reached for the gun ██ inglourious basterds p.t

[maxwell must go free]

Donny watched Archie disappear into the room, his smile still lingering. He was so irritatingly proper. It got under Donny’s skin in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Even when he’d hinted that Archie looked like a hobo, he’d still maintained that air of dignity and coolness. Someday Donny would love to just goad him until he snapped. He thought it would be hilarious to watch that calm façade melt away into something else. Anything to see some real emotion cross that conventionally handsome, aristocratic face.

He hoped that among other things. Yeah, it was a pretty fat chance that everything would just work itself out. Donny knew that there would probably be hell to pay for the way things had panned out with Archie. He was aware that Aldo had expected Donny to simply beat the Brit into a broken, lifeless corpse. Or, at the very least, leave him unable to walk or chew food under his own power ever again. Sometimes things didn’t go the way you thought they would. Aldo of all people should know that.

As Donny continued on to his own room, the memory of Aldo’s random change in behavior came rushing back to him. Donny’s trademark grin melted away instantly, replaced by an intense scowl. Aldo could be such a ******** a*****e. Yeah, so what, they’d both ******** up tonight. People made mistakes. It was really tragic that they’d lost Kagan. Even to Donny, who could be exceedingly insensitive, that was a crying shame. He hadn’t meant for anybody to die. If he could have taken it back…well… the thought of Archie’s lean body and artistic angles of his face passed through his mind. Yeah, he’d like to have Kagan back. That shouldn’t have happened. But it really was thrilling that Donny had been able to spend the evening with Archie.

Well, no matter what had happened and who did what, it didn’t give Aldo the right to storm out in the midst of a temper tantrum like some bratty kid. And then he had the nerve to place the blame squarely on Donny’s head. The scowl deepened, Donny’s thick black eyebrows drawing together. Whatever. He hoped Aldo was enjoying himself, wherever he was. He’d better have it out of his system by the time he came back. Donny hated having to just go to his own room when he was pissed off about something. He always slept the best after he’d settled the argument with Aldo the way he was best at. Sex relaxed him totally.

He stripped off his clothes and threw himself into his bed. He had fully expected to toss and turn for hours, seething inwardly at his leader’s stupidity. He thought he’d lay there and rage silently till dawn. So it came as a surprise to Donny when he found he couldn‘t keep his eyes open. He just couldn’t muster the energy it took to stay angry at Aldo.

Within ten minutes of sprawling out in his bed, Donny was sleeping like a rock.

--

Hans listened intently to what Aldo had to say. True, he was interested in Aldo’s take on what had happened just a few hours prior to their meeting. But also he just loved the sound of his voice. That flat, drawling accent of his was just fascinating to Hans‘ sophisticated ears. It was easy to fall into the trap of classifying Aldo as just an ignorant country boy when you heard that almost comical intonation. Hans knew perfectly well that the unrefined manner of speaking hid a very agile brain. It was Aldo’s intelligence that he had been drawn to from the very beginning.

He inclined his head in a gesture of commiseration.

“Ah, so I’ve heard. What a shame. It’s always difficult when you lose a man.”

A muscle worked in Hans’ face. Aldo had just been unable to resist the dig at him. He grimaced inwardly at the thought of both Hicox and Zoller in a state of AWOL. For just a moment he was incredibly irritated with Aldo for even mentioning it. The situation was actually very upsetting to him, more so than he wanted to let on. Hicox could be forgiven, as he was in a way his man against his will. However, Zoller’s carelessness, his tendency to fling himself head on into emotion like that…Hans inhaled deeply. He wasn’t going to think about that now. In the morning, after Aldo had risen from his side of the bed to slip back to the Basterds’ house, Hans would tend to the pair of embarrassments he employed. Especially Zoller. The boy needed to learn some self-control.

Hans recovered quickly, his charming smile back in place within moments.

“I do admit, things did not go as smoothly as I had hoped. There was a certain…unforeseen event that occurred. You understand though, these things happen.”

His smile widened, becoming predatory. Oh, how well he knew Aldo. Hans knew exactly what strings to pull that would prod him into action. The men he lost were for the most part inconsequential to Hans. As long as they could continue this game of theirs, this endless battle of wits, Hans would throw away as many men as was necessary. Yes, once upon a time the Fuhrer’s rhetoric had incited a burning passion within Hans’ chest. Back in his younger days, he had been just as zealous as any other young recruit with energy and emotion in spades.

