Nightmares


Author: wanderingsmith
Started feb 2022
Summary: "When you put on that uniform, you swore to obey orders."
Rating: PG13 **MATURE**
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em..


Goto Chapter 2: Bathside manner (PG13)
Goto Chapter 3: Melancholy baby (PG13)
Goto Chapter 4: You shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh (PG13)
Goto Chapter 5: A long slow... ( Mature )


Chapter one: Manoeuvres (PG13)
2022-02-06


René was wiping the table by the door, muttering to himself about the sticky heat, without even some sunshine to at least make it cheerful 'And therefor make his customers more cheerful; and more likely to spend', when he heard the racket of many vehicles entering the carriageway. He cheered up and walked to the edge of the square, waving when he saw the colonel being driven by Helga, both looking tired and travel-stained and grumpy, a line of trucks extending behind them.

"Colonel! Welcome back!" he shouted to be heard over the noise.

Von Strohm waved back minimally as he shouted, "Later, René. I need a bath even more than a drink!"

René snorted to himself, walking back into the café with a cheerful step and a smile. "Yvette," he waved out the windows, "You may as well go do a round outside, hopefully Jacques and Gilles will vacate their table soon, I expect a number of von Strohm's officers will shortly be mobbing us to wet their whistle after their week of manoeuvres."

Yvette's eyes brightened as she looked out and saw all the soldiers passing by, "Yes René!"

René shook his head as she almost skipped on her way out. He was not the only one whose customers had disappeared because of Klinkerhoffen's attachment to torturing his troops.

^

Yvette had just taken the orders of the first Panzer officers to take a table, winking at the friendliest one before turning to go get their drinks, when she heard a familiar sound coming closer than the convoy's path. Lieutenant Gruber's little tank stopped at its usual spot under the tree, and she smiled, even though he was no customer of hers; he did contribute to the café's take plenty, not least when he played the piano, encouraging other guests to stay.

Her welcoming hail cut off, and instead her brows flew up as she watched the usually gracefull man stumble out of the tank, almost tripping over his own feet as he obviously tried to hurry toward the door, not even seeming to see her through those dark-ringed, blood-shot eyes already darting around the interior of the café.

She almost reached out to offer him a hand when that odd enervated rag-doll jerkiness changed to shoulders slumping with relief, and he slowed, finally walking more normally toward the bar, where René had just stood up with a platter full of fresh glasses.

"Miss?"

Yvette set the lieutenant's oddness aside as she turned to smile welcome at the little group of enlisted having just grabbed a table by the door.

^

René hummed under his breath as he listened to the rattle of tracks passing by outside, very like change rattling in a cash register. He counted up the bottles along the back wall: one two three bottles of cheap red waiting to be opened, good. Gin, brandy, good, good. Now where had he left the cognac... Turning to look at the shelves in the bar itself, the hint of a familiar grey shape slowly moving toward him at the edge of his vision caught his attention instead and he looked up with a ready smile. "Lieutenant! Wel-" René's brows flew up when he saw the usually dapper man looking entirely undone.

He shook his head ruefully, his nose almost wrinkling at the waft of... lily and diesel, assuredly, but it was not entirely managing to hide the sweat. Reluctantly sympathetic for the man in the mud-streaked uniform, his voice softened to something more friendly than he usually risked around his erstwhile admirer, "You look in dire need of a bath and a laundry, lieutenant." No wonder that lotion had to be so strong!

As he stepped up to the bar, Gruber's smile was a poor, almost *shaky* imitation of his usual flirtatious beam, and his thin hair stuck out stiffly every which way, moulded to the shape of the steel helmet he set on the bar-top; nothing like the fastidious lieutenant Gruber that René knew. "Some things are more important."

A little surprised at the man's unexpected priorities, and unable to help frowning at the quiet voice, René finally shrugged, obscurely reassured by hazel eyes familiarly tracing over him. "Of course. A drink I assume." Without waiting for an answer, he crouched down to look at the shelves as he had originally meant to do, shifting out of Yvette's rushed way as she poured beers behind him. He grunted to himself as he found the bottle of cognac, still stashed behind the expensive brandy where he had put it a week ago.

Quickly polishing a glass from the platter he had prepared, he handed the tired man a generous drink. Gruber took the glass with a hand streaked in engine grease, though René couldn't deny that his gaze had never actually shifted to it, fixed on René with an odd desperation. "Thank you, René." He finally downed the alcohol in a long swallow that again made René's brows shoot up. Instead of the coughing fit he half expected, the lieutenant took a deep breath of what might be relief, his smile becoming a shade more recognizable, "I apologize for coming here in such an uncouth condition, René. You are quite right, a long bath is in order." Without so much as a wink, he turned, with an aborted flinch that made René frown, and walked, or limped, really, toward the door, René rolling his eyes at himself when he realized he was staring at the man's -mud-coated- back-quarters.

Stopping at the table by the door to say something to one of the soldiers, Gruber finally stumbled back to his tank, the machine noisily backing out to take the same path the convoy had.

René shook his head at the strange visit, getting back to his bottle-checking. He was just bringing a fresh bottle of gin forward to be ready when he heard steps come up behind him and turned with his practised smile. He nodded politely at the newcomer, "Yes, soldier? What can I get you?"

The private shook his head, standing a good arm's length from the bar, which René appreciated, considering the look of him and the smell that *Gruber* had trailed; the week *had* been excessively hot and humid, when it was not pouring to make everything a sea of mud. "Your waitress has already given me a beer. I-" he glanced toward the door hesitantly, "You are René?"

René looked at him blankly, debating his answer as fear quickly coiled in his stomach. "My name is René, yes." Now what had he done??

The man stared at him stoically, though René did not really see a threat in it, and tried to relax. "I do not believe it was... alcohol he came for. My name is Clarence-"

The name made relief lick through him and René interrupted in a rush, "His driver, yes, he has mentioned you." Fondly even. Which should hardly mean anything, but... Gruber had protected him more than once; there was a certain vague amount of general trust between them. Sometimes. About *some* things.

The private visibly relaxed, though he did not smile, "Yes. During manoeuvres, we often end up exchanging sleep shifts in the tank."

René frowned, nodding when the man seemed to wait for a response, wondering where the devil this was leading him.

"The lieutenant has nightmares."

And now René stilled, his discomfort with Gruber's attentions not enough to make him wish the man disturbed sleep.

"Some of the men say that he commanded a party that executed your brother?"

René nodded reluctantly, unable to say a word and suddenly dreading what the boy would say.

"He often wakes crying your name-" René's eyes slammed shut, wishing he could make the conversation vanish so easily, "He worsened, the longer we were out..."

René finally made himself open his eyes at the silence, looking at the boy grimly as his gut roiled with sickly cold.

Gruber's driver was watching him, looking less flat-eyed than before, possibly a little relieved. "He is a good commander. I believe he thinks of you as a friend; at the least. Perhaps you can help him." With a nod of finality, he turned back toward the table of men by the door, leaving René trying to breathe normally.

He almost jumped at the hand on his arm, not certain how long he had been standing unmoving. Edith looked at him with a quiet understanding he had not seen in many years. "You should go see him."

He looked away from that look, feeling his cheek twitch. But just this once, she was right.


Chapter two: Bathside manners (PG13)
2022-02-06


René tried to walk confidently up to the two men guarding the gate to the château, even though what he really wanted was to scarper back to the café. "Excuse me, do you by chance have orders to let me in? My name is René Artois, I am here to see lieutenant Gruber?"

The man on the left nodded without reaction, "Yes. Follow me."

René followed the quickly-retreating back, having to stretch his legs to keep up, "Of course of course."

He did not want to be doing this; but René had spent years having nightmares of his own after the last war. He could not stand by and let someone else suffer them if he could help it. Not even a German lieutenant. Who had given the order to shoot him. And who fancied him. ...Perhaps it was even time he admitted that being fancied was not the worst thing to happen to an overweight café-owner in the middle of *another* war.

He watched the guard knock on a familiar double doors, bracing himself for Gruber in a dressing gown with eager eyes. Only to barely hear a faint reply from inside.

"You have a visitor!" the guard shouted, making René twitch.

He was too far from the stout wood to even guess at the reply, but the guard nodded and opened the apparently unlocked door. "The peasant René Artois, sir!"

