A/N: Arbeit Macht Frei. Hey, who's reading this thing? Come on, really. Also, I would like to say hello to Cynchick, who told me to finish this chapter so she would update Vertigo sooner. Hello.
It was the whole usual deal at first, really. They landed the plane soon after they spotted Auschwitz (he landed it and she covered her eyes), Sakura insisted on folding up that quilt and lugging it along (he carried the thing half the way), and they backtracked through the woods (he cursed with frustration when they lost their way, and she punched a tree and cried). Eventually they found a way out of the woods, but what solace was that? Now they didn't even know where the plane was anymore.
As much as he hated to admit it, Deidara and the woman needed directions badly. And it was just their luck that several pillars of smoke led them to a nearby city, Oświęcim,Poland. The city seemed unusually subdued, even at this point of the war. Everyone ducked around doors and cellars more than usual, and every so often they would all pause and glance at white pillars of smoke coming from the south.
They stood together in the town square, he edgy in a stolen uniform and her awkward in a pair of borrowed boots and a covered-up nurse's dress. It wasn't much for a city, but in tremendous shape compared to the last place they'd been. The buildings held traditional Polish charm, magnificent government buildings now in abandonment, and quaint houses painted every legal shade of pastel imaginable.
Strangely enough, it looked like a large portion of the town had been converted to house Nazi soldiers, to Deidara's chagrin. Said soldiers clung to alleys and windows like tan and black barnacles, smoking up a storm and some holding two or three women apiece.. Well, they sure didn't know what they were missing, that was for sure.
The men watched him with bored, watery eyes, Sakura held in special attention for those lacking in females. She stared back for a while, her eyes trained on the trail of cigarette smoke, reminding Deidara of a cat watching snow for the first time. It would single out a snowflake high in the sky, follow its progress to the ground below, watch it for a moment to make sure the snowflake wasn't going anywhere, and then pick out another flake and repeat the process until the cat was bored or covered in snowflakes.
Well, and that was enough of that.
He took hold of her hand and pulled her blindly through the sparsely populated streets, trying to find an inn. If Auschwitz chose to evade them for now, then that was all right. They were at least going to find somewhere to stay. Even this far in occupation, there would still be an inn in working order, and the pack of cigarettes discovered in the uniform pocket—they were pure gold in times like this—assured him they would get a room, if anything.
Looking back at the girl, who, in spite of the deathly serious situation, looked faintly amused at the little city, especially pleased when an old woman flashed her a friendly, toothless grin while she wiped her hands on a filthy apron.
It was unusual, such a level of silence, but then again, he had told her to stay quiet. At least that much had penetrated her thick head.
"Woman," he called to her loudly in German, hoping she wouldn't do something stupid. "We need to find an inn soon, okay? It's getting dark, and I don't want to put the baby in danger or something, yeah."
She blinked at him, confused, and then lowered her head and nodded slowly, biting her lip and glancing from side to side, like a cornered animal. It wasn't for her ears, anyway. And the old woman from before caught on easily and rushed over to them as they turned the corner into another street, like she'd done this a million times before. Probably had, in all reality.
She huffed for breath before the two, and Sakura edged back behind Deidara a little, blushing and looking away. There was nothing like a culture gap to make a person feel awkward and stranded; he knew that without a doubt.
"Sir," the woman panted boldly. "I myself know of an excellent place to stay. They have nice, big rooms, and room service all the times of day, and each room has its own lovely toilet. It even looks onto the lovely scenery, all that snow. It is at the very edge of the city."
She took hold of Deidara's arm tightly.
"But—oh. Oh, dear me," she let go slowly and turned away. "I seem to have forgotten where they are, exactly…oh, dear."
Deidara almost laughed out loud. Even in the squalor of poverty, this frail woman still found room to do business. It was a good thing he'd had plenty of experience with this breed before, or perhaps they might end up staying in the plane, if things went badly. Well, if they could find it.
"You know," Deidara said slyly, "I've often heard that Polish ladies like a smoke every now and then. Am I right?"
