A/N: I hope you enjoy this next update. Again it's more of a filler on this occasion, since quite a lot has happened in the last few chapters! I promise that the mood will be lightened eventually but I'm trying to capture the turmoil that so many refugee families must have gone through during those difficult times.
The cramps in Georg's stomach and the pain in his shoulder had reached dizzying new heights as he forced one foot in front of the other robotically, cradling a dangerously motionless Gretl in his arms, despite his injury. Eight hours. Eight hours they had been walking, if Georg could hazard a guess. Eight hours with little food or water, their feet broken and bleeding in their battered shoes, the little ones' tears having ceased long ago only to be replaced by a chilling silence. As they'd ventured further and further away from Paris, the thick crowd of refugees fleeing the city had gradually dissipated - some had taken a different route, others had stopped for rest, and more than Georg could bare to count had collapsed in the road from exhaustion, their bodies disturbingly still in their lifeless heaps as the family passed them.
He could barely see five feet in front of him, the lack of water blurring his vision and threatening to lead to his own collapse. Mutely, his bloodshot eyes fell to his family, zombie-like in their movements, their deadened eyes fixed to the floor, their faces gaunt and waxy with fatigue. Maria clung to Marta's hand and the little girl's eyes were rolling dangerously in the back of her head, but her little legs kept moving. Kurt's face was set rigidly, much like Georg's own jaw when he attempted to bite back emotion, and the boy made no complaint of his bloodied knees where he'd tripped and fell a few hours ago. Friedrich, who had marched with a bold determination when they'd set off on their journey, now shuffled vulnerably from foot to foot as he moved, as though completely and utterly lost.
The enthusiastic smile that Brigitta often shared with the world, even during the hardest of times, had dissipated into a grimace as she gripped Leisl's hand on one side and Louisa's on the other. The startling blue eyes of the two eldest girls, the eyes that reminded him so much of his Agathe, had dimmed somewhat and he prayed that it was only temporarily. He couldn't face the thought of never seeing that sparkle again, but the horrors of war were laid bare for his innocent children to see. And it pained him beyond reason, it broke his already shattered heart to know that these sights would forever be etched into their memories. The most difficult part was knowing that he was utterly helpless to protect them from it. No longer would they see the world through fresh, untarnished eyes, through rose tinted glasses, no longer would they see the vivid beauty behind every finite detail that more withered eyes would overlook. They would forever remember what they had seen in Paris that day.
Max's already frail body was battling against him, and when the impresario finally fell to his knees in defeat at the side of the road, Georg handed his sleeping daughter to Maria and rushed to his friend's side, without so much as a hesitation. Wordlessly, he hauled Max to his feet with a pained groan as his shoulder sparked with a fresh wave of discomfort under the impresario's weight.
"Not today!" Georg growled resolutely, his jaw set heavily, his eyes glazing with anguish as he supported his friend with his good arm and stuck to his side like glue as they resumed their snail's pace along the darkened road, "countless battles we have fought together. You will NOT leave me today."
They were travelling well into the night and the glow of the moonlight was the only thing illuminating Max's ghostly face as he smiled weakly in appreciation. Gone was the mischievous gleam in his eye, gone were the cheeky quips that kept them all on their toes. It caused an unwelcome chill to run down Georg's spine.
Seconds seemed to drag into minutes, the minutes into hours - and it was with an unrepressed sob of sheer relief that Georg finally spotted the sign for Ermenonville up ahead illuminated by the gradually rising sun, and when they finally crossed the threshold into the quiet town, he felt his knees buckle beneath him as he and Max collapsed onto the grassy embankment, splayed on their backs as the weight of their journey hit them with full force. Gasping for the air his lungs so desperately craved, Georg found himself overwhelmed with triumph and sorrow, consumed with a sense of accomplishment and an engulfing turmoil all at once. The intensity of it threatened to knock the remaining wind out of him and he felt entirely giddy with fatigue. It wasn't long before he was vaguely aware of seven little bodies taking comfort in following their lead, collapsing into the grass next to them and burying their faces in the fresh greenery while they inhaled the sweet scent of the earth beneath them - so raw, so beautiful, so comforting in its natural simplicity.
