and he winced at the pain in his chest every time he breathed. It seemed that escaping constant control and apathy sent him to a place where he was weak and defenseless instead. Gritting his teeth, Deidara slowly swung his legs out of the covers and set them gently on the canvas floor, stopping for a moment to catch his breath again. It wasn't fair that he had to lay here and be babied by that girl, anyway. Germans were to be better than any other race even while ill, and that he needed help whatsoever was an absurd concept. Sakura had found him by chance, and he would've been perfectly fine by himself.

Still, he couldn't blame her for following her nursing instincts. Despite being an American, she had a way with soothing people. Had she been German, she would make a fine wife for the entirety Third Reich to hold up as an example for all the new mothers to follow. Taking a final breath, Deidara steeled himself for the final step, braced his feet on the floor, pushed off the cot, got his balance as he stood straight for the first time in days, lifted his right foot to begin the trek to the front flap—it looked so far—and promptly fell flat on his face.

Touché.

Raising himself up with his palms flat on the ground as the rush of adrenaline gave him some much-needed energy, Deidara screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Why was everything still spinning? Didn't that girl have any real medicine? His headache ensured that the sobs coming steady from outside were replayed inside his head in crystal-clear stereo, however, so maybe she had it planned from the beginning. Crazy bitch.

Two more trips to the bottom of the tent eventually got him, panting heavily, to the front flap. He clung to the rough canvas, temporarily spent, the ice crystals forming on the inside of the opening melting with slight touches of his body and sending chills up his spine. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable standing there in his underwear, Deidara peered outside, trying to ignore the wailing wind as he looked for a head of pink hair. Nothing but rolling hills and forests blanketed in virgin snow met his vision for miles.

A loud sniff startled him and he turned his head to the left to see the girl curled in a fetal position, leaning as much on the tent as she dared, fists curled up tightly and shivering violently. Huffing quietly and racking his brain for his English linguistic class lessons, he opened his mouth cautiously in an attempt to get her attention.

"…Hello."

Sakura's head shot up and she stared at him with a lost expression on her face for a split second before scrunching up her features into the most feral scowl she could manage. The sudden contrast almost had him taken aback. "You shouldn't be out of bed," she snarled, and Deidara could almost hear her teeth clenching together.

He blinked, wondering what he could possibly say in response to that.

I could always play concerned. Because I'm not, really. Not even guilty. Not a bit. "The air is very cold, yes?"

"I'm fine," she gritted, apparently not planning to give in anytime soon. Deidara fell silent, unsure what to do. Talking to women was a trying task for any man, but somehow the whole situation left him feeling miserable and awkward. He felt intruding for some reason; he felt like anyone else would know what to do but him. He hated that feeling. Clearing his throat, he vainly tried again.

"The cold air will injure your lungs, yes. We should lie ourselves down."

"And I suppose you're such an expert on the subject."

Deidara smiled. "…Yes."

Sakura's face slowly went blank, as though pondering the situation in front of her. A dull boom from the north caused her to stiffen before a reply ever came, and she scrambled to her feet, former misgivings about her condition vanishing in Deidara's mind as a sharp fear took its place. Still, he thought it was best to take advantage of her temporary reverie as he gripped her upper arm and yanked her into the tent, igniting shrieks of indignation from the girl as she thrashed against his hand.

Dropping her on the canvas, breaths coming out heavy once more as he tied the flap closed, he dropped his hands to his knees as he gave up standing and dropped to his knees next to the girl, who had stopped her incessant screeching, terror-filled eyes turned towards the ceiling.

"What is it?" She whispered, voice shaking as badly as her arms. Deidara slowly crawled over to where she sat and looked up with her.

"Luftwaffe."

Sakura began to cry again. Overhead, the bombers screamed their vengeance.

Sakura took a shuddering breath again, holding her tea in a viselike grip as the planes roared overhead, more frightening than they had been even an hour ago. How many were there? When would they stop? Did they see the tent? No, they couldn't. The tent was built especially for this terrain, for this weather. Besides, she chanced to hope that their sights were set on cities elsewhere.

She felt horrible for thinking that the deaths of civilians were more preferable than her own, but the feeling that she was cripplingly purblind in more ways than one left her with an absent conscience. She closed her eyes, trying to will away everything that had been happening. She remembered the call of duty that summoned the soldiers in her station—her friends—once more. She didn't want to remember it.

"Your tea will become cold."