He produced the box from the inner recesses of the jacket and shook out a single, white stick, dangling it in front of the woman like a fish on a hook. She snatched the bait with a greedy hand and lit it quickly from a spare match in her pocket. Apparently this wasn't an unusual circumstance.
"You heard right, good sir." She puffed out heavy clouds of the tobacco in his face. "But for all your kindness, I simply cannot remember the name of that inn, for the life of me…my, what a beautiful quilt. I had one like that when I got married, you know."
So that's what she wants.
"It is," Deidara agreed softly. Sakura stared up at him mournfully, skillfully interpreting his look and the lustful stare of the Pole on the yards of exquisite handiwork. She walked up to the woman and proffered the blanket slowly, backing away to hide behind Deidara totally as the woman pulled at the stitching judgmentally and ran her hands along a swan's neck.
"Nice, nice, very nice," she repeated, suddenly brightening up. "And I remember, now. It was the Gossamer, along the west edge of the city, that way." She pointed. "You tell them Agata sent you, and they will give you a nice room, especially if you happen to discover that Polish gentlemen enjoy a smoke also."
With little more than a nod, the woman turned and scurried back into her house, puffing on the cigarette the whole way and balancing the quilt on her plump stomach. And then there was nothing to do but hurry through alleys and back ways in a westerly direction, because it was starting to snow heavily, now, and there really wasn't much else to do.
Thankfully, it didn't take long to find. The Gossamer was right where the woman said it was, at the far end of the west part of the city. The tallest building in its area, this one was painted a soft yellow and had a black, black roof that looked recently cleaned, a good sign. The soldiers leeching around weren't exactly a welcome sight, but you didn't get everything you asked for.
He ignored the demands for updates on the front, and rushed Sakura to the front desk, where a tired deskman read a two-year-old newspaper, and wordlessly handed them a key after Deidara courteously offered the man twenty-four American-made cigarettes.
Bribery really was all it cracked up to be.
And the room was a pleasant surprise, despite the layer of dust on everything and a suspicious spot in the corner. The bed was made, the shades were drawn, the lamp was on, and a schedule lay on the bed, announcing the next day's meals.
Sakura picked up the pamphlet gleefully, breezing over it and running her fingers over the roughness of the paper.
"What do these say, Deidara?"
She threw the paper at him and then made a running leap for the bed, planting herself firmly in the middle and stared at him modestly.
"It says…breakfast at seven," he read. "Lunch at one, and dinner is extra twenty-five cents, American money, or you can pay with grenades."
"Grenades?"
"Yes. Also, if you make messes in the rooms, you must clean it first yourself, and then ask for help. They do not like to be bothered."
"That's some lame room service."
"You can pay someone to give you a tour of the city," he continued, squinting. "They will take you and show you places. Probably now they might show you the ghetto."
"What's the ghetto?"
"They used to have Jews there, but I do not think there are many left, yes. Most went to the camps."
"Let's go! I've never seen a ghetto before."
She rolled off the bed and skittered to his side as he set the schedule down on the nightstand.
"Let's go," she repeated. "I want to see what it is."
"You do not want to see a bunch of starving people, Liebchen. It is not so great."
"I want to go. Take me there!"
"Okay," he finally relented. "But it is not my fault if you do not like it."
Why was she so difficult? And so unpredictable... He never knew what to expect from her; her mood changed in a split second, and he predicted that if he didn't just give up and take her there, that she'd find a way to go anyway, and then a rescue mission would be in order.
And so, avoiding a scene became infinitesimally more important than avoiding uncomfortable encounters. Deidara sighed and jerked the girl out of the room by her elbow. He really hoped he wouldn't regret this.
They didn't go on a tour after all, since Deidara decided it was too expensive (the truth was they didn't really have any money), and just walked there on foot instead. Now that he thought of it, there probably wasn't a tour at all; those booklets were most likely from a mass production before the war, and highly subject to change in times like this.