Georg closed his eyes and allowed the gentle breeze of the dawning day to soothe his aching body, taking great comfort in the fact that darkness had left them at last. His fumbling hand found Maria's automatically in the grass beside him and suddenly everything seemed so peaceful, so quiet, so undisturbed. If he imagined hard enough, he could almost trick himself into believing that they were up the Untersberg again, laying in the grass and soaking up the mountain air without a care in the world. If he imagined hard enough, he could picture exactly what they'd be doing on a day like today if the Nazis had never existed. If he imagined hard enough, he could pretend his family had never seen the horrors of war, that they'd never laid eyes on the bodies that had lined the streets.
As the breeze ruffled his hair and Maria's grip tightened around his fingers, he thought of the poor families who'd been less fortunate than they had in the face of this godforsaken war. Mere weeks into the conflict and there was talk of people being wrenched from their homes, tortured, killed, burned, arrested. Women and children slaughtered with abandon. He thought of the poor couple who'd burned alive in their car mere hours ago, he thought of the little French boy who'd never walk again, he thought of the little bodies he'd seen on their treacherous journey, toddlers and young children having succumbed to their fatigue. He thought of his own children and how blessed he was to have them safely by his side. He thought of the guilt he felt in having neglected his babies for so many years.
And before he could mask the turmoil, before he could bury his anguish deep down in the darkest recesses of his heart, silent tears began to fall down his cheeks - tears of relief, of deep despair, of anger, of hatred, of gratitude, of guilt. It was all too much to bare, too much to comprehend, there was no more room left in his heart for the mountain of suppressed grief he battled to keep hidden. And so he allowed himself to weep, relieved to finally let go, his body too exhausted to move, the tears creating a noiseless path down his face as his oblivious audience dealt with their own demons.
It wasn't until he felt a little hand brushing against his cheek that he was suddenly stirred into reality. He opened his bleary eyes in confusion to find Getl lying by his side on her stomach, her little face marred in a concerned frown as her chubby fingers wiped away his tears. He watched her little face in wonder, rendered speechless and deeply moved by her compassion, the roles between himself and this stirring little five year old suddenly reversing while she soothed him as though he were the vulnerable child. His face cracked into something between a broken sob and a watery smile then, and he gathered her into his arms desperately, cradling her to his chest and burying his face in her hair, rocking them to and fro as the force of his cries suddenly broke the surface of his reserve.
The sound of his struggle roused Maria and the other children, and he was overcome with shame, aghast that his brood would see him in such a vulnerable state. Even in the darkest moments after their mother's passing, he had never allowed them to see his tears when he'd shed them alone, hiding away in his study with a bottle of scotch gripped in his numbed fingers.
But much to his bewilderment, instead of recoiling from his display of weakness, each of his children made their way to him slowly on the grass, their faces contorted with empathy. Wordlessly, and with nothing but love emanating from their eyes, they encased him in a warm hug, leaving him suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, overcome with wonder, as he welcomed their advances with open arms until he was enveloped from head to toe in the comforting embrace of his beloved family.
Maria had never known exhaustion like it but it seemed that their troubles were far from over, for there wasn't a single accommodation that would take the ten of them, and so early in the morning. Overcome with fatigue and growing increasingly weary of Georg's injury, they'd had to settle for an inconspicuous barn they'd found on some farmland on the outskirts of the town. They'd travelled through the night and the sun was rising, but sleep was an absolute necessity. The children were close to collapse and it was imperative they were well rested before Maria even thought about closing her own eyes. She wasn't sure she even wanted to close her eyes, for all she saw was the burning car, the marred flesh, the severed hand on the side of the road - burning into her eyelids relentlessly and causing the bile, the fear, to rise in her throat again.
Luckily the weather was on their side and the barn was warm, secluded, sheltered, with plenty of hay to form makeshift beds. Much to Maria's relief, they stumbled across a trough of relatively clean rainwater and she beckoned the parched children over before they frantically took turns to gulp down handfuls of the liquid. She prayed it wouldn't make them ill but they had little option left, given their alarming dehydration. As Kurt stepped up for his fill, she was suddenly reminded again of the little boy that Georg had helped, and wordlessly she pulled a baffled Kurt into a warm embrace, tears pooling in her eyes.
When each of the children had finally had their fill, she helped the little ones wash their faces and hands while the eldest tended to themselves, Georg and Max waiting their turns before eventually feeling the relief of the refreshingly cold water on their own faces dirty faces.