And then there was him. He just waltzed into her care, practically, and annoyed the hell out of Sakura every chance he got. It wasn't enough that he stretched her goodwill and patience to the limit, though; oh, no. He had to be a pervert and make her cry. And his over-abuse of the word 'yes' was in no way attractive. Not even slightly cute. Oh, no, siree. And the thing that absolutely did not in any way make her wish for him to be on the floor with her on top was the way he apologized in his own crazy, foreign way—"I am sorry for it, okay."—and bowed at the waist, holding one hand behind his back as she stood stone still amidst a symphony of the Nazi planes' engines.

Then he—Deidara, she reminded herself—expressed his sorrow for the absence of tea and sugar, because in Germany tea was a traditional way for friends to get to know one another. Sakura could feel her mental stereotypes falling apart at the seams by then. Maybe all Germans weren't so bad, and maybe a lot of them really didn't believe in the Nazi Way, just as her commanders would have her believe.

This Deidara wasn't so bad, especially when he was drifting off to sleep in his cot as he was now. She smiled lightly. The tea wasn't hard to find, she only had to take off her jacket to find it. She recalled Deidara's dubious expression as she took it off and turned it inside out to reveal a brown package sewn discreetly on the back. After explaining him the story of how she hid it to dodge the ration rules, he smirked at her and slyly remarked, "I have thought Americans girls behaved, ja."

She would've hit him if he weren't injured.

The tea was easy to prepare with more water from the storage barrel, although Sakura noted that it was about time to boil some more snow again. The small pot she found made enough tea for exactly two, and Sakura made use of the rations to make some semblance of a sandwich with vitamin bread and dried meat strips while Deidara sweetened the tea before climbing back in bed, looking incredulously at her when she added two more heaping spoonfuls of sugar in her personal cup.

Now that things had quieted down since then, Sakura stared into the murky depths of Darjeeling as she pondered how to ask her next question. Best not be too vague about it. Straightforwardness seems the best route here.

"Um…Deidara?"

"Yes."

"What is that?"

"That?"

Sakura frantically flailed her arms upwards. "Those planes. Germans. Luftwaffe."

Deidara blinked. "Yes." He pointed up with her and raised his cup to his lips. "Luftwaffe."

She made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. Why was everything so complicated? Didn't he know how to speak English good?

"No, no. I mean…well, why?"

He paused mid-sip and stared at her for a moment before taking a drink. He looked towards the flap, and Sakura could almost feel his anxiety. "They attack the Americans…um zufor to separate from British peoples. Win the war."

Eyes downcast, Sakura finished off her tea and set it in the damp pot to clean it later. So Kakashi was right. If that's true, then…

"Deidara, why would they even do that? The Allied Powers are obviously winning the war. Our generals wouldn't give up at such a time as this."

Deidara winced as he leaned down and tossed his cup in the pot. The pot rattled and spun, and Sakura pursed her lips as she clung to the rim, never breaking her eye contact with the man. He bit his lip.

"Führer…he cares not so much about winning war as having…honor. Not now. His mind has gone bad."

Sakura snorted. "You mean worse."

"Yes." Deidara smiled and leaned back on the cot, pulling up the covers and closing his eyes. "Worse."

She sat quietly as she listened to Deidara's breathing, as it became deep and regular. His pneumonia was temporarily gone, but Sakura still expected the relapse at any time. All the excitement in the tent may have stopped the sicknesses plaguing the man for a little while, but that would only make them worse when they returned. If only I hadn't run out crying. Sakura cursed softly. Not only was he up, he may have gotten a chill.

It wasn't his fault, though, so much as the whole war. Sakura Haruno, born and raised in a tiny town and in a house that sheltered not so much a family as a litter of children and people whom it was acceptable to title 'father' and 'mother.' From as early as twelve she was expected to earn money by doing small odd jobs, and came home exhausted almost every night, ashamed of her weakness.

That day, though, a woman came into town with intelligence, money, and an opportunity, one that Sakura didn't want to miss. The war barely started then, only in the dawn of its second year, was far away and of little consequence to Sakura. If she were to be trained—and even paid—to learn afflictions of the body, it would stay there in that town. It was nothing to worry about. Almost three years later, though, a rare visit from a senator who came from another state brought tragedy when a radical member of a pro-Nazi society poisoned his older brother. Miss Tsunade, or Nurse Tsunade as she answered to at work, was away treating croup in the wealthy Hyuuga family, and so the boy's life rested in Sakura's hands.

A stunningly well poison treatment session had the boy up within days, when before, death was surely imminent. Impressed, the boy's brother voiced his praise for the young nurse, and 'Sakura' became a household name in the South. Tsunade, duly impressed, convinced her to sign up for service in the military, as her skills would be much needed on the battlefield. Foolishly, Sakura agreed.

