By the time he arrived at the cabin, she wasn't there. Only the light above the living room was on, flickering like a candle flame. The curtains were drawn across the windows. The pots and pans were hanging from the rack above the stove, and the dishes and cutleries had been put away. The chairs were already tucked under the table. Her favorite drinks were still in the cabinet—Asbach and Jägermeister and Bärenjäger, as well as all the other things he had never heard of. The countertops were spotless, and the air smelled of pine, herbs, and a hint of cologne. Her rifle, an antique gift she had always found amusing, was still leaning against the bookcase. Her coat was still hanging on the rack by the door, unsullied by dry leaves or dust or dirt.

There had been no struggle, however. Anyone stupid enough to intrude upon her would find out the hard way that she could overpower mere humans—and more—without so much as batting an eye. Besides, the locks were still intact when he arrived, and there were no other signs of forced entry. The only keys other than hers were his, and he kept them with him at all times.

That only left one possible explanation, and when he peered outside, he found that his hunch was correct. She liked her routine.

On a night like this, he expected nothing else.

He hung his coat on the rack, joining hers, but he was careful to make sure they didn't touch before making his way through the back door.

Outside was just as quiet as the inside, save for the humming of the generator, the whispers of wind chimes, and the rustling of grass blades and leaves. It was the kind of silence that wasn't unsettling but rather comforting. Not many people would appreciate that, but she always did—and so was he, if only because she helped him realize.

The breeze brushing against his skin was only mildly cold, and he was glad he didn't need to come back inside to get his coat again.

Beyond the porch was a trail; familiar, straightforward, no turns, no crossroads.

He decided not to take the lantern. The sky, clear like glass, allowed the natural lights to guide his way. The scent of pine and earth was more potent here, as thick as the trees themselves, and there was no shortage of twigs and pinecones to kick up by accident or by purpose.

The trek into the heart of it all was like waking up and dreaming at the same time. The more he walked, the clearer the world became, the brighter the moonbeams and the starlight shone—yet the further he ventured, the slower his steps grew, the lighter his body felt.

As she always said—that was the best part. There's no need to rush. Take plenty of breaths. Close your eyes as much as you open them. Listen, smell, feel, be.

She was wiser than she gave herself credit for.

Losing the sense of time was inevitable, but the walk eventually ended when the trees started thinning, and the trail led him to a clearing by the pond.

The most peaceful place in the whole world. At least, according to her.

He walked past the crackling fire pit, wondering what she could be doing now. Last time, she was whittling gifts for her little comrades. Before that, it was a fruitless attempt at fishing. Before that, she was lying down, doing nothing but staring at the sky.

He knew because he was there all the while, watching, waiting, never interrupting—until she complained of him being too quiet.

Look who's talking, he would always retort. She's the more taciturn of the two of them, and she would know that.

Then she would laugh anyway, pull him closer anyway, and make him forget that she was a soldier, a warrior, a weapon.

Make them forget.

Maybe one day, she wouldn't need to.

No, not maybe. Eventually.

He soon found her, and for a moment, he thought he was seeing things, that the sight of her kneeling by the water and washing her hair, with only a piece of cloth flimsily draped around her body to preserve her modesty, was a mirage.

Whether it was real or not, though, soon became irrelevant.

His eyes lingered longer than he liked. His only consolation was the fact that she didn't mind his presence, even without him announcing it.

Her instincts had been honed to such a degree that she could feel any ill intent before it was even close, and had he been someone else, he would be dead.

And she trusted him. It wasn't something she would just give anyone, and he treasured it.

"Guten abend, freund," she paused and looked over her shoulder, just slightly so. Her voice barely rose above the ambiance, and her smile was more of a faint twitch on her lips, yet he felt warmer all the same.

"Hey, Bismarck. Sorry for, uh, interrupting."

Her smile became a little more distinct.

"You, interrupting? All you did was come here, and I was only giving you a greeting."

He rubbed his nape when he felt tingling on his skin, and not from the weather.

"Right, so uh, carry on, then. I'll wait somewhere."

"You...don't have to be like the others because you aren't."

Again, she wasn't being forthright, despite being someone who could be so blunt—but he understood. The weight of the words and all the meanings. She was trying, he knew. If anything, he should feel honored.

"Alright."

Only now did she truly smile.

She remained that way as she resumed her washing, and he stayed where he was.

The way her hands moved about her hair, far from methodical like one from expect from her, her fingers weaving through the golden strands now more akin to white as the moonlight fell on them and her pale skin, was nothing like anything he'd ever seen—as was the way the fabric clung to her body.

The only thing that kept him anchored to reality and not drifting to shameful thoughts was the sight of her back.

Lights shining on the scars bared for him to see.

Old and new, deep and shallow. Some from wounds he helped treat. Stories etched on flesh. Reminders and testaments, shining like a constellation.

She wasn't proud of them, but she wasn't ashamed either.

And she wasn't alone in bearing them.

Her compatriots, both old friends and former enemies alike, were no different. He was no different.

All of them had paid the price.

"So, how was your day?"

A mundane question on a mundane night was as good a distraction as any to the unpleasant musing.