"Come on children," Max sighed heavily, wiping his face with his bedraggled jacket, "I'll help you make up some beds, Lord knows I'm about to pass out myself."
"I can't feel my feet.." Marta whispered, her voice cracking with upset, and Max scooped her into his arms with great effort, carrying her to the other side of the barn, the other children dragging their heavy feet as their eyes threatened to droop closed. The faint rustling of hay could be heard and Maria was suddenly grateful to the impresario, knowing he'd offered to help so that she and Georg might have a moment to themselves to comprehend everything that had come to pass.
Turning to her husband, her breath suddenly caught when she saw just how frail he looked. His face was pale, his eyes were dark with black circles, his cheeks were sunken and gaunt, a sheen of sweat was glistening on his brow. He held his injured arm crookedly close against his body, the faint stains of blood having seeped through his filthy shirt. He looked as though he were on death's door and it frightened her to see him so utterly vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. He had always been so strong, so self-assured, but now he seemed utterly broken. She couldn't stop herself from taking his face gently in her hands then and kissing him deeply, as though trying to breathe some life back into him. She pulled back to find his eyes still closed in a pained frown, knowing he was struggling inwardly with what his family was going through. He was a fine and brave man, there was no doubt in her mind about that, but he was also capable of ferocious and raw emotion, and every man capable of feeling as he did would surely have a breaking point. She wondered, as she stroked the lines of his anguished face, whether he'd reached his yet.
He opened his eyes then, and what she saw in them made her heart begin thudding against her ribs. It was a heady mix of despair, love, longing and desire - but most of all, she saw hope. Despite everything that had come to pass, it was hope that shone through in his eyes as they bore into hers. And the stirring reality of his determination, the strength of his resolve in ensuring the safety of his family, it filled her with an intense rush of adoration and awe. A fine man and a brave one indeed.
Words entirely evading her, she attempted to ignore his gaze and focus on the task of tending to his wound. Despite herself, she couldn't look away from his face, and their eyes never parted as she slowly began to undo the remaining buttons of his ragged shirt. Within seconds, she became painfully aware of the way his eyes seemed to darken against her ministrations.
"I need.. I need to check, darling..." She stammered, referring to his wound. But he said nothing, his blazing eyes setting her alight as his shirt fell open to expose his strained torso. He was entirely exhausted, she knew, but there was no mistaking the stirring look in his eyes. He was lost, he was desperate, and he needed her.
Surely though, she thought as her eyes raked over his bare skin despite herself, surely even he knew that in their present company, he wouldn't be able to lay a finger on her. And she could see that the knowledge pained him, leaving him deeply frustrated as his jaw set rigidly and his whole body seemed to stiffen under her gaze. She heard him inhale deeply as she brought her hands up and dared to run her palms agonisingly slowly up his torso, revelling in every ripple of muscle, every thread of hair that she could feel against her fingers, before she slid underneath his lapels and pushed the dishevelled garment down his arms gently, allowing it to fall to the floor. Her own breath caught then, his broad shoulders an indication of his strength even in light of his withered state.
His eyes never left her face, burning into her with adoration, as she delicately removed the swath of material he'd used as a bandage, and she winced at the sight of his bloodied shoulder. To an onlooker, it would appear as though she was merely inspecting his wounds in nothing more than a clinical examination, but with his eyes boring into her with such a fierce intensity, leaving her weak at the knees, Maria knew better.
Silently, for she wouldn't have been able to speak even if she tried, she attempted to avoid his penetrating stare while she wetted the rag in the trough beside them, rinsing it as best she could before turning back to him. With as much compassion as she could muster, she began to clean the wound as best she could. It would need stitching as soon as possible but the puncture wasn't as deep as she'd first feared. She felt an unexpected pang of distress when he suddenly gasped against the pain, gritting his teeth and wincing in discomfort. Hurt and anguish mingled with the rising heat in the air and the combination was deeply intoxicating.
When she'd finished her assessment, she tore a fresh corner of material from her own dress with shaking fingers and bandaged the wound before rinsing the rag in the trough again. He made no move to pick up his shirt and when she met his gaze again, she watched as his eyes moved to the washcloth in her hand before flicking back to her face with dawning understanding, the midnight blue of his irises darkening dangerously once more as he realised what she intended to do with it.