Now, with about three decades separating him from that restless youth he had once been, Hans cared far less about spreading the Fuhrer’s message and much more about his eternal conflict with Aldo Raine. While they were striving against each other, Hans was perfectly willing to be the Fuhrer’s man. As long as there was something exciting in it for Hans, he would stay faithful to the cause. If something happened however… For example if Aldo decided to disappear, he would not have hesitated to corrupt the Fuhrer’s entire campaign. When the game stopped being fun, Hans would stop playing.

Not that he would have said any of this out loud.

“Well, we’ve known each other for a very, very long time, Aldo. I would be ashamed of myself if I didn’t know how to bring you to my door by now.”

Hans had reached for the bottle of wine to refill Aldo’s glass, but his expression stayed Hans’ hand. Hans had seen that look on his face a thousand times before. Aldo had no interest in more alcohol. He wanted what he’d come here for. Hans would have liked maybe a bit more conversation; he did enjoy these chats he had with Aldo. However, he agreed that what they were going to do next was more entertaining by far. Maybe in the past he would have toyed with Aldo’s keyed up emotions, taunting him till he simply took what he wanted. Now though, there was the problem of his Jew. Every time Hans considered baiting Aldo, the thought of that uncouth, savage, dirty creature rose up in his mind. If Hans pushed Aldo too far, there was always the chance he would just turn on his heel and go back to his Jew. Hans couldn’t abide that thought. While Aldo continued to dally on the side with that nasty Neanderthal of his, Hans could stand to sacrifice some decorum. As long as Aldo continued to come to Hans’ bed, he’d forsake some respectability. .

Hans held out his hands in a gesture of capitulation. There would be no more talking this evening.

“If you insist.”

Hans rose from the table deliberately, determined to keep his ardor in check. It wouldn’t do to throw himself upon Aldo here in the kitchen, though it had happened before. Several times in fact. Tonight they would act like civilized human beings, at least until they were behind the closed door of Hans' bedroom.

--

Fredrick heard Dieter‘s snide comment, but he wasn’t listening. His dark eyes drifted down to Dieter’s mouth. While Fredrick was still contemplating this sudden, inexplicable upsurge of passion, Dieter moved forward in one fluid motion. His mouth met Fredrick’s firmly, almost possessively. Fredrick had been kissed before of course but never quite like this. He thought it was partly because it was a man this time and that was a very new sensation. However, he suspected it was mostly the fact that it was Dieter. There was something slightly verboten about this unexpected turn of events that fascinated and provoked Fredrick. Whatever the reason was, the longing he’d felt before when he’d kissed girls paled in comparison to what he felt right now.

At first Fredrick had been too surprised by Dieter’s action to do much of anything but sit there in a daze and be kissed. For a fleeting moment the thought of Emmanuelle crossed his drunken, aroused mind. He’d always hoped that when this finally happened, it would be with her. He hesitated, torn between his undying devotion to her and the promises of what could take place right this moment if he let it. The feel of Dieter’s mouth pressing on his own effectively cleared away all thoughts of the somber blonde girl completely. He could taste Dieter's cigarettes, the same Marlboro 100's he'd always smoked. Fredrick didn't smoke himself, but he'd always found it appealing when other people did it.

His mind was made up in an instant. After the initial pause, Fredrick responded in kind. Whatever amorous thoughts he may have entertained about Emmanuelle were nothing compared to the vast, depthless yearning that was threatening to overwhelm him. He startled even himself with the fervor of his desire -- he’d never wanted anyone so badly in his life. He returned the kiss hungrily, with the same insistence that Dieter had put forth. God, the flavor of the cigarettes was making him faintly dizzy.

Fredrick’s hand, still resting lightly against Dieter’s neck, moved instinctively upward to bury itself in Dieter’s hair. Usually so smooth and sleek, his dark blonde hair was rapidly falling into disarray. Fredrick found he liked it better that way anyway. The severity and sharpness that Dieter usually conveyed was quickly disappearing, revealing a much more human, more attractive man. Fredrick reached up with his other hand to place it on Dieter’s side. He was pleasantly surprised to realize that Dieter wasn’t as bony as he seemed. Beneath his crisp, button-down shirt Fredrick could feel the hard lines of his torso. Without conscious thought, driven only by impulse, Fredrick pushed up the fabric to rest his hand directly on Dieter’s flat stomach. The heat radiating from his body made Fredrick’s breath catch momentarily. He'd never expected such verve from Dieter and it only further ignited his own passion. He pulled Dieter’s body closer to his own, kissing him with increasingly ardent urgency. As Dieter broke away from his mouth and began to kiss his neck, Fredrick gasped. He bit his bottom lip, moaning very softly.