René flinched when he saw the bath, déjà vu that he could have done without. And flinched again when Gruber's voice came from beyond the clam-shell, confirming he was in it, "Leave us, soldier." He still sounded abnormally quiet.

When the door closed behind him, René, standing barely a foot into the too-warm candle-lit room nerving himself heard Gruber sigh, though he did not hear splashing sounds that would herald his getting up -naked!-.

"I am sorry, René. But you were quite right, I dearly need a bath, and only just got in. Is there an urgent problem?"

The lack of insinuating invitation to come closer paradoxically encouraged him to do so. Or at least, René stepped closer to the high bed, to be as far from the bath, while able to see '*To speak!*' more easily. "No emergency, lieutenant."

Gruber turned his head when he heard him closer, sending him a tired smile from that still-grimy face.

"I- wanted to speak to you about something. I would offer to wait 'til you are done, but..."

"But I hardly have a waiting room. If you don't mind my unorthodox position, I assure you I will listen to every word you say." Gruber turned his head to lay it back on the shell again without waiting for an answer.

"Um. Yes. Of course." And now René was not certain how to start. He could hardly say 'your driver says you wake up crying my name'. Aside from embarrassing the man 'Well, perhaps not. He seems impressively immune to caring what others thought of him.', he'd likely get the poor driver in trouble. And yet.

"I- I would like your word, lieutenant," he saw Gruber raise his head back up and look at him in surprise, "Your word that you will not get angry at anyone for what I am about to discuss."

"Angry... René, I-," he shook his head, looking both confused and worried, and even more wearied by it all, "I cannot think of anything that would make me angry with you-"

"With *anyone*."

"...Oh." Gruber stared at him searchingly for several moments, but then huffed and shook his head, resting it back down with a sigh. "My word, René. I trust whatever you have to say is necessary. I will..." he shrugged, looking faintly amused, even with his eyes closed, "Restrain any temper tantrum I might suddenly feel."

He was glad the man seemed a bit more himself, if in an exhausted form. "It... has come to my attention," René hesitated one last time, before taking a deep breath and jumping in. "That you have nightmares," he saw the lieutenant tense, and spoke in a rush, wishing he could think of a better way to say it, "You did not kill me."

This time Gruber sat all the way up with a jerk, turning toward René sharply, sending water and bubbles splashing to the floor as he stared at René with wide eyes, "What??"

René flinched at the cry, filled more with fear than anger, and found himself covering the steps to take him closer to the naked man, which was about the last place he wanted to go. But Gruber had a look that made René think of too many days where some random, innocuous, thing had send him back to the world of screams.

"What do you mean kill you?? I have never-"

René clamped a hand on the soft skin of the man's shoulder, as much to keep him from trying to rise from the bubbles as to try to quiet him, "Lieutenant!" But Gruber's eyes were too wide, making René worry he was too tired to listen, "Do you still have some schnapps?"

"What? I-" he stopped himself and took several shaky breaths, his eyes burning on René's features with definite desperation, this time, before nodding and seeming to force himself to calm enough to answer, "I-" he took another shaky breath, "Under the bed, by the window."

Once he'd taken a couple sips of the very rough liquor that even René would not sell as cognac, Gruber visibly calmed, but René gave up on the polite 'Safe' distance and stayed next to the bath, sitting on the chair the man apparently regularly used to hold his towel.

"René. What did you mean- Why are you here?"

René actually found himself smiling at the appearance of the lieutenant's rare serious side; he had been a good co-conspirator, from time to time. Then he asked for the glass and had a sip of liquor himself before giving it back.

"When the general ordered me killed," he raised his voice when Gruber stiffened, lips parted to interrupt as he started to frown, "The colonel needed me alive to hide his painting so he gave you wooden bullets."

Gruber sat frozen with his mouth hanging open, staring at René blankly.

René took a quick breath, staring back steadily and speaking slowly and calmly, "I have never had a twin brother."

When Gruber finally blinked, it was to slowly raise the glass to his lips, and then swallow it all with a shudder and stare at the empty glass, his expression frozen as though he did not know what to feel.

René laid two fingers on the glass to hold it steady, and poured another measure into it from the bottle he had wisely brought with him.

"So. I...did not kill...your brother.... you..." The words were hardly a murmur as he kept staring at the glass.

"No."

Gruber looked like he was about to once again down the glass, but then stopped himself and sipped it.

And then looked at René with a grim expression, "But only thanks to the colonel. I did give the order to fire assuming it would kill you."

René's lips tightened. He had rather hoped the man's exuberant side would have made him skip over that detail.

But then he would have likely come to it alone in the night, defeating the purpose of this dangerous mission. René held his hand out for the glass and took a good swallow. Taking his turn staring into the pale red, too much like blood in water. He hardly saw the lieutenant when he looked up and muttered, "I saw my share of horrors in the last war," he made himself focus on the blood-shot hazel eyes that he had spent many an evening avoiding, "When you put on that uniform, you swore to obey orders. Many have been ordered to commit atrocities. Executing a traitor is far from that. However it may sit from the traitor's view."

"But you were- are, not a traitor-"

René snorted loudly, lips twisting bitterly, "You and I both know that from the point of view of you Germans, I most certainly am. The real evil of occupation is that I am just as much so from the point of view of the Résistance. When I cease being useful enough to the colonel or Michelle, I will be lucky to make the Spanish border."

Gruber's wet hand grasping his drew René out of his grim thoughts, and he turned his palm to return the hold, meeting the look that finally had a touch of its usual too-warm friendship. But just this once, René was not tempted to run, instead tightening his grip, "You did not kill me. Remember that when you wake from nightmares."

"Clarence."

René narrowed his eyes, "Your word, lieutenant."

Gruber smiled tiredly, sitting back with a sigh, though he did not close his eyes. Did not let go of René.

If the grip had not had an edge of over-tightness to it, René would have tried to loose himself. He was quite certain.

Mostly certain.

"I will not make him scrub my little tank with a toothbrush for it. I... assume he only spoke to you?"

"Yes. He was worried about you."

René finished the alcohol in the glass and set it on the floor, easing himself more comfortably on the chair, glad to see the lieutenant had at least closed his eyes, even if his hand remained tight.

Gruber's lips quirked ruefully, "I truly apologize for coming to the café in such a.. filthy condition."

René snorted, grinning slightly at the memory, "I admit, I do see why you favour that lily of the valley-" he bit off further teasing as Gruber dropped his head and groaned in embarrassment, instead squeezing his hand in reassurance and feeling the grease he was now also smeared with, "But it was... pleasant to see you so... human." he shrugged at the open eyes and slight frown that caused, "You are always so neatly turned out, it is... reassuring to know you *can* be left dishevelled by life."

Gruber's head tilted quizzically, his smile taking on a bare ghost of seduction, "I do assure you, René, there are... *things* that can leave me quite... dishevelled."

René knew he'd courted that hooded look and could only shrug uncomfortably. Mostly glad the man felt better enough to return to this game.

The lieutenant huffed quietly, "It was very kind of you to come see me."

René shrugged, " 'twas nothing."

The seduction faded, replaced with a thoughtful, vaguely worried, frown, "Do you have nightmares, still?"

René's jaw twitched. He barely resisted denying the assumption, but finally made himself ease the tension that had crept into his shoulders, "...From time to time."

Surprisingly enough, Gruber did not try to spout the platitudes René had heard all too often. They both sat quietly, watching each other; oddly enough, without René feeling... Well. Anything but calm. Holding hands with a man laying naked in his bath... But neither of them was thinking of that, he knew.

The lieutenant finally squeezed his hand before releasing it to grimace at the dark grey smearing it, and reaching into the bubbles.

René had been lost in quiet thought and did not immediately think to jump up, so that he was still sitting there when his hand was taken again, though this time it was to have a block of soap rubbed on it.

Gruber gave him a dry look when he was done and René sat with his soapy hand in midair.

But there was not a chance he was reaching into that bath!

The man finally chuckled and used his hands to cup some water and drop it on René's hands. René nodded gratitude and wiped himself on his trousers.

Gruber nodded back, soaping his own hands while giving René a curious look. "Were you not too young to serve in the war?"

René stilled, looking away to stare at the gloomy skies beyond the large windows, and debating answering for long moments. He had not discussed his youth with anyone... in a great many years. Let along planned to share with Gruber.