Standing up and grabbing the pot viciously, Sakura stalked out of the tent, and froze when she reached the door. There's…no noise. The planes' monotonous buzzing tone had finally stopped, leaving Sakura with a slightly empty feeling. Slowly reaching a hand out to untie the flap, Sakura cautiously stuck her head out of the tent and glanced about her. It looked safe, but then who was safe…anywhere? High stepping to the river after closing the flap behind her, Sakura leaned down, teeth clattering together, and broke a thin casing of ice to dunk the cups and pot in. I'm glad the river didn't freeze all the way. At least there's some comfort there. Watching herself clean the dishes as though from far away, Sakura allowed herself more time to reminisce.

Her signing up for the military nursing service was only the beginning. Making new friends was fun, even though those war games with Megan, Stephanie, and the other girls had been tiring, and learning all those new things was absolutely fascinating. Sakura never expected to be here, her family having more money than ever from her endeavors, when it was the norm for women in her town to grow up having a baby a year, and expected to cook and clean for every one of them.

The call to duty she regarded as little more than a field trip to the local hospital. How foolish.

She was given time to pack her bags before leaving, and noticed a small parcel tumble out of the mess of clothes she stuffed in her small suitcase. Opening it, she had found the very tea and sugar she had shared with Deidara just moments before. Knowing that this valuable gift—from someone, but who?—would be taken and used in the military, she had used her last few minutes and sewn the package into her jacket, spreading the contents out to look as inconspicuous as possible. Now, she was glad to have saved it for so long. She loved to share things with friends, even if they were scrawny little Nazi boys.

Sakura paused and gazed skyward, searching the horizon for any traces of plane fumes, still scrubbing. Friends.

Aside from her friends at the medical academy, there weren't many. The soldiers were sort-of friends, the kind that treated her sociably one moment, then were disturbingly affronting and perverted the next. Miss Tsunade told her to expect that, though, and her last present to Sakura, a box of war-issue condoms, made Sakura blush and bite her fingernails furiously as her beloved mentor smiled and recited instructions on how men liked to be pleasured.

That situation definitely went on Sakura's list of Things I Do Not Want to Happen Ever Again. She loved Tsunade dearly despite her drunken rages and abominable gambling, but all of that brazen—were you really supposed to get on your knees and…Sakura just hated thinking about it—information that she never wanted to be ready for was treated as useless and something horrible to whisper to the other junior nurses after lights-out.

Her first battle shattered all of her glorious expectations of life and war. Neji was brought in to the tent, someone she had seen once on a checkup trip to the Hyuuga's, and a shot had been fired straight into his chest—thankfully missing his heart and lungs—and out the other side. Blood soaked his uniform and Kakashi, who carried the boy on his back, had several injuries of his own. Shaking with fear, Sakura's straight-A's seemed to fail her as she watched senior nurses and doctors rush to treat the two men, everything slow and dull as though she were watching the scene from under a lake of murky, green water.

She darted roughly to the side and she ran out to vomit into the grass, but shock cleared the rising bile as she looked on at a line of injured soldiers brought in on stretchers, by friends, or none at all, as they drug themselves on the ground, the hills behind them lit up cheerfully by the enemy's firebombs. The noise was deafening, and pleads for water by searching hands overwhelmed Sakura, and she fled to the opposite side of the tent, leaning on the taut canvas and ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks as she listened to the screams of a man afforded no anesthetics as bullets were removed from his leg.

After she drew up enough courage to wander blindly back in, bombers still wailing overhead, Sakura's troubles did not grace her to end. The first soldier she checked with quivering hands seemed to be asleep, but as soon as her back was turned, he'd pinched her thighs smartly while his roommates joined up a rowdy hooting and whistling and the culprit raised his arms, as though welcoming the praise. Determined not to be cowed, and emboldened from her visions of the outside world, Sakura raised her arm and smacked him in the face as hard as she could, storming back outside to an approaching ambulance, clenching her jaw at what she knew she would find but resolving to do her duty regardless.

Shaking her head and forcing her mind back to the present, Sakura shoved her hands back into the pot and scrubbed furiously. It wasn't fair that she'd gotten into this. No one warned her how bad it would be. And now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with an attractive German. He was probably just waiting for a chance to pounce, force her to the ground and make good use of those condoms in her tin case of personal items. So absorbed in her thoughts, Sakura failed to notice the snap of a German sniper rifle from across the hills, and screamed and jumped back when a wingless pigeon dropped like a rock into her formerly clean pot.