In the back of his mind, the sensible part, Fredrick was aware that he had never gone much farther than this before. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure what happened next. He supposed he’d find out very soon. He found that he wasn’t nervous in the slightest. Chalk it up to the liquid courage of vodka, devastating frustration, raw lust, or any combination of it all, but Fredrick was more than willing to surrender himself to Dieter’s more experienced hands.

[pocket howitzer]

As he had his entire life, Dieter roused at near 6am. He didn’t need a watch, and nor did he need to glance outside at the crisp morning sun to confirm it. The man shifted, blinking blearily before he drew himself to a seated position. Or attempted to at least. Dieter frowned slightly at Fredrick’s sprawled form beside and half on top of him. He should have known that the other man was an extravagant sleeper. With a sigh, Dieter extracted himself and slipped from the bed, making his way to the bathroom.

Dieter efficiently fixed himself up, making use of the single serving products provided by the hotel. He paused before the mirror, however, the reflection catching his eye. It differed enough to prompt Dieter to lean against the rim of the sink and scrutinize the image through the condensation that coated the glass. His skin, usually pale and only dotted by moles, was marred by ribbons of red where Fredrick’s rough nails had run. Along his shoulders too, were patches where the other man’s teeth had scrapped incessantly against his bare skin. Dieter canted his head, clinically observing the imperfections, recollections of the previous night’s rendezvous drawing unbidden from his mind. He fingered a particularly large mark against the junction of his neck – the one Dieter had responded in turn with a light scattering of bruises against the skin of Fredrick’s thighs. The thought caused his lips to quirk upwards in a smile that was oft seen; small, amused, and edged with mocking.

Dieter eased from the sink, the expression still lingering upon his features. He had been correct in Fredrick being a virgin, correct that the man wanted it that night; his face betraying the lust that fueled him, his pupils jet black and lips lax – but he had not been expecting the younger man to have been so utterly uninhibited. He had been so eager, so perfectly willing to allow Dieter to take charge and claim him; taint him. Till then, sex was almost a commodity to Dieter – he had used it to gain, or to exchange. He had approached the event like every other transaction. But Fredrick hadn’t. This was why it was different, Dieter supposed as he dressed himself, idly tucking his shirt back in place, the man now frowning at the creases. Whereas sex had always been a mechanical thing for him, with each touch a calculated reaction to the previous one given – Fredrick had, as he did with all things, thrown himself into the act with a generosity and selfishness that was him.

If he had been any other person, Dieter would have felt guilty for taking advantage of his friend’s inebriated state coupled with the raw shock at having Emmanuelle discover him. But he didn’t. As far as he was concerned, they had both benefited from their little tryst, and if Fredrick felt sorry for it, that was his to deal with.

It was edging towards 6.30am when Dieter resolved that little issue, and there was still the matter of Hicox at hand. The man’s name caused Dieter to frown; the previous openness that touched his features swept away once more. He crossed the room;

“Fredrick.” He said in short, clipped tones, no tenderness apparent in his voice, “Get up, and make yourself proper.”

--

Archie had been completely confused when he had woken. It had been the sun; the harsh rays falling across his eyes that eventually coaxed him from sleep. It was strange, he remembered thinking as he swept a hand over his face, drawing himself upright as he did – the sun had never woke him up before, weren’t the curtains drawn…?. It was only then that Archie recalled the previous night; the fight, Donny, his offer – and the sheer surprise of it caused the man to straighten suddenly and his hands to grip the mattress as he twisted in spot – eyes flicking deftly about the room. The four sparse walls, the scant furniture and the dent on the wardrobe door informed him that it hadn’t been a dream. That he, for the moment, had escaped Landa’s grasp.

Relief swept through him, a warm, welcoming flood – and it was all the man could do not to simply laugh. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders; the proverbial tonnes that had been dragging him down for almost two weeks, gone. The man hadn’t felt this light in what seemed like years. He rolled his shoulders, testing. A smile lingering at the edges of his mouth as he completed the action with an ease that he hadn’t felt for far too long.