The miserable grey, humid day made it hard not to remember, however. "I was 15. I was lucky; the sisters told my mother to bring us with her to the hospital. By the time the recruiting sergeants came looking for me, Mother Thérèse insisted I was of more use with her."

The lack of response finally penetrated the noise in his mind and he turned his head back toward the bath, catching hazel eyes fixed on him above grief-drawn lips, "A hospital is no more a place for a child than the trenches."

"Nowhere in France was a place for *any* human." He looked at the man whose smooth features made him seem so young sometimes. But lines came out next to his eyes when he smiled. And when he grieved. "What do *you* remember?"

Gruber's gaze dropped to his bath, his hands absently rolling the soap between them. His voice distant when he finally answered, "...Being hungry. My mother being sad and angry." When he looked up, René recognized that dulled, far-away look all too well. "My father dying at Verdun, a month after he had to enlist to try to get us money. ...Everyone so angry..."

After a moment, Gruber looked at his soapy hands and brought them gracelessly to his face and hair, mechanically scrubbing away the dust and grease, and René reached down for the schnapps. When the lieutenant opened his eyes after splashing with water almost bare of bubbles, René handed him the refilled glass.

René ignored his awareness that the afternoon was passing and he really should be returning to the café 'And all the plots no doubt afoot'. Should certainly not be drinking in a German officer's room; particularly not with a German officer. He did not want to think what the latest batch of rumours must be making of the people having seen him come to the château.

But Gruber was an oddly peaceful drinking companion, today.

René finally swallowed the last of what he had poured and grimaced, making himself stand up. He was firmly jerking his gaze away from its automatic slide over murky water when his mind caught up to his eyes, and his head whipped back, tension arching from shoulders to hands. He thought he had forgotten the trick of breathing enough to bark with his pulse pounding like this. "Lieutenant! You did not say you were wounded!"

"What?" Gruber followed René's glare to the tinge of pink in the water and gasped, "Oh dear." René saw the man's eyes starting to widen, an expression he well remembered men wearing on suddenly realizing- "I did not think-"

René reached out, distantly thrown off by the bulk at his waist, and grabbed Gruber under the arms, "On your feet, soldier."

"It is just a scratch..." But the boy's voice was faint, and he was not fighting René's practised hold to help him up. The muscles under René's hand had that sudden laxness of muscles turning to water in shock, and he automatically adjusted his grip. "I... I slipped and... fell on mud... getting out of the tank the other day. It made such a mess of my trousers..."

With the man on his feet, René ran his eyes quickly over all that pale skin, searching for blood- and finding it on the outside of his thigh near René. A raged gash a few inches long, swollen and red with inflammation, though almost clear of scabbed blood and pus and only barely bleeding after its soak,. "You should go to the hospital-"

"No!"

René gave him a hard look, but glanced at the injury again and decided not to argue against that look of fear. "Very well. Bend over, slowly now, so you can hold on to the sides of the tub- no, do not step out yet, just hold- yes, good. No use bleeding all over your floor." René slid his hands down along the man's rib-cage so as to not actually let him go, stepping back behind his arm to follow his bent form, alert for any signs that his hands were sliding on the low edges of the wet metal, or his arms too weak to hold his upper body up, and crouched down until he was at eye level with the wound, tapping the hand besides him, "Move this to my shoulder."

He nodded absently at the weight coming to rest between his neck and shoulder; at least one hand that would not slip, and that he would feel if it began to collapse. With the added watch in place, he quickly reached in the water between the man's feet for the soap, and washed his hands and forearms as quickly as he could, rubbing hard and everywhere, sister Marie's hard voice in his ear, then used both hands to test that inflamed skin. Very hot, but not dangerously. Swollen but not hard. Pressing gently made the man flinch and whimper, but did not cause any excessive discharge of any sort, only the expected blood. René leaned closer, sniffing.

"René??"

René grunted with satisfaction, and answered the question distractedly, "Checking for rot or infection. This will likely be uncomfortable, try not to jerk." Without giving the man time to think, René gently parted what seemed the worst section, already knowing it could not be excessively deep if he had been walking on it for several days, but-

"Aiih!"

"Apologies," he released the torn edges, satisfied it was not so deep as to be unable to heal, and carefully smoothed the fingertips of one hand along the edges to feel for anything having lodged in the ripped skin, watching to see how much blood welled up from his ministrations. "Good." He gently moved the hand from his shoulder back to the tub and stood up. He kept his palm over that wide hand, half reassurance, half to keep the man from moving without warning, "Do you have a first aid kit?"

Gruber's eyes were a bit wide on him, but more with pleased surprise than great pain or fear, "Yes I... I believe my batman put it at the back of the wardrobe..."

René nodded, running a critical eye over the man, on guard against shivers that might warn of danger, "You can hold that position?"

Gruber almost managed a smirk, though it wobbled a touch at the edge, "Yes, René. As long as you like..."

René nodded briskly, aware of his own raised blood pressure as he hurried to go look for the kit, with his ears straining to hear any warning noises behind him.

It was odd opening the box to a full, orderly kit. His mind expected the shell bandages to all be gone, to find the less-useful scraps, as well as random junk, having been left every which way by bloody fingers. The neat array of bandage rolls in their still-white paper wraps made him blink several moments before René shook himself.

He ignored the sympathy and regret he saw in his patient's eyes when he set the box on the chair besides him, "I'm afraid this next step will be particularly unpleasant, lieutenant." He got back on his knees and smiled briefly up when Gruber moved his hand to René's shoulder without needing to be told, then grimaced agreement at his sudden tension when René raised the bottle of very distilled alcohol they had been drinking from. "It is infected, lieutenant." And that bath water had not been clean.

Gruber nodded, "I know." René saw him clench his teeth and did not wait for him to get nervous, efficiently parting the edges and letting the disinfectant trickle into it, his own jaw clenching at the high-pitched yell above him and nails biting through his shirt. But he only stopped when he was certain the whole area had gotten a good dousing, the liquor's fumes making his eyes sting. And then leaned close and watched if the bleeding would worsen, giving the whimpering man a chance to catch himself out of René's view.

Once he was satisfied it truly did not require a surgeon, René blew on the wound to encourage the alcohol to evaporate, ignoring the gasp it caused, old training to keep his focus on the injury, often the only privacy he could offer a patient, and then reached for bandage and adhesive, his much older fingers easily remembering the old work of making butterflies to hold the ragged edges safely closed. It would make a nasty scar, but it should also heal quickly; as long as the infection did not set in.

Even the Vaseline had been left undisturbed in the kit, which briefly made him smirk to himself, though he quickly set the thought aside and focused on gently coating the area to try to minimize how much the blood and pus would adhere to the shell bandage he then taped over top.

Once he was satisfied he had it taped enough to keep daily activities from ripping it off, René tapped the hand on his shoulder before standing again, though rather more slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on that bright white bandage, half expecting it to turn red, half... trying to let it calm his pulse. His mind slowly settling back to the here and now.

A different war. He was not back there. There was no reason to expect Death, here and now. There was no stink of rot, nor screams of the dying; or those maddened by fear and grief. No constant rain and soul-freezing cold and thunder in the distance that never truly stopped-

"René?"

The utterly gentle touch on his arm still made him jump, blinking to focus on the wan man before him. He had rarely bathed the men, only helping to take off their lice-ridden and poison-soaked clothing to be burned. Seeing bare skin... helped bring him back to the present.

With a thump, at that.

He cleared his throat, quickly reaching for the towel draped over the back of the chair he had used earlier and handing it to his erstwhile patient; at waist-level, just for encouragement, because with the haze of the past slipping away, the notion that he was standing in front of a *naked* Gruber was...

"Thank you, René. Are you alright?"

René waved the concern away, unable not to watch to be certain he did not slip, even as he dreaded the moment that he had to reach over and grip those naked arms to help him out of the tub.

But the lieutenant did not smirk, or try to sprawl on him like a fainting heroine, much to René surprise. Though he did wince when he lifted his injured leg, and René was glad that he was holding on to him as he stumbled to his *wet* feet. "Easy, lieutenant. Take a moment to settle. That leg will be sore a while." When he nodded with a shaky breath, René hesitantly stepped back, "No baths for a few days, either. And you really should have it seen-"

But Gruber was already shaking his head, mouth set in a hard line. "No." He straightened carefully, meeting René's gaze calmly, "I should have paid attention when it happened, but you did a wonderful job, René, thank you. I'm certain it will be fine in a few days."