Sakura glanced over at her companion—bored, hands in pockets lethargically—and looked back at the road. She wished now that she hadn't acted like such a child. Curiosity killed the Sakura.
"You know," she began slowly, stuffing her icy hands under her arms. "We don't have to go if you don't want to. I mean, it's okay if we don't go look. I'll be fine."
He snorted and snatched her elbow, pulling until he had a hold of her hand. He scrutinized the white fingers as they walked through the dirty snow, released her suddenly, and stopped before a great, wooden fence.
"And you wanted to come, so here it is. Marvel at it," he added the last bit sarcastically.
A gusty wind blew through the dark alley leading into the recesses of the ghetto, a dank, looming place with a stench so pungent you almost couldn't detect it. The fence was crooked and creaky, the timber rotted and shivery. Blemishes littered it here and there, holes about the size of a rifle bullet.
Deidara put his hand on the small of her back and shoved her towards the largest hole, and she looked back questioningly. Were they going to go inside it, or just peer from the outside?
"I am not putting one foot farther, so go have your look, mädchen." He stepped back and watched her with crossed arms.
So Sakura picked her way through the scraps of rubble littering the fence-line, leaned over as far as her common sense allowed, and peered inside. Almost immediately, a lurking dog from somewhere in the blackness thrust itself madly at her invading eye.
Shrieking, she fell to the ground in her fright, scrambling wildly to get away from the beast. It was starving, losing hair, and probably half its normal size, but the intensity of the message was tangibly readable.
Rough fabric wrinkled painfully when she gripped the sides of her jacket with fear, and she screwed her eyes as shut as they could go, focusing on the pain behind the sockets rather than the gunshot and the horrible cry.
Deidara found her standing there and said nothing, only threw his gun over his shoulders and pulled her along by her hand once more.
"Rabies," he said awkwardly, some time later. He repeatedly looked at her, then at her hands.
"I—"
"We should not have come," he barked harshly. "I told you we should not have come. But do you listen? No, never. Look, there is a tavern. A drink will make you feel better, yes."
And sure enough, there was a blue-trimmed shop on the right side, certainly not looking the part, but if Deidara thought it was a tavern, well, then that was fine. Maybe he just wanted her out of the snow. Most likely the drink was for his benefit, since there was no way in hell she was going to drink anything in this place.
A last murmured order of silence was the prelude to their grand entrance within the innocent cottage, and when the spots cleared from her eyes Sakura saw a newspaper propped open at a counter, and two men talking loudly in the corner, who left in a hurry shortly afterwards.
The newspaper rustled and slowly lowered to reveal a young man in his mid thirties, wearing a fedora stuffed down on the top of his head. Deidara jabbered something in German—or Polish, if there was such a thing—to the man, who jabbered back, and when a glint appeared in the men's eyes, Sakura resigned herself to several hours of boredom.
Back in the camp, when the guys started looking like that, they—oh. Where were they…?
Firm hands grabbed her arm again and sat her down at a table. The German sat next to her, with the Pole directly ahead. The man stared at her intently, and Sakura, lost in her own nostalgia, lost the grace to blush and look elsewhere, only stared back blankly.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but not exactly warming, either. The man broke contact with her and slipped back behind his countertop, reaching underneath and producing two brown bottles. Well, and it seemed she wouldn't have the opportunity to refuse it after all.
Deidara took a bottle, and waited until the man had reseated himself to pop open the top and take a drink, ignoring the reproachful look Sakura shot him over her shoulder.
The men began to talk in low, common tones, and she let herself drift away to the past as they consulted.
'Hey, Sakura, you'd better watch out for that skirt; it might fly up when you least expect it to.'
'Yeah, if there were any winds around. Or maybe any curious European boys.'
'Oh, stop it, you two. Come here and let me smack you for that.'
It wasn't a connection out of some sorts of amorous affairs, or even a life-changing encounter. It was simply a bond over time, forming bit by bit with pieces of memories connecting into something marvelous in the end.