Archie rose then, taking advantage of the lightness, and he stretched. It was good, the man decided as he plucked his oxford shirt from the back of the chair, shrugging into it unbuttoned, things are good. He was still in America, and not yet completely untied from the situation – but even just to have woken away from that now oppressive room was enough to elate Archie’s mood. The luxury of St. Ives had been lost on him now, ruined by the fact that he had been prisoner there. And, moreso, not to have to deal with Hellstrom’s vaguely mocking smile, or Landa’s calculated eyes made the morning sweeter to the man.

Archie moved from the bedroom – pausing momentarily with a head cocked at the door, listening for other signs of life before he headed to the bathroom. He shut the door after him as he had earlier that morning and peered into the mirror. The face that looked back at him was refreshed – sleep had done him well, returning colour to his features. Archie washed his face, drawing wet fingers through his hair as he did. He was still less civilisied than he liked – what with his hair in disarrayed waves and still unshaven, but he could deal with that for now. A small price to pay, Archie decided.

--

Aldo had returned some few hours after his meeting with Landa. They had never been the one to engage in pillow talk – most of that was foreplay, and so when they had sorted out their issues, Aldo usually found no reason to stay otherwise, and simply left. Of course, it was helpful in the sense that they could both clear the evidence of their trysts long before anybody caught them out. They were meticulous like that, and the arrangement was just another part of their routine.

He felt better, Aldo supposed. Less tight with stress and less bristled with the anger that just simmered below the surface. He could deal with Donny now. Hell, he could deal with that smarmy Brit, too. In spite of their relationship, as crude as it was, though he and Landa conversed about the nature of their men, they never did exchange true and reliable information. It was better that way, they had agreed non-verbally, and over the course of several years, they would have to learn such information some other way. Thus, as it was – Landa had yet to discover that Archie was currently residing with Aldo’s Basterds (or so Aldo was led to believe anyway.)

Unsurprisingly, Aldo’s mind fixed upon the situation of Donny and the Brit. He would have liked to think that he knew Donny well by now. They had spent some few years together, and it wasn’t as if the Bear Jew was the most efficient at hiding his motive and intent. Aldo had known, right from the start, that Donny had been interested in the Brit. The revelation struck him then, causing Aldo to pause mid-step. If he thought about it, yes, he had known. It had been perfectly obvious from the start, what with Donny so obsessed with finding the man again. Talking about it, ranting about it, quite possibly dreaming about it.

The thought caused Aldo’s lips to turn downwards. He supposed that he shouldn’t have been upset about it. (He wasn’t.) He had no real claim to Donny, just as Donny had no real claim on him. His visits to Landa were testimony enough to that, despite the other man’s ignorance. But it didn’t sit right with him, and Aldo wasn’t sure if it was more the fact that he did think he had some sort of ownership upon Donny, or that it was because that the Brit had so successfully ensnared the Bear Jew without so much as trying.

After all, Donny wouldn’t be the person he was today had it not been for Aldo. The man tilted his head, brow knitting as he recollected his first meeting with Donny. Not that he could remember the exact circumstances or words involved, but the image of Donowitz in a red sweater and curious frown swam before his eyes. A no good punk kid – that’s what he had been – some little Jewish hotshot with a chip on his shoulder and no direction for his anger. Aldo had molded that – it had taken years, more fights and arguments than any other person would have bothered with, but the end result had been the perfect weapon. Powerful, and yet perfectly controllable… if you were the right person. And, Aldo frowned harshly, at that moment, he wasn’t that person.

Aldo pressed forth, his stride making short work of the distance home. Strangely, he was eager to get back. Get back to Donny. It irritated him that the Brit was still most likely there, but, as far as he was concerned, he still had the upper hand on Donowitz. It took a special person to be able to control the man, and Aldo was sure, that despite the Brit’s current hold over the Bear Jew, that it would only be a matter of time that Donny would completely overwhelm him.

--

The sharp jolt of pain was enough to coax Smitty awake. It dragged him upright in bed, before forcing him to hunch in sheer pain. It throbbed up and down his arm; and burned at the epicenter where the wound lay. Smitty drew a long, slow breath, forcing himself to calm. It was infected, he was certain. The man peered down at the site of the wound, and though the bandages kept it mostly hidden from view, the angry red that blossomed outwards was more than enough of an indication.