AN:s5e03 permanent orders

s5e02 bath

Mother Thérèse is in honour of family

in my mental fanon, Gruber's father died right at the start of Verdun, end of feb 1916..... there is even a little bunny that sometimes has young-Gruber going to look for him and ends up in a French hospital...
Battle of Verdun

moonshine is what Germans mean by 'schnapps', NOT the north american sickly-sweeeet booze of the same name (which has caused some discussion between OH and I when he did not understand my reaction to the word....)
'The German term Schnaps refers to any kind of strong alcoholic drink,[6] similar to how eau de vie (water of life) is used in French, aguardiente (burning water) in Spanish, or aguardente Portuguese.'


Chapter three: Melancholy baby (PG13)
2022-02-07


He had managed to have a decent sleep, the night before, only waking briefly for no reason that he could remember. So the next evening, Hubert felt almost like himself again.

Almost.

He had so needed to see René yesterday! See him hale and healthy instead of the collapsing body that had been living behind his eyelids, the accusing eyes that followed him. He *knew* they were nightmares and that René was most likely fine. But he was used to being able to *see* the man, each day, and have him lay to rest all unease with his usual mix of friendliness and... the exact same grumbling he gave everyone else. Too kind to accuse Hubert as he deserved.

Confirming that Hubert's self-reassurances were not lies, as everything seemed to be, these days.

Even now it was still difficult to dismiss the nightmares, even with René's reassuring words. Difficult to have the memory of his actions stripped of the layer of distraction that his usual day-to-day concerns hid them under. He could see why people turned to religion to find forgiveness for themselves.

But he would much rather cling to the memory of René's voice. ...And his gentle touch as he took such warm care of Hubert's leg.

He had been so tempted to make an indecent offer when René had actually pulled him out of the water to stand before him naked, let along had him *bend over*!!

The shock of finding himself in that position had, to be truthful, gone far to ease the accumulated tension from the week of fear; as well as the pain of having the ignored injury dealt with. Though those concerns, and his utterly exhausted state, had kept his body from making a very rude offer of its own, at least.

And René had not looked like himself. The tension that had appeared in his body and face, the bleak look in his eyes... After their discussion of the last war, it had not taken more than a moment to realize why they seemed familiar. The landlord of one of his apartments in Berlin had had such a look when he was made to speak of serving in the war. As did any number of men who had been of the wrong age at the wrong time. Anger and grief and fear truly had felt like they were everywhere.

No, Hubert had resisted the temptation to use the situation to try to seduce the man that drew him so much. And apparently forgave him for giving an order that would have killed him.

So yes, he felt *almost* like himself when he stepped into the café.

And then he froze, his eyes widening as a wave of warmth flowed through him.

Come, sweetheart mine, don't sit and pine

He could not have stopped himself from slowly walking to the man sitting at the piano if there had been a battalion of riffles pointed at him. Smiled helplessly as he whispered along to René's so very soft, sad voice in the respectful silence of the room.

Tell me of the cares that make you feel so blue
What have I done, answer me, hon
Have I ever said an unkind word to you

Coming to stand besides his always so-surprising René, his breath caught at the smile the man sent him; sad, but welcoming, never interrupting the easy flow of his fingers on the keys, nor the grainy softness of his voice.

Once he could breathe again, Hubert took that smile as permission to raise his voice from his respectful whisper, and join him.

My love is true, and just for you
I'd do almost anything at any time
Dear, when you sigh, or when you cry

It was so glorious to sing with someone! This had never been his favourite song, but hearing their voices entwined, René's deeper than when he had sung alone, beautiful counter for Hubert to follow with his higher tenor...

Something seems to grip this very heart of mine
Come to me my melancholy baby

When René had to look away to play, Hubert stepped over by the stairs to face him, glad when René looked up again. It was easier to remember the lyrics with René's meltingly warm dark eyes on him, somehow.

If he were not already bewitched, this would have seduced him right to his knees. He would have liked nothing better than to throw himself at the man... but it was so very lovely to sing like this.

Cuddle up and don't be blue
All your fears are foolish fancy, maybe
You know, dear, that I'm in love with you
Every cloud must have a silver lining
Wait until the sun shines through
Smile, my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear
Or else I shall be melancholy too
Every cloud must have a silver lining
Say, wait until the sun shines through
Smile, my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear
Or else I shall be melancholy too

It was all he could do not to laugh with the shear joy ricocheting through him when they ended the song singing the last line in such perfect harmony that Hubert had never thought his voice could sound so full! Oh if only they could do this *every* day...

The quiet clapping that followed interrupted his jubilation, forcing his attention to the present, and the room that he had been blind to, before. There were a few tables of local peasants, who would no doubt have preferred René sing alone, but who were less glaring and more mournful as they watched the two of them. Von Strohm gave him a knowing eye-roll from his usual table, but even *he* seemed solemn. Miss Yvette winked at him gratefully as she walked by, and even the redoubtable Mimi looked reluctantly approving. And when Madame Edith caught his eyes from the bar, it was with a sad nod that Hubert took as the kindest comment she had ever made of her... husband.

Hubert heard René stand up and turned back to him, seeing, now, some of that heartbreaking bleakness in his eyes from yesterday, though he fancied there was a hint of the same pleasure Hubert was feeling, in the corner of his lips, and he was glad to have been able to give him that, at least.

"Thank you, lieutenant. You do sing beautifully."

Hubert smiled, though he felt far more subdued at realizing it was memories of his painful past that had sent the man to the piano; he had forgotten just how old a song that was. "As do you, my dear René. I did not know you played."

René shrugged as he automatically swiped his cloth over the instrument before stepping away, "It was an easy way to pay my drinks, after the war." He waved toward the bar, "A cognac?"

Hubert nodded, unable to help a small burst of happiness at being known, even if it was by a tradesman looking to his take, "Yes, please, René." At René's repeated wave, he stepped toward the bar, only to be brought up short, wincing as he staggered a step, when René grabbed his arm.

"Lieutenant!" The hiss was low enough that likely no one heard, as the room had gone back to talking among themselves. Hubert may well be the only one to see the sharp look René was giving his leg, "You are limping."

Hubert shrugged, but did not have a chance to reply as René tugged him toward the kitchen.

"The hospital could give you some medication for it to heal faster-"

Hubert interrupted, trying not to sound angry at René, "No. It will be perfectly fine, René. I do not deal with *doctors* unless it is absolutely necessary."

René shot him a frustrated look as he left him by the door and bustled around the room before coming back carrying a jug of water, a bottle of some clear alcohol, and a bag that he assumed held bandages. "Come outside, it is more than warm enough, and the garden will be more private, at this time of night."

Hubert followed him past the cellar access and out onto rickety steps, careful not to limp, this time. Normally he would be thrilled at going anywhere with René, particularly at his demand, but he had to admit that he was a little reluctant, now. No matter how gentle René had been, having the cut cleaned had not been pleasant.

Once they were outside, he did not restrain his leer when René told him to undo his trousers, laughing softly at the roll of those dark eyes that he could still see, as the sun had not quite set yet. But the neighbouring yard was empty, as was the open field beyond the fence; this was indeed wonderfully private. And René seemed much calmer today, not so... painfully lost in the past.

"Sit on the step and let me see what you have done to yourself. Did you at least wash it this morning?"

Hubert grimaced, knowing he was about to get a lecture, "No- I *meant* to," he interrupted René's parting lips as he crouched down next to Hubert's leg, "But I slept late and was woken by a demand I present myself to the general."

"You should have told him you were injured."

Hubert could not help a smile at the uncharacteristic growl, but then flinched at the tape pulling, however carefully, the hair from his thigh. And then tensed as René tried to lift the material from the cut and swore under his breath before reaching for the water and soaking the material. The excess water sloshed onto the ground, Hubert's trousers kept safe beyond the bend of his knee, held by his boots; though his underwear were going to be damp. He was indeed glad for the usually annoying heat.

The material finally lifted off, though René still snarled under his breath and Hubert failed to hold back a jerk. "Tomorrow you will take the time to rinse this during the day, lieutenant."

Hubert huffed at the firm order, but he truly did not care to end up at the hospital; he would find a way to follow René's orders. "Would a bath not be sufficient?"