"Nothing much happened. Parzival and Tirpitz sent their regards. Said they will visit sometime."

"Ah, my sisters. Something else to look forward to, then."

"Hood and Eugen also sent theirs. The former wants to invite you to tea with the other Royal Navy ladies sometime, and the latter wants her drinking partner back."

"Ah, about the first...I'll go if you go. And about the second...we'll see."

"Well, Hood did tell me I should come with you. Eugen doesn't want to share, though."

"That girl..."

Her laugh was more of a snort, but he could hear the smile nonetheless.

"Nothing you can't handle, Bismarck."

"Hmm, yes. I could always put her in place. Thanks for telling me this."

"Anytime."

They fell silent again, but the lack of words didn't imply a lack of feelings, at least on his part.

"Don't worry about me," she broke the silence as she turned to face him. Rivulets of water trailed down her neck to her shoulders and chest, glistening like crystals. The cloth hung low but not to the point of indecency. "I'm fine."

It was as if she could read his mind. Perhaps she was just that good at reading someone—or him, just like he could do to her.

"You know, that's something you said way too often and many times before that turned out to be untrue."

"I meant it," she rose to her feet. He didn't let his gaze stray from her approaching form, and she did the same. She stopped right in front of him, the distance between them less than arm's length.

"I'm not worried. Worrying about whether or not you're strong enough is a great disservice to you. I was just thinking about...your scars."

"What about them? You have yours, and we have ours."

"I wish I could do more."

"And you already did plenty. If you didn't, many of us wouldn't still be alive, returning to the abyss. Your scars are proof that you did, so many times."

"I...did what I could."

"It's more than enough. But there's something else, isn't there?"

"...It's...how nobody ever thanked you. Or the others."

For a moment, her face became less placid. The faintest frown creased her brow, and her lips parted slightly.

"We were only doing our duties. We fought for the world, not for gratitude."

If he had to be honest, she wasn't the only one to have that sentiment. Maybe she knew already.

"...Then, can I still thank you, not you as a soldier, but someone...someone important to me? Thank you for being there and here, for everyone...but most of all, for me."

He wasn't thinking anymore. He didn't care how trite he sounded, either. He meant every word, and she should know.

The gentlest smile she could possibly give preceded her answer.

"...Ah, I had wanted to say those things first...but well...it's hard for me to say. But now it's only fair that I say it."

She took his hand first. Hers was rugged and coarse, like rusted steel, but at the same time, it felt tender.

"You see...thank you, too. For helping me with Tirpitz and the others. For showing us the way. For being fair and accepting. For...showing me that there's more beyond my lot, giving me something to return to."

He would've said it was just his duty, but that would mean disrespecting her.

So he only nodded, the fullness within not abating anytime soon. Then he laughed.

Her own was quieter and didn't last as long, but it was no less sincere.

"It was nice to hear."

"Glad I did."

"And...glad you came tonight."

"Me too. This is...a nice place."

"Isn't it? You're always welcome here, but you know that already."

"Getting reassured is always nice."

"Hehe, I can't argue. Now that we had that little heart-to-heart, shall we go?"

"Go back?"

He almost forgot their hands were still joined.

They weren't heading back, as it turned out—she tugged him towards the water instead. At some point, she already cast the cloth away. He couldn't see her face. She could be smiling, or she could be blushing heavily, or both. Whatever it was, she wasn't stopping. She forged ahead like she always did.

And he forgot to ask, to resist. Whatever possessed her, it must have affected him too, and his inhibitions were lost somewhere along the way.

He could only follow, obeying when told to bare himself just as she did.

The water wasn't as cold as he had expected. Warm, comforting. Maybe having her nearby had a hand in that.

He could feel it, the lights now shining on his scars. Now he could understand.

The connection between him and her—and the world.

"You did this before?"

"No, but I've been thinking of taking a dip before."

"What's stopping you, Bismarck?"

"...Nothing. It just occurred to me now."

"It's great you found things to do. Even if it's...a little bold."

"Not as bold as jumping into the fray, guns blazing, with your enemies firing theirs at you, don't you think?"

"Okay, you have a point. I'm not arguing, anyway."

"But you were there, then, and you still are, here and now. That means a lot."

The water rippled and swirled, the reflections of the moon and stars shifting and dancing as she moved closer, and the air seemed to simmer.

There's always more to her words. She could be straightforward and oblique in the same sentence. He was used to it, learned to parse her meanings, her thoughts, her feelings, and never grew tired of it.

"I'll be as long as I can, as long as you want me to. I'll be, Bismarck."

"You don't have to promise."

Because I know you will.

Even if she didn't say them, he heard. He understood.

"Yeah, it isn't needed. I know I will."

"And so am I."

Brief were the words, but all the things they conveyed were beyond any length.

A touch, a brush, then a stir.

Who closed the distance until there was none left was a mystery.

Who took the other to fall deeper was another mystery.

Then, how it truly went beyond the point of no return was also a mystery.

The night was blurring, becoming a haze.

Warmer, warmer, and warmer still.

Yet when it came to a close, he remembered being free and not alone.

She, too, would have felt the same. Her serene visage and her unflinching hold made that clear.

Everything will be alright.

Today. Someday.