Goddamn. Smitty pressed his eyes shut for a moment before parting them. He needed this s**t looked at before he ended up getting septicemia or something. Carefully, the man slipped from the bed, stepping lightly upon the floor. His vision wavered for a moment, causing the man to pause momentarily before continuing. It was Aldo that first came to mind. But it was Wicki that caused Smitty to stop, and frown. The night came to him in snatches, and whilst he couldn’t recall exact words, or the exact sequence of events – he recalled the older man at his bedside.

“Smitty?.” The voice, soft in the room startled him.

“Huh?.” It was Gerold. Smitty watched as the man shifted, then rose, grimacing with what must have been several hours spent sitting on the solitary chair near his bed.

“You look like s**t.” Gerold said as he approached, his eyes wide with concern. Smitty’s lips curled to a humourless smile, his lips dry and cracked.

“Feel like s**t.” His voice cracked, prompting Smitty to clear his throat before continuing, “How’re the others?.”

After all, he hadn’t exactly paid attention after being shot. He hadn’t witnessed Andy get shot, or Gerold get skimmed by a rogue bullet. But it was hardly the time for the man to be worried about it now, or so Gerold supposed.

“Don’t worry about it yet. You’ve your own to deal with.” Gerold’s answer prompted Smithson to frown somewhat,

“No – what else happened?.” He demanded.

Smitty felt a momentary flare of anger towards the other man, though it disappeared almost immediately leaving him guilty for it. Gerold was one of the few that Smithson considered a good friend within the Basterds. One that he could relate to, or talk to when they were otherwise bored. Gerold was the one that he had shared beers and cigarettes with, shared stories of his childhood with. Gerold was the only one who hadn’t given him s**t about being queer. But, still. Despite the varying degrees of friendship, they were still all comrades, and all he wanted to know was if anybody else was hurt.

[maxwell must go free]

Wilhelm stood at Smithson’s door, his fist poised to knock. He paused at the murmur of voices within the room. His thick dark eyebrows drew together in annoyance. Hirschberg had beat him to it again, the same way he had last night. Ever since he’d sat at Smithson’s side the night before, he’d felt oddly responsible for him. Wilhelm was growing tired of Hirschberg acing him out of what he had considered his duty. He knew the small man wasn’t trying to be a nuisance. He cared about Smithson too (possibly too much). He decided to stow his inexplicable irritation with the younger Jewish boy and knocked gently.

At Smithson’s permission, Wilhelm let himself into the room. He gave Hirschberg a slight smile before settling down by the head of Smithson’s bed. Despite the strain in Smithson’s face, he still had his boyish charm. Wilhelm was briefly fascinated by those wide, startlingly blue eyes. The way Smithson looked at Wilhelm, a mute question written on his face…it made him feel protective. His smile grew more genuine as he looked down into Smithson’s strained face.

“How are you feeling this morning? Do you mind if I take a look at your injury?”

Carefully he leaned over Smithson, pulling back the bandages. Of course, Wilhelm was by no means a doctor. Going to medical school hadn’t really been high on Wilhelm’s list of priorities. However, he’d seen enough of these types of injuries to know what to expect. He’d even had a few gunshot wounds himself. Wilhelm frowned in an involuntary response to the sight of the wound. The gauze had stuck to it briefly and had come away discolored. There was no doubt in his mind that the injury was infected. If left untreated, there was a good chance Smithson’s condition could grow far worse very quickly. They’d have to get a doctor to look at it very soon.

Wilhelm looked up from his shoulder into Smithson’s eyes, seeing the worry and pain there. Wilhelm’s jaw tautened in response. Seeing the small man in such a state as this bothered him more than it should. After all, he usually managed to keep a healthy distance between himself and the others. For whatever reason, he couldn’t just be the remote veteran Basterd he usually was when Smithson was concerned.

The mutual expression of grim realization was reflected in both of their faces. At least the boy was aware enough to know his condition had gone south. That made what would have to happen next at least somewhat easier. Wilhelm reached out to rest his hand on Smithson’s intact shoulder.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Utivich. We’re going to have to call the doctor back here. You’re going to need some type of antibiotics, I think.”