Those dark eyes were very stern now, an utterly unfamiliar look whose effect Hubert would not have expected. "Running water several times a day is better than diluting the poison for a long time *once* a day. Even if you bathed only in clear water. It also makes it less likely you will rip the skin's attempts to heal while walking with stiffened bandages."

This time, he was not tired at all, nor fighting nightmares or pain, but seeing as the man was helping him, Hubert hoped the reaction he was having to René's face so close to his waist was not *too* obvious; he could not help but enjoy the man's proximity, after all. And his touch. Even if he *was* poking at the very sore area, again. It was... rather pleasant to feel alive like this. But it would be rude to, as it were, rub it in René's face, when their relationship was not at such a physically-honest point.

"It does not look too much worse than yesterday, at least. Still infected.. but not worse." René sat back and glared at Hubert's admittedly rather mangled-looking thigh. Then he reached for the water again, getting up from his crouch to stand clear, and then started gently pouring the water on the wound, still held closed by those neat little strips of tape with a touch of bandage keeping the adhesive from touching the open skin. When he emptied the pitcher, he was still glaring and finally muttered, "Do not move."

Hubert watching him hurry back inside, feeling fond, and... hopeful. However angry the wound made René, the care he was showing Hubert was not... indifferent.

It was... *nice* to have someone care.

When René came back, the pitcher was full again and he stood patiently emptying it in the same thin flow. Then he crouched, careful of the now-muddy ground, and opened the bag he had brought earlier, indeed exposing bandages, along with a small jar; and tape, of course. The jar held a waxy, yellowish substance that smelled herb-y and faintly of lavender and... onion?? And which René slathered generously along the cut before holding the jar to Hubert with a firm look that again caused a very unsettling reaction, "At least three times a day. Water for more than a minute, then dry the area and apply this before covering with clean bandage, understood?"

Hubert nodded as René applied a few thin layers of bandage over the pasted area before wrapping his whole thigh with a cloth and taping it in place. "But I do not wish to take your-"

René waved a hand at him impatiently, "I always make several jars, I have more." Then he actually patted Hubert's bare -almost- thigh! Speaking firmly and with those lovely dark eyes so near and clear on him, "Promise me, lieutenant."

Hubert smiled, feeling so excruciatingly fond that his voice tried to choke, "I promise, my dear René."

René nodded and stood up, "Then get those trousers back on and I will get you that cognac."

Hubert laughed, standing up carefully.

AN:s5e18 - René at piano

being that gruber sang Gene Austin "She's Funny That Way" (1928) (s3e05 - He's funny that way), there is every reason to believe he'd know melancholy baby too! :D
for Gruber to know - Gene Austin - (1927)
to remind René of the war - Walter Van Brunt [1915]

Please don't try to treat wounds yourself unless you HAVE to (ie, are isolated and cannot reach help). In this case, it is 1943, where neosporin is not a thing, and a lot of the wound-care theories taught today were not a thing. And Gruber is being stubborn about seeing a doctor. René is doing the best he can using peasant knowledge and that of a 1915 wartime hospital ward.
https://www.healthline.com/health/skin/how-to-treat-an-infected-wound-naturally

I'm thinking René's recipe is : calendula, lavender, comfrey, dandelion, garlic and onion, in olive oil with beeswax
calendula encourages general skin healing
https://www.healthline.com/health/calendula-oil
lavender for pain-relief and anti-inflammation and antiseptic
https://www.healthline.com/health/lavender-oil-for-skin
https://www.healingharvesthomestead.com/home/2017/10/31/how-to-make-glorious-soothing-lavender-salve-smells-amazing-and-has-multiple-uses
comfrey to stop bleeding and pain relief
https://www.mingaskillbuilding.ca/post/foraging-in-france-ami-s-love-affair-with-comfrey
https://practicalselfreliance.com/comfrey-salve
dandelion fight inflammation
https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/dandelion-benefits
https://www.growforagecookferment.com/how-to-make-dandelion-salve/
onion and garlic antimicrobial
https://www.sciencealert.com/a-1-000-year-old-recipe-for-eye-infections-could-make-a-comeback-as-a-modern-antiseptic
https://www.farmersalmanac.com/got-a-cut-reach-for-the-onions-2956
https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/onion-benefits
https://www.underatinroof.com/blog/2018/10/23/garlic-salve
but don't go *completely* (like srsly, you'd have to go pretty damn crazy) crazy eating garlic

not grown in France, so I don't think Rene would have access right now
turmeric for inflammation and healing
https://www.onegreenplanet.org/natural-health/how-to-help-heal-cuts-and-wounds-with-turmeric/
eucalyptus for infection and inflamation
https://www.healthline.com/health/9-ways-eucalyptus-oil-can-help


Chapter four: You shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh (PG13)
2022-02-07

AN:There are very nebulous implications of an OC being abused, offscreen.


René looked up when the door to the back room opened, expecting the rush to have started and one of the girls to be asking him to take over the bar. Instead he relaxed and nodded curious welcome, "Lieutenant." He watched the man walk in and nodded approvingly, "Your leg is better?"

Gruber smiled back, his eyes even more full of warmth than they had been before that week of manoeuvres as he came to stand next to René's chair. And René found a small grin on his lips at the familiar waft of lily, still remembering that very dishevelled lieutenant that had stumbled into his café. "Entirely, my dear René. Thanks to you." Gruber held out a familiar jar, "The infection is gone and the bandage was almost clean yesterday; I am leaving it uncovered."

"I am glad I could help, lieutenant." René automatically checked the lid for tightness as he stood to set it on the sideboard before offering up the bottle of cheap brandy he had left there yesterday after a late night drink.

Gruber nodded, and with a pleased look followed René's wave to bring a chair closer to where René had several platters of glasses to shine. "Indeed. I am grateful you saved me a trip to the hospital." He blinked at his first sip of the drink and René chuckled, impressed all over again that the man apparently could handle liquor much rougher than his usual preference. "Though, I do have to ask, René. What is in that salve? I could swear I smelled onion..." he winked, his voice losing the alcohol's grit, "And there was unfortunately no friendly Frenchman near to account for it."

René smirked to himself, then adopted a pious expression, knowing Gruber would not be fooled, and would enjoy the shared game, "Ah but lieutenant, the great onion is also a great *healer*! Did you think we would have a festival in the honour of a vegetable merely for its potent taste-"

When he made the mistake of looking at the man, he could not keep up the grandiose exposé in the face of the pressed-out smile, and the deep wrinkles around the eyes shinning so fondly at him, and he lowered his waving arms and chuckled, shrugging bashfully, "Mother Thérèse's own recipe does have onion, yes. As well as garlic-" he huffed at Gruber's wrinkled nose, speaking firmly, "Both of which are known to help infection." He raised a brow at the man and waited for him to give a sheepish shrug before continuing, "Comfrey root to stop bleeding and kill pain," he counted up by tapping on his fingers, an old visual habit he had never given up, "Lavender for pain and inflammation, dandelion for inflammation, and calendula to help the skin heal. In beeswax to protect the injury, and oil to be usable." He shrugged, reaching for another glass to polish and settling more comfortably in his chair, "I actually seem to remember she also used turmeric and eucalyptus, but I cannot grow them, and even the sisters could not get them during the war." He nodded toward the man's leg, "And the mix still worked quite well."

Gruber nodded, slowly settling into a lounge on his own chair, facing René with an elbow on the table and his knees almost touching René's thigh, "It does. One could wish it was part of the first aid kit."

René absently poured some brandy for himself into the next glass he picked up, "You could have kept the jar, lieutenant."

Gruber waved a hand at him, some odd mix of grimness and flirtation in his expression, "I would not steal from you, René," his lips tightened, "Not by choice." Taking a sip and setting the glass aside to continue working, René had a sudden dim memory of a brief sight of the man giving René a very remorseful and conflicted look as Klinkerhoffen ordered René's Van Gogh stolen before him. Gruber stared toward the window as he sipped his drink, but then seemed to set aside the regret and looked over with a smile that was only slightly forced, "And... I hope you will permit me to come beg you for it, should I be clumsy enough to need it again?"

"Of course." It always caught him by surprise when the two of them managed to spend time quietly like this; no flirting, no plots. There were actually very few people he could share a drink with without patter being necessary; Gruber, for all his chatty manner, was surprisingly capable of quiet calm. René alternately sipped his own drink and polished glasses, his thoughts drifting again, as they often had the last few days. And last few nights, unfortunately.