Maybe it was the first day when she realized she felt at home with these people. She stepped off the carrier with the other nurses, trembling and nervous, standing stock still and allowing the sign around her neck to lead her to a destination.
A man approached her—she mistook his white hair as that of an elderly man, at first—and asked if she was Sakura Haruno. She said she was, they jotted something down on a paper, hurried her off to a holding area, and that was the last of her relative peace for a long while.
Hours later the same man returned, brushing aside the demanding crowds of poverty-stricken civilians begging for this young nurse's attention, took her by the elbow, and led her to a battered ambulance.
Inside, they shared what pleasant conversation was possible over the groans of shell-shocked young men, and she found out his name—Kakashi—his occupation—English teacher turned American Captain—and a bit about him, that he liked dogs and had a daughter at home, but no wife.
In turn, he learned a little about her, that she liked to cook, loved a clean house, and wanted to go to college to complete a PhD as a pediatrician. There really wasn't much else to say (common ground being nonexistent at this point), and the rest of the ride consisted of them trying not to fly clear out the back of the ambulance, so serenaded by Brooklyn cursing from the driver in his plight to dodge potholes and tiger teeth, as it were, and the persistent chorus of groaning.
The ambulance bumbled to a halt in a thickly wooded area, and Kakashi, Sakura, and the source of the painful cries deposited themselves on a grassy strip before the stiffness of the campground. Kakashi propped up the young man by the shoulders as the two waited patiently for Sakura to find a bush to throw up her lunch in.
As they strolled into camp, the captain, calm and suave compared to her stumbling shyness, she looked closer at the younger man, trying to assess his situation; it looked like he might be her first patient on the field.
It wouldn't turn out to be one-sided, though, when the boy lifted his pale face to stare back into hers. He had messy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes—bluer than Deidara's by far—and his teeth were beautifully white and straight. A good impression, comforting by her expectations, but then he had to open his big mouth and let loose the most lewd comment she had ever heard in her life. Even Captain Kakashi had cringed at that one.
All of her strength suddenly gathered up in her fists, and she dropped her supplies and threw a punch at that ungrateful bastard, only to be snatched from behind by some unidentifiable grip. Even now she didn't know who that was—she suspected Genma; it figured he would be skulking about to see the new nurse—but she was glad now that she'd been stopped. If something had happened to Naruto… Well, she was lucky Genma was there.
After things were cleared up (and onlookers cleared out), she got her first patient, first dazed and now love-struck, in her caring hands. This would be the only time he would ever sit still for anything medical. She should've relished and beheld at how easy it was to dimple his skin with the tip of a hypodermic needle, how quickly the mandatory checkup went, and how early he went to bed, of all things.
And that was the first day.
Strange, how he came to her mind now more than anyone. Sakura sighed as she watched a small cat attempt to pick its way through the deepening drifts of snowflakes outside the house, and drifted away again, sometime later, maybe by a couple months.
It was Kakashi in for jaundice again, and no matter how many times he insisted it was a weakness from birth, he never could argue with his full force when she waved the telltale wine bottles in front of his face, confiscated from his mattress.
That day was when Kakashi earned her love, and Naruto, too.
She gave him a little something to help him sleep, but he ended up talking. He talked about his life before the war, about his father who drank himself to death after attempting to defend his Communist friend from exile, his nonexistent mother, his best friend, who pushed him from the path of a wandering battalion of German soldiers and was taken to a camp, and a young nurse who stole his heart before disappearing with an Italian later on.
She looked a lot like you, Sakura. Pretty, young, and damn smart, too. I wish I would've told her. I just wish I would've told her…
Relating with him became easy after that.
He talked about Naruto, too. His orphaned life filled with lonely swings and no love, the all-smiles Army recruiter who finally brought hope and value to his despairing life, his unlikely friendship to a boy from a well-known family fallen from grace, that same boy's vicious attack on him when Naruto tried to stop him from deserting, and his love for a savagely compassionate nurse with pink hair and a passion for hot tea.