--

Donny was drumming on Archie’s door at 8 in the morning, unaware that he'd already gotten up for the day. He was startled when Archie instead let himself out of the bathroom. When the Brit walked down the hallway, Donny was momentarily stunned by what he saw. His auburn hair was still damp, the moisture glistening on his face and neck. He noticed that Archie hadn’t shaved, which pleased him. It all added up to create an unkempt, slightly wild look that Donny couldn't get enough of. He was aware that he was staring with his lips slightly parted. As the Brit looked over to him and met his eyes with a question on his face, Donny remembered himself. He didn't particularly want Archie to know what was on his mind, at least not yet. God, get it together. You’re acting like a goddamn star-struck high school girl. Enough gawking.

He broke the eye contact long enough to look Archie up and down one last time. Donny shifted his weight, assuming his usual arrogant stance. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

“Hey. You’re awake. Good. You hungry? Wicki made breakfast, so you know it‘s gonna be edible.”

Donny would rather go out and order something in a restaurant. For one thing, it’d be a reason to get away from the house again. On his way down to the kitchen, he’d met Aldo on the stairs. There was a tense moment where the two of them merely held each others' stony gazes. Donny was one of the least empathetic people in the world, but he could sense that Aldo wasn’t as angry as he’d been at 3 this morning. Whatever he’d gone out and done had taken the edge off. Though he couldn’t prove a thing, he was pretty sure Aldo had ******** someone else. He could just tell. Surprisingly enough, Donny wasn’t really that upset. Nowadays, it was a rare occasion for him to spend the night in Aldo's bed anyway.

Whatever. Not his business. Obviously he didn’t consider them monogamous, what with the way he’d been lusting after Archie for weeks. But seeing Aldo relaxed and calmer, at least comparatively, only encouraged Donny to pursue the Brit. In that moment, he’d decided that he wasn’t going to stop till he had him. Aldo could just continue to take his aggravations out on the drunken skanks in the bars if he was so inclined. Donny wasn’t going to sit on his a** and wait at home for him. Especially when there were such fine pieces of work as Archie out there.

But anyway, he wasn’t going out now that Wicki had made breakfast. For the most part, he ignored Wicki unless he had something really important to say. When he was cooking, however, Donny was always there at the table. None of the other Basterds could really cook worth a damn.

--

Fredrick stirred at the sound of Dieter’s voice. Glancing at the watch that he always wore on his left wrist, he sat up slowly. For a moment he merely stared at Dieter, his eyes wide with bewilderment and his brown hair rumpled. He was deeply confused. What was he doing in a hotel room? Why was Dieter waking him up, and at such an early hour? Fredrick’s dark eyes flicked from Dieter’s face to his neck, where a pattern looking suspiciously like teeth marks showed vividly against his pale skin. Wait. Those were his own teeth marks. The same crowded teeth with one crooked incisor on the right side.

All at once the night before came rushing back to him. The passionate kisses starting on his mouth and progressing down his chest. Dieter’s expert hands slipping down, touching Fredrick. The weight of Dieter’s firm, naked body pressed against his own. He could remember gripping Dieter’s torso hard enough to leave the crescent shapes of his fingernails imprinted on his back.

Fredrick’s round face flushed dark red. Not out of embarrassment for what they’d done but of how instantly he wanted Dieter again. He wondered briefly if he could persuade Dieter to do it again right now. Judging by the way his shirt was tucked in and his hair was smoothed back from his forehead, Fredrick thought he was more than likely out of luck. Dieter was obviously ready to leave the hotel room for the day. He tried to mask his disappointment but Fredrick’s every thought and emotion had always shown on his face. It was clear that he had been looking forward to repeating last night. Fredrick cast his eyes down from Dieter’s expectant face in an effort to manage his ardor.

Though he was naïve Fredrick wasn’t stupid. He knew that this desire that had ignited even before he’d been awake a whole minute had nothing to do with love. What he wanted from Dieter was more primitive than that. It was founded in one of the most basic human drives -- the need for sex. Fredrick had never been so uninhibited in his life. He’d lived by the constraints of etiquette his whole life. Every day he’d used his charms and inherent sweetness to get what he wanted. Last night had been the first time he’d really acted with abandon. The taste of Dieter’s mouth had been attractive enough, but the taste of his skin had been exquisite. He hadn’t exactly meant to bite hard enough to leave bruises. Once he had given in to Dieter‘s advances he couldn’t help it. Fredrick had finally been able to take precisely what he’d wanted without pretense and pretty words. He hadn’t stopped till he was laying gasping next to Dieter, completely satiated.