"René?" René blinked, drawn back to the present as a warm palm cupped his hand where he had been holding a glass midair without moving. He looked up to meet narrow hazel eyes watching him sadly. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, the memory he had slipped into rose again and he had to clear his throat to answer, "Fine, lieutenant. Another drink?"

Gruber leaned slightly closer, a touch of flirtation warming the worry from his eyes, "If you do not mind my company, my dear René." René smiled tiredly, automatically setting a finger on the lieutenant's glass to fill it, and then adding to his own on the table. They clinked wordlessly before raising their glasses in a silent toast, and René got back to his work, dimly aware that the noise from the main room was beginning to filter through the door.

"Do you really grow all those herbs yourself?"

René looked over after bringing the next platter of glasses into reach, "Herbs? Of c- oh. ...for the salve." his voice slowed as his mind drifted, "Yes. Certainly..."

"...René?"

"Umm?" René smiled vaguely, gently, "Oh yes... my apologies. Yes... we used to gather them from the fields... but that was very inefficient..."

"...I hope you don't mind my saying, but you have taken to... sometimes looking at me very oddly, René."

It took a few moments for René to blink back to the present, setting aside another over-polished glass, "Lieutenant?"

When he focused on Gruber properly, it was to see a worried frown fixed on him, "Like just now."

The memory of fields of flowers rose again, but he made himself push it back, hesitating, even as he knew that at this point he had already told Gruber so much... "...I had a little brother."

The man paled, a haunted look flashing to his eyes as he stiffened, "You said-"

René quickly reached out and gripped the lieutenant's shoulder, shaking it slightly, "No! Not..." René took a breath, staring firmly into eyes that still too-obviously remembered nightmares, "He was three years younger than me. Not even walking when our father abandoned us. Slim, no matter how I tried to slip more food to his plate," his voice quieted, memories hazing his sight, "Kind. Gentle. People always abused him..."

He made himself focus back on the once-again worried eyes on him, "He was 13 when he finally admitted to me that he fancied men." He would have pulled away, then, but as he stared at his hand on that so-military, thick, grey material, wide fingers came to rest on his chilled skin, holding him in place. It was... beyond odd to speak of things that had always had to be kept secret, and his words could not help but drop to a murmur, "The war had started by then. There were soldiers everywhere," his voice shook to silence, suddenly, and he was grateful when a glass appeared in his free hand. A good swallow of the liquor let him breathe and he tried to finish the story quickly, "Rowdy and without manners, even when they were sober. ...I kept him with me and protected him; so did mother, of course. And the sisters when they took us all in. But by the time he was 15, I had to allow him to live his life..." This time he kept it at a sip, not trusting himself to swallow, hearing his voice get hoarse, "And then I 'ad to watch him... so often come 'ome... 'limping'... and worse, whenever 'is far too foolishly-cheerful nature led 'im to... choose the wrong companions."

This time he pulled his hand back without noticing the resistance, taking a long swallow of his drink as he stared at the amber grimly, barely aware of his audience anymore, "I was a different man then... Not even a man, by anyone's standards but the army. But I was always well built, and when father left, mother 'ad taught me to garden so we would survive while she worked as much as she could for what could not be grown; I 'ad gotten strong. And tended to drink a little too much, much like our father..." He looked up, the old anger still there, now that he had let himself think on it, "I tracked down several of those men and taught them lessons. One fellow..." René snarled silently, blindly staring at the door in the distance, " 'e made some very unpleasant comments. I made certain *that one* would never hurt anyone like that again."

He poured himself another glass, only half aware that that was not the present, and that he needed to remember 'imself. But his jaw was almost too tight to drink and his cheek twitched as he tried to hear beyond the pounding of his pulse. There was a reason he avoided thinking of the past.

"...You said 'had'."

René's head jerked up at the soft voice, eyes locking on warm hazel that touched him as he would not let hands do, right now. René swallowed hard, ignoring the burn in his eyes as he kept their gazes locked and tried to speak matter-of-factly, "...One night 'e went out with some of 'is few *nice* friends. They... were accosted by some particularly rough fellows. Beaten. He bled inside and died the next day."

Gruber's eyes closed and he bowed his head, "I am so sorry, René."

René refilled the glass on the table near his hand, realizing Gruber had given him his at some point, and pushed the other glass against his companion's hand. Oddly, watching Gruber sip his drink with slumped shoulders slowly pulled René from the old fury better than the harsh drink did. Nothing would make the anger go away, but he knew he had to bury it to be able to live on, as he must to honour the youthfully smiling grey eyes that he had taught himself to remember instead of his last view of his brother. "I 'ave not spoken of 'im in... almost 20 years."

The lieutenant looked up, a tinge of red to his eyes to match his cracked voice, "...What was his name?"

"...Claude." 'Ah, mon beau p'tit Claude, always seeing the best in people. I sometimes wish I could do the same.' It was an old, old thought. Once spoken fondly to a laughing boy with their mother's fine features.

Gruber reached toward René's empty hand hesitantly, obviously expecting to be thrown off, but René caught the hand and gripped it gently, "You... remind me of him, often." Gruber nodded understanding, but frowned slightly, and René squeezed the hand, making himself smile a bit, feeling the irony as his eyes stroked over the man in front of him, "Slim. Fancies men. Always cheerful," he smirked gently, holding up the man's fingers as though he were going to give them a courtly kiss, "He was no artist, though, could not draw so much as a stick figure. But he did play the piano beautifully." If only that damned war had not happened! René had hoped to find him a teacher and- He took a swallow of the brandy, pushing away the old, infuriating thought.

Gruber watched him thoughtfully as they both sipped at their drinks, and René affected not to notice that they were still holding hands, 'Again. Though at least he was not naked, this time!' "...Is that why you always... avoid me?"

René grimaced at the wording, straightening slightly, though he was not quite inclined to force his hand free, yet. "When we first met..." For a moment he remembered that seemingly so much younger man, even if it was hardly a year ago. Alone and defensive and- "I 'ad the most unfamiliar instinct to..." he waved his almost-empty glass, "Not protect, but.. be nice to you, at least. Which I am not in the 'abit of feeling for German soldiers," he rolled his eyes, muttering half to himself, "Nor anyone, really."

"I appreciated it, René." René stilled at the quiet tone, looking up and seeing the rare tired look around Gruber's eyes, "All jesting aside, I've had plenty of unpleasant colleagues since I signed up." He gripped René's hand, almost in reassurance, though René was not certain why, "Ending up in the infirmary," Gruber grimaced and nodded at René's flinch, "When a pack of drunken louts decided no one would discipline them for beating up a *faggot* was unpleasant, but threatening superiors were worse. People like you, and the better men serving with me, are what have kept me... cheerful. Through the years."

René nodded silently and poured them more brandy, noting that he was going to need to bring up a new bottle, and they both drank quietly for a bit, René half-aware that he still had not freed his hand from the warm clasp between them. Staring at those thick fingers twined with his, he finally grumbled quietly, "I... do not really know why you always unnerve me," he avoided Gruber's suddenly attentive gaze, "I 'ave 'ad men fancy me before, to some degree or other." He glanced up briefly with a shrug, "It never particularly bothered me. Not any more than a woman doing the same when I 'ave no interest in 'er." 'Which *did* actually 'appen!!'

He had gone back to staring at his drink, but he could feel the look still fixed on him even before Gruber spoke hesitantly, "...Are you afraid of ending up like-"

René looked up sharply, "No!"

Gruber raised a calm brow, "Or like me?"

René frowned, no more enlightened than before, and mildly annoyed, " 'Like' you? German? A soldier?" he rolled his eyes, "Slim? Cheerful?" he shook his head when Gruber went to interrupt, keeping his voice low to avoid letting the frustration carry him away, "I am deemed a collaborator by my neighbours, a coward by anyone that knows me. In a marriage that lost love and passion before 'itler gained power. Under the thumb of both Résistance and the- you occupying Germans. We all live under the rough mercy of the R.A.F. What 'like you' do you imagine I fear?"

"You 'collaborate' because we give you no choice. But you can choose to avoid being known to fancy a man, and so avoid the danger of random groups of idiots."