Sakura blushed, remembering it. Just a little.
She saw his face that day, when Kakashi pulled the mask down to reach over and give her a kiss, right smack on the lips. Fortunately, the injection caught up with him halfway, and the poor man passed out cold, leaning precariously on the edge of the cot.
There was just enough time to re-roll him back over to patient position before wicked chuckles sounded from the tent entrance, and she looked back at Kiba's snickering face and Neji's pallid composure.
Ignoring them coolly, of course, did nothing to halt the spread of rumors, and an ashamed Kakashi painstakingly went around to everyone he could, pleadingly explaining to them that Sakura was definitely not a naughty-nurse-who's-been-around-the-bunks. It was then, of course, that she realized someone cared.
Because what would it matter to him if rumors abounded that he'd deflowered the undeflowerable beauty? And she noticed that he spent an unusual amount of time in Kiba's tent after she explained to him exactly what went on after the injection, or, rather, what didn't go on.
A sweet friendship brought her and Naruto close together, and after that there was rarely a time when one was where the other wasn't. She smiled to think of his many advances on her, some serious (but still a little laughable, unfortunately), and most comical on purpose. The former were a bit awkward, and usually in front of an audience, but the latter seemed more private, and Sakura didn't mind admitting to herself that she quite enjoyed them more.
After that, things were surprisingly normal, for a wartime base camp. Battles and deaths came and went, but those were expected. Marriage proposals and goosings popped up here and there, but those were maddeningly familiar. Overall, it wasn't a bad time, what with what she'd been hearing from other duty nurses.
That last day, though, was the worst. The message came from 'the top' to move out quickly, that by the time they'd get the letter the war may have been lost. Get to the Belgian Ardennes immediately, and be ready for heavy battle.
They left her behind to 'watch things,' they said, but Sakura sensed an uneasy feeling about them. Perhaps they knew that something would happen to them, a bloody premonition of things to come. That was silly, though, because why would they go? Well, of course they had to… Probably all sitting around a fire somewhere, surrounded by thousands of dead Nazis. They couldn't have lost, not with so many of them.
That last day, Naruto gave her a kiss. Nothing out of a satin-and-silk romance, just a sweet peck on the lips, and then he was gone, but not without throwing her one last, smirking smile at her before he dashed off with the others, and the flaps billowed inward on the empty canvas, hinting a coming winter storm.
A thump against the window jolted Sakura out of her reverie, and she drew inwards on herself, imagining a crow with a broken neck rapidly disappearing under the ice and wind.
The man's bottle was empty now, and he fetched another from his place under the counter, this time bringing the newspaper along with him. The type was uneven and blotted with stray ink—illegal newspaper, she thought to herself—and the date made her blink with surprise.
Deidara took the paper gingerly from the man, who paused in his drinking to tug down his hat once more. The blond stared at the front page, then at the man, oblivious to the stares, and then—slowly—to Sakura.
Wordlessly, he refolded the paper along a barely visible original crease and passed it to her, reengaging the vain man with something this or that, waving the bottle animatedly and smirking about something, while Sakura hunched over and eyed the yellowing publication with growing disease.
She couldn't read the foreign, rigid headline, but she could make out the photo, black and white, grainy, but visible in its subject, bodies upon hundreds, spread out in a barren, icy field like flowers torn from the earth but then hastily returned.
She couldn't see the faces, or even discern the blood from skin, but she could see a rectangular patch on each man's uniform, various shades of grays masking the telltale red, white, and blue. And below the picture, a single word: Ardennes.
The window didn't shield her from the coldness of the world outside, it merely provided a barrier that meant, somewhere inside your head, that you were here and not there. But you still feel the cold on both sides.
First ten flakes, then fifty, and then blankets of soft, puffy flakes littered the ground, a reminder to all that the winter was certainly not over. Sakura sat poised on the edge of the chair, still and tight-lipped, watching the flakes fall one by one. Slowly, she reached for the bottle Deidara held in hand.
It was Christmas Eve.