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Stiglitz stared at Donny throughout the morning, a strange look on his face- the young man didn't have a word for it. Nevertheless he found it nearly as offputting as Raine's glances.

"Got a problem, Stiglitz?" he asked smoothly as he carelessly threw the Garand in the truck. The man shifted from one foot to the other before leaning against the truck, hand clutching his own rifle.

"Do you know what they do to homosexuals here?" Stiglitz murmured, his voice a low growl. "They are arrested. They go to jail. Some even are thrown in the camps."

Donny looked at Stiglitz, bemused, then laughing, laughing until he felt tears rolling down his face.

"I'm serious, Donowitz." Stiglitz grabbed the younger man's arm and squeezed it hard. "You think I am joking? You think this is funny? If they really wanted to, they could throw you in a camp for being a Jew if they caught you, they wouldn't care if you were American. But homosexual as well?"

Donny shook his head- no, this wasn't right, Stiglitz was crazy. "What are you talking about, Stiglitz?" Donny lowered his own voice, wiping his face. "What you saw-that-no-" Donny shook his head desperately. But Stiglitz was still watching him, intently, eyes as cold and severe as the previous night. "He was changing the wrapping. Not like I wanted him to." he finished weakly.

"The actions of our lieutenant, and your own actions, I may add, speak volumes, my friend." the German responded, shutting the door as Donny scrambled in.

They stopped in the little town, their uniforms clean as possible. Wicki and Stiglitz, the latter pathetically disgused with ash in his hair and a few days' stubble, did the talking. The others found it easy to stand around and look superior while the rest of the French cowered and hid in their doorways.

The restaurant was small and run by an elderly couple. The food was far from decent- hell, Donny caught Utivich spitting indiscreetly into his napkin- yet, as always, better compared to the tinned meats.

The feeling in his stomach never seemed to subside. He felt an added tension surrounding him and took it out by glaring as ominously as possible at the other French diners. They didn't deserve it, and Donny didn't feel any better wearing the uniform of a disgusting Kraut- but he wasn't about to start yelling at Utivich for cleaning the remains of his plate onto his lap or nitpicking Omar for tapping his fork against his glass. If he was gonna play a role, he might as well play it to near perfection. Besides, they never knew who was in what side- it was all one big game without rules, without standards.

Was Stiglitz right? Now that he actually sat down and thought, he could not remember a time when he would chase girls around the street or took them out on measly dates. He didn't compare who was the best looking in their synagogue attire or flirt discreetly with them when he was at work. Donny had blamed it on the fact that he had grown up with them. They were his sisters, his neighbors- he never confessed to the thoughts his friends did late at night as they lay on the rooftops. Sure, Donny had laughed and made crude jokes, but never did he comment on the color of Ruth's eyes or the way Anna wore her hair.

The way Raine watched him, touched him. The excuses and lies about the rifle, about how Donny would supposedly himself to death. There was no reason to change the wrappings. None of this was right. He was paranoid.

He barely grabbed Zimmerman's empty soup bowl in time, the warm vomit splashing onto his knees and sleeves of his coat.

Plans. Raine was talking about plans.

The hotel was shabby and smelled like piss and old folks. The light in Raine and Donny's room was blinking on and off.

Stiglitz had not spared a glance at Donny as they all separated into rooms, although he was sure he saw Utivich look at him funny. Or did he? Was he just looking at the map Donny was twisting in his hand? No, he had looked at Donny funny. What did Utivich care about maps anyway? He didn't care about maps! What a stupid look on the kid's face. Who was he to go around giving his sergeant such a dumb look?

That would have earned him a black eye back home.

"..And that's about it." Raine finished, lifting his hands into the air and smiling. "Sound good to ya, sergeant?"

Donny nodded, fingers working anxiously to release him from the Nazi uniform. He felt suffocated by it; the mere action of wearing the clothes made him feel dirty and low. "Sounds fine fuckin' dandy." he smirked. "Now can we get someone to fix the damn light?"

"Ya crazy, boy?" Raine shook his head as he folded up the map. "We'll get caught. Migh'swell deal with it fer a night. Ever'one's good and quiet today, I'm thinkin' we can pull it off as long as we leave fast. Skidaddle."

The light was dimming, fast. Donny's heart pounded in his chest- "so loud that the President can hear!" as mamma used to say. Don't go out, don't go out, fuck, stay lit-

But it seemed that Donny's wishes never went answered.

The both of them stood, Raine with a grunt, Donny's knees cracking. The pounding had spread to his ears, back to his head. It even felt like his fingers were trembling from the movement in his heart.

"Don't trip." the voice was amazingly soft- kind, even, like how mamma used to speak when he was little and would hide under the bed from the thunder storms. It wasn't how a lieutenant should speak.

"Just don't touch me, Raine." Donny snapped, his voice low as possible. There were footsteps outside the door, if anyone recognized they were speaking a language that sure as shit didn't sound German...

After a moment, a laugh. "Sure ya don't want my help?" the hands pressed down on his shoulders, making Donny feel impossibly small. "Gotta obey your superiors, sergeant."

"How much did you drink?" Donny asked suspiciously. The laugh again, that stupid laugh! Donny smelled smoke, maybe even a little chocolate, but no alcohol. He felt one of the hands move slowly, the fingers barely lingering over his collarbone. "Raine, what the hell-"

The mouth had closed over his before he could create an organized thought. The pounding suddenly subsided as the weight in his stomach shifted, all of it remolding into a rush of blood to his head. He felt light, the weight melting away into something entirely different. The hand on his collar moved to the back of his neck, the cool lips moving over his. Donny stood there, unresponsive, his fingers twitching.

But he could not turn away. In that dark hotel room, Donny Donowitz did not dare respond to Aldo Raine, but he could not turn away. And when the lieutenant finally let go, the young man felt himself pushing the Southerner away, his legs turned to mush as he stumbled to his bed and buried himself beneath the flimsy blanket, his fingers running over his lips.

As Donny lay trembling under the blankets, he decided that the war was winning; slowly, Donny was crumbling.