René stared into his glass, letting the words swirl like the liquor. Unable to help thinking of Gruber, likely still young, less wary, less trained; bones broken, bruised, scratched, and bleeding like Claude, but lucky enough to avoid deadly injuries. Though by his reactions, not lucky enough to avoid doctors undeserving of the name. Thinking of how little the deaths of his brother's assailants had done to ease René's pain. "You should not have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh."

"No." René reluctantly looked up as Gruber tugged on his hand to draw his attention. That pressed-out smile always made René... ache, really. It really did expose more wrinkles than René had allowed himself to catch on his own face, as yet. And yet. Those eyes were still young, still bright, still saw good in their cruel world. In René. "And yet, nothing is worth not being myself. I watched my uncle deny himself at the demands of his family. Nothing would be worth anything if I spent my life hiding. I would do almost anything for love, René," he winked, teasing so gently, and even younger than that weary soldier fresh from the Eastern Front, inviting René to feel his joy, "I would crawl from here to the coast; swim to Dover and climb the white cliffs unaided," his hand squeezed as his expression turned painfully earnest, "If it meant reaching for the edge of glory with someone I love. Nothing else matters." He shrugged, still smiling, but looking older than René for a moment. And yet, happier than René felt, most days. "Nothing else would matter without it."


AN:Delain - We are the others
I'm walking with Sophie tonight
She lives in the air that I breathe
I can't get it out of my mind
How you were left to bleed
Was it how you dressed?
Or how you act?
I can't believe
How they could act
So violently, without regret
Well we will not forget

[Chorus:]
We are the others
We are the cast-out
We're the outsiders
But you can't hide us
We are the others
We are the cast-outs
You're not out there on your own
If you feel mistreated
Torn and cheated
You are not alone
We are the others
(We are the others)

As simple as air in your lungs
As simple as words on your lips
And no one should take that away
No one should argue this
Now with our heads up high
We'll carry on
And carry out
That we won't let them get us down
Or wear us out
'Cause we are not alone...

[Chorus:]

Normal is not the norm
It's just a uniform
(We are the others)
Forget about the norms
(We're the outsiders)
Take off your uniform
(We are the others)
We are all beautiful
(We are the others)

[Chorus:]

Meatloaf - I would do anything for love
Sara Evans - No place that far
Lady Gaga - Edge of Glory


Chapter five: A long slow... (Mature)
2022-02-12

AN:There are ALLUSIONS TO SEX. No 'action', and very few details. But a word or two is used that made me tag this Mature in different places.

-s-e-x-s-e-x WARNING s-e-x-s-e-x-


"Would not a nice leisurely suck relax you?"

It had been some time since Hubert had made such a graceless offer, but sometimes needs must.

It was only a few minutes ago that he had grimaced as he sat back down uncomfortably, von Strohm having finally left, in one of his typical snarling huffs, after lecturing the two of them like errant schoolboys.

And *he* was the one who had caused the Madonna to end up in the general's hands, this time! Not Hubert, and certainly not René!

Hubert sipped his wine gloomily, watching René's leg twitching nervously as he hunched in his chair, his eyes flickering around the room as though expecting madame Edith, or the Résistance, to stalk up to add to his troubles as he drank his wine far too quickly to enjoy. Miss Yvette had already been nagging and crying at his poor René when they had come in and the colonel had insisted on dragging him away for his rant.

René sighed as he poured himself another glass, seemingly making himself set aside his worry of further attack. Though it only brought to the fore the tiredness that had been lingering around him since Hubert's foolish fall had caused him to be reminded of his painful youth.

After everything René had done for him, Hubert felt even more wrenchingly solicitous of the poor man than he always had. "René, you look *very* tense."

"Am."

Hubert met his weary eyes and finally smiled sadly. He knew he had brought that sorrow to the man's thoughts, and he sudden almost *needed* to see him smile again. It was so painfully wrong for the Frenchman to be so subdued.

Perhaps he could jolly his dear friend a bit, at least. He could not remember hearing René truly laugh, not that he blamed him, but if he could make him snort, and even grin instead of looking so hounded, that would be a worthy victory! ...Worth risking the thin layer of ease that had suddenly appeared between them since those dratted manoeuvres.

He deliberately strolled his eyes down René's strong figure, feeling a familiar lovely tingle at the view, and wriggled his brows, "Would not a nice leisurely suck relax you?"

René's eyes slipped half-closed as his lips curled a little at the corners, his next sip of wine looking more savoured, "Oh yes... A leisurely *anything* would be very lovely..." He gave a little dreamy hum, relaxing in his chair a bit.

Hubert blinked at him in surprise for the easy agreement, then shook his head as he realized that René was so distracted that he did not realize what he had just agreed to. Or at least not with whom; but Hubert kept the sad knowledge from twisting his lips by taking a sip of his own wine.

René still looked more tired than entertained, his relaxation more of a tired slump, all too likely still drifting in the past; and not one with music. Though being lost in the constant madness of the present was no more conducive to relaxation. How he would love to take him away from all this... Hubert lowered his glass and leaned conspiratorially close, "René, do you not realize I could take you away at gunpoint from all the people demanding things from you, here, and they could not argue. We could have a lovely evening in my room, and then I could 'release' you, and you could claim you overpowered me... or whatever else you like..."

By the disbelieving look he suddenly turned on him, this time René caught what he was offering.

When he still did not immediately jump up to run away, Hubert smiled slowly, hooding his eyes and utterly unable to help letting the lovely fantasy play in his mind as he watched the man that had so firmly manhandled him until he was bent-over, wet and naked before him, hardly a fortnight ago, "I assure you, you would feel much better."

When René opened his mouth, the look on his face so utterly flummoxed that there was no doubt he was about to refuse, one way or another, Hubert added, making certain he looked entirely serious, now, "René, I feel I must point out that you really should know I would never..." his jaw clenched and he looked away momentarily, dimly aware that René's empty hand actually squeezed his knee before fluttering away. ticking his chin up, Hubert made himself face him more grimly, "Never again, harm you. Certainly not deliberately."

He made himself push away the dark memories and relax, focusing on the man gazing at him with a sad smile, now, his wariness faded, which made warmth burst in Hubert's chest that René was now so much friendlier, even when faced with Hubert's unhidden affection.

He used to be reasonably good at this, once. The old smile felt stiff on his cheeks from disuse, but he tried to remember the feeling of seducing someone, holding those dark eyes, "I assure you, I am no untried boy." Oh but how he would love to show René all the things he'd learned of pleasure, before this war. From soft lips to strong fingers, hours of slowly simmering need to the fires of ecstasy. The thought was more than enough to make him purr, "You would be *very* relaxed." And smiling; Hubert bet that René would smile very softly indeed, laying back in his bed, as debauched -and dishevelled!- as Hubert's not-inconsiderable skills could make him. Pale and lush, letting Hubert smooth away sweat and spend, René's fingers trailing fondly over Hubert's arms. All his cares set aside; at least while they took their ease.

Floating in his lurid fantasy, he almost missed the moment that René stilled. That so-frequently unsettled look broken by a slow breath accompanied with an even slower blink. And when their eyes met again, there were no words of refusal. Only a silence thick with a dark stare that... could well be lust...

Almost in disbelief that he might have gotten through to the man, Hubert set his shaking glass on the table and very slowly and deliberately lowered his hand to his holster, waiting for René to wave him off with a huff and a jest and a dance away to the safety of their old games.

Instead, that dark gaze followed his hand with only a visible flare to the nostrils to show that he was aware of the offer, and Hubert's heart pounded with some mixture of shock and excitement.

Before pulling the weapon out he spoke, breathlessly, unable to do this without René's actual agreement, "Here? Now?"

For a moment he hated himself for the need for honour as René's eyes turned a little wild and flicked around them as though searching for an escape. But when they landed back on Hubert they stilled again and his lips twitched almost into a smile, his expression easing into the friendship that had started to appear there more often, lately. His chest finally rose and fell with a long breath. "No theatrics, please, lieutenant. Pull your weapon," Hubert grinned when he actually winked as he casually set his glass on the table besides Hubert's, "And I will raise my hands and we will walk out."

Hubert had to take a moment and close his eyes on that soft smile so as to school his features into at least a semblance of a threatening expression -at least not a wild grin of glee!-. Then he rose and pulled out his weapon, for a moment coldly aware of what he was about to do and not letting his finger go anywhere near the trigger. Then he held it at full extension so it could not be missed by even the blindest bystander, though he kept his voice conversational, "On your feet, peasant."