She couldn't ignore the quickening of her own pulse as she raised the wet cloth and gently pressed the rag to his heaving chest, delicately wiping away the grime and dust that coated the skin and muscle there, a vivid reminder of the horrors they had witnessed together. The droplets of water clung to the thatches of dark hair across his chest, matting the curls deliciously to his skin, hanging tantilisingly before forming an antagonisingly slow path down his torso, wetting the flesh everywhere it touched. Despite her fatigue, she felt her mouth water as she found herself consumed with a perplexing desire to follow their trail with her tongue.
His chest began rising and falling more rapidly against her hand as she moved the wet material across his breast plate, his sternum, his stomach and as her own heart thundered, she found herself moving her hand lower still, until it reached the darkened trail of hair that led into the waistband of his trousers. His mouth fell open as she caressed him languidly through the wet cloth and the quietest of moans escaped his lips, but his eyes never left hers, leaving her dizzy with the implications of what she was doing to him, how she was torturing him. She told herself that she was doing nothing more than helping her injured husband bathe, offering him aid in the most desperate of circumstances. But amidst the intensity of the fiery cocoon they'd somehow managed to create around themselves, it felt every bit as though he were already inside her, lost in the throes of passion.
She suspected, she knew, from his rigid posture, his muscles pulled tight across his torso, that he was becoming heavily aroused by her attentions, and she marvelled at the power of their need for one another - a need so strong that it seemed to overcome the heights of exhaustion. But for now, she pushed the stirring thought aside and simply savoured the beauty of this particular intimacy, the beauty of cleansing her husband's body when he was at his most vulnerable, comforting him with the most delicate of touches, holding his burning gaze with a look that spoke only of her adoration and reassurance.
Without warning, he suddenly gripped her wrist tightly, stilling her movements abruptly, before gradually extricating the wet wash cloth from her fingers. Eyes as dark as night, he moved her hand lower still until as her heart flew to her throat, and with a quiet grunt of relief, he pressed his heavy arousal into her waiting palm. She gasped at the unexpected solid heat through the material of his trousers and made to pull away instinctively, but he held her there firmly by the wrist and she realised, with a quick look over his shoulder, that their company was very much asleep at the far end of the barn. The thought instantly thrilled her.
"My body is so exhausted," he rasped, "I think it may kill me to..." but she suddenly silenced him with a tantalising stroke of her fingers, delighting in the newfound knowledge that their sleeping audience was oblivious to their actions. He stifled a groan and let his eyes roll back in his head, "it may kill me to... To exert myself..."
She knew he was right, that his body was beyond what his mind demanded. It would do him no good to love her like this - he may have needed it desperately, needed to find solace in their intimacy, but his body was breaking.
"Are you sure darling?" she whispered, ready to be everything and anything that he needed.
His face was still crumbling with the strain of his arousal but he nodded reluctantly, and she slowly extricated her hand from his body, watching him visibly relaxed, the boiling heat surrounding them gradually dissipating into a simmer as they came back to reality. It was perhaps for the best - their actions were surely verging on madness given their current surroundings. Pulling him to her gently, she kissed him chastely on the mouth and simply held him close before eventually helping him to put his shirt back on. He needed rest, he needed sleep and she would do everything in her power to ensure he recovered.
Knowing the children were safely sleeping with Max by their side, the couple climbed the rafters where more fresh hay was strewn about for their leisure, looking comfier in those moments than the biggest of double beds. Gathering as much as they could in a pile and forming a somewhat scratchy mattress, an exhausted Georg finally scooped his wife into his arms and spooned his body against hers, willing his primitive reaction to her caresses to eventually subside. Despite the anguish that tore through his soul, he was deeply comforted by this innocent privacy, the chance to cradle his wife against his chest, to bury his face in her hair and feel the gentle thud of her heartbeat against his fingers. He needed her, his body ached for her - but not like this, not mere feet away from his family. In light of the recent devastation, he needed nothing more than to completely let himself go, to answer to his body's call, to bury himself inside her, unrepressed and unrestrained. There would be time for all of that eventually, but not now. And as his fatigue finally claimed him, his last conscious thought was of home, of a glistening lake, a breeze moving through the trees like a restless sea, and the blissful warmth of a giant four poster bed that they'd never had the chance to share.
A/N: please do let me know your thoughts and thanks for sticking with me! If it's getting boring or anything at all, let me know! Always want to take your thoughts on board.
thanks again for the reviews so far, they keep me going!