He had to clench his jaw to keep from laughing when René rolled his eyes, and then widened them in badly-simulated fear, raising his hands and rising out of his chair, only to clip the leg and send it crashing to the floor, "Yes yes, of course, lieutenant! There is no reason to get excited!"

Hubert waved the pistol toward the door and René willingly turned and walked out, his hands high and the few other customers frozen and quiet. Madame Edith would no doubt be walking in soon, though if Hubert were lucky they would already be in his tank and making their escape.

Hubert spared a thought for Clarence's panic when he would return from eating at his own favourite café, several streets over, to find the tank gone; but the boy could walk. For all it would add to the lecture Hubert would get.

"Into the tank, and be quick about it." René already had the hatch open as he spoke, and was climbing in clumsily, providing a very appealing sight as Hubert kept an eye -and ear- out for anyone thinking to protest. Particularly if they wore white socks and a trench coat. But the square remained quiet and Hubert followed as soon as René was in, just as he dimly heard Madame Edith's voice. He let a wild grin loose as he heard the tank start up before he could even close them in; he was not the only one anxious to get away! And now they could pretend not to hear any calls!

Shuffling himself around until he crouched behind René, ensconced in the driver's seat, he barely resisted wrapping his arms around him; he would wait until he was certain what René desired, or was willing to accept, from him. For now he settled for asking rather teasingly as he finally put his weapon away, "Would you like me to drive?"

"Oh certainly, lieutenant, I would not want to accidentally damage your little tank."

Hubert snorted at the sarcasm, though quite without rancour, allowing himself to gently brush a single fingertip over René's hand where it gripped the wheel, a small touch that could not be said to encroach... but still felt ever so slightly intimate, "Those dings were no accident. You and the captain drove my little tank into a Résistance nest."

René huffed, grumbling, "It was not the plan."

"I am certain it was not." René had not tried to escape his touch, and was driving the tank with surprising calm, so Hubert settled in his position against the corner of the seat, uncaring of what the grid-work was doing to the knees of his uniform, nor how the crouch was stretching the healing scar on his thigh. He tipped his head, watching René lovely aquiline profile, "You could have asked for my help, you know." Which would have avoided his being such a fool as to contact the blasted Gestapo.

René glanced at him, his expression serious, though unjudging -and not bleak or tense!-, "...At the time, I did not know you that well. I am not so certain you would 'ave willingly broken rules to 'elp us."

About to answer, Hubert stopped to remember those early days, and finally had to shrug sadly at himself, "You may be right, René."

"Speaking of rules. That little show may keep *my* neck clear, but are you not going to get in trouble?"

Hubert shook his head, "Not really. If the general questions me I will simply say you refused to lend yourself to immoral purposes and I had to insist; he knows I am 'one of them' and would have no reason to doubt my interest in you." He rolled his eyes, grumbling half to himself, "He will likely give me a commendation for being so firm."

René snorted.

Hubert continued with a shrug, "The colonel will be angry because he will worry that it could interfere with his own immoral plans with Yvette. Once I explain that you are not angry and the gun was to protect you from accusations of collaboration, and from madame Edith, he will not care." He winced, "Though we will both have him try to use such a relationship." And then he held his breath, wondering just how René would respond to a clear reference to what Hubert had offered at the café.

René shrugged fatalistically, "Nothing new there." He looked at Hubert sideways, "You do realize that if we go to your room, Edith is all too likely to mount some wild scheme to rescue me?" As they neared the first intersection, he slowed the vehicle and turned to waggle a finger before Hubert's nose, suddenly grinning as brightly as Hubert could have wished before his hopes grew to include so much more, "And I am *not* driving to the coast for a swim!"

A laugh of relief escaped Hubert, and he could not help tipping his head to press a kiss on René's neck for even alluding Hubert's impassioned speech that day. And then liping his way up to his ear when René shivered and actually leaned his head to the side to give him more access. Hubert finally made himself raise his head and grin at the arousal flushing René cheek, a match for the blood below Hubert's belt, "That will not be necessary. I changed my room, just yesterday. It is now at the top of the West Tower. There are no tunnel entrances near, and there *is* a guard. Even madame Edith would have a hard time getting through." He gently took René's slowly-lowering finger and kissed it, his smile dimming, "I promise you, René, we can at least have a restful afternoon." If only there was any way for it to be more.

René silently trailed his fingertips along Hubert's jaw, passion dimming with regret before he turned to rev the engine back up. Not wanting him to slip back into melancholy thoughts, Hubert cuddled as closely as he could without interfering with the gears, stroking his side and leg, barely resisting stroking somewhere else. They still had to walk past the guards and he was quite certain René would not appreciate giving them that kind of show. Instead, he pressed his lips to René's shoulder, and then leaned a little further to husk in his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the loud tank, "Drive us to my room, my dear René, and I will have my way with you for as long as you let me."

^

René had gone mad. That was the only explanation.

And yet.. He truly was beyond tense.

Yvette was nagging him almost daily for them to run away. Edith was being maddeningly solicitous, nagging that he have the doctor give him something for the spells of the old bleakness that had taken to distracting him. Then the colonel and his mad notions that René was somehow responsible for rescuing the Madonna; again.

And Gruber had sounded so sadly plaintive. ...René could not help but remember those gentle eyes bloodshot and bleak; another victim of these damned wars.

Yes. A long slow suck sounded heavenly.

...But how could he be ignoring the fact that this time, he would be expected to return the favour! And it would not be boobies involved!!

Yet.

He had caught himself smiling several times in the last few days, thinking of shining eyes that he... wanted to believe in. Hope was truly an odd idea. ...To be frank, odder than... touching dynamite other than his own. Not by much, mind you!

But to spend an afternoon losing himself in pleasure. Touching and kissing. Without it being an invitation to more nagging.

Or buns.

...And... he did remember the time or two that Claude had come home drunk and grinning like a Cheshire cat and babbled at René. ...My god had his 18 year old self been flustered 'Yes yes, he was *still* flustered'. Even while being truly glad his little Claude had found, at least that night, someone actually kind.

Gruber was kind.

Odd. And a German. But kind.

Mother Thérèse would box his ears if she caught him discriminating against a person for the country they had been born in.

And René suspected, when he accidentally forced himself to be honest with himself, that he could do a great deal to all that soft skin he 'ad 'ad to look over when searching for an injury that would... Well, make Gruber cry out for much more pleasing reasons than having an open wound cleaned.

Watching Gruber's expression as he very obviously slipped into thinking of... a long, slow afternoon... so much more genuine than any of the teasing, flirting invitations he used to try to snare René with. This... he signed quietly. If the man was half as knowing as the confident desire that had darkened his eyes as he gazed at René... This had been tempting.

He watched the château coming closer through the tank's view-port, trying to keep his eyes open when he would rather allow himself to melt under the faerie-light stroke of fingertips. He *would* like them lower down... but it was lovely to be petted like this... It would be innocent, if not for those soft lips that had touched his neck and left him feeling very weak in the knees 'And very 'strong' higher up!'. And *very* interested in a nice long, slow... afternoon.

After all... he did like *lollys*...

---

"René!! They said Gruber kidnapped you!!!"

Walking briskly toward the bar, René huffed loudly, rolling his eyes, "Kidnapped?? Gruber??" he stopped to snort particularly loudly, waving his arms in emphasis, "Gruber kidnap *me*?? Do not be ridiculous, Edith."

"But where were you?" It took him some skilful wriggling to slither out from under her attempted grip on his shirt, and she managed to sniff at his collar, "...And *why* do you smell of *lily*???"

René sent her his best condescending smile, "For god's sake Edith, are you trying to imply I was having a *dalliance* with *Gruber*??"

As he 'ad known she would, Edith pulled back, blinking in confusion, "...No ...Of course not." Of course not. Who would *ever* consider such a ridiculous notion, really? If it were not for the Résistance and their cries of collaborating, they could have strolled into a field of wildflowers together in plain sight of the village and no one would seriously have considered the insane idea.

"There you go then, do not be so silly, woman. Now we really *must* get to work, there are customers waiting!" He walked away 'Alright, yes, he was likely strutting... But he had good reason!', grinning to himself and humming 'He can come home' under his breath.

He would have to think of a reason for their little show to give the village so they could sing together again without everyone getting suspicious.


AN:s2e04 little dings
s5e18 I have changed my room to one atop the tower


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