And he’d do it all again in a second, if Dieter would allow it.

No matter how drunk Fredrick got, he very rarely experienced a hangover. Generally he could get up and take a shower, then be fine the rest of the day. He was sore, yes, but that had nothing to do with the Smirnoff and everything to do with what he and Dieter had done last night. Whatever uncomfortable sensations he was dealing with at the moment were more than worth the intense pleasure of the night before. He got up from the bed, aware that Dieter was waiting impatiently for him to get ready for the day. Fredrick wanted to say something to Dieter about how incredible the experience had been. Upon looking into his still, cold face, he refrained. If there was one thing Fredrick knew, it was tact. If Dieter wasn’t going to mention what had come to pass just hours earlier, then Fredrick wouldn’t breathe a word of it either.

Fredrick’s delicate mouth curved into a wry smile as he passed Dieter on the way to the bathroom.

“Good morning, Dieter. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

As he buttoned his shirt, Fredrick suddenly realized with a jolt that Landa had left not one but two messages on his voicemail. He sighed. Calling him back would be far from pleasant, but it was just something he had to do. He prayed that Landa wouldn’t be too irate. Honestly, at this moment, with Dieter standing near enough that Fredrick could again smell that cologne that meant something so different to him now, he couldn’t really understand why he’d been so upset last night anyway. At the moment, the thought of Emmanuelle was faint. Thinking of her hardly produced more than a momentary hesitation and a soft sigh. Fredrick was frankly surprised at how quickly she’d taken place on the back burner of his mind. He still found her aloof, disinterested manner to be appealing, but really…in the aftermath of his night with Dieter, she didn’t have that same utterly hypnotic charm anymore.

Fredrick chanced a look over his shoulder at Dieter, who was growing more keen to get down to business by the minute. He’d just have to skip the shave today. He turned to Dieter in anticipation, his dark eyes meeting Dieter’s lighter ones. Fredrick’s silence spoke volumes, asked a thousand questions about their changed relationship. He wouldn’t say any of it out loud especially if Dieter wasn’t going to bring it up himself. After one last meaningful moment, he looked away. Reaching for his cell phone, Fredrick dialed Landa’s number.

--

Hans was only half listening to Fredrick’s lengthy justification. The boy was talking himself in circles now, apologizing profusely for the unforgivable mistake he’d made. Truthfully, Hans’ frustration with Fredrick had more or less faded away after Aldo had left that morning. He couldn’t really feel stressed out and annoyed after something like that. He had a sneaking suspicion Aldo might have at least bruised one of his ribs, if not broken it entirely. But it had been worth it. Aldo’s frustration had been just what Hans himself had needed to release some of his own pent-up energy. It had worked like a charm.

Besides the simple fact that he wasn‘t that angry anymore, Hans felt that he didn’t have Fredrick’s undivided attention either. He knew the boy well enough to hear when he wasn’t completely focused. A small part of his mind was elsewhere. Ah well. It didn’t really concern him what Fredrick was doing in his spare time, so long as he showed up when he was asked and did what he was told.

Hans intervened smoothly, growing weary of the gentle patter of German in his ear.

“All right, Fredrick. I accept your apology. I trust that nothing like this will happen again. Your personal life is to remain simply that: personal.”

Fredrick was in the company of Dieter now so he wouldn’t be running off again. Hans frowned as he made a note on the document before him. Really, he’d expected a more emotional response from Fredrick when he’d called this morning. He’d expected him to sound forlorn and shattered. While there was definitely a note of sadness in his soft voice, there was something else in his tone that Hans couldn’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps if they’d been speaking face-to-face, he would have picked up on Fredrick’s all-too-readable body language and facial expressions. As it was, over the phone Hans couldn’t really deduce much of anything about his lack of sentiment.

He let Fredrick prattle on for a few more moments. He was looking over a sheaf of paperwork concerning Hicox, his agile mind having moved from Fredrick five minutes ago. He knew that the Jews had something to do with Hicox’s disappearance though he hadn’t mentioned it to Aldo. As if Aldo would have said anything anyway. He would have tilted his head back and give him a thin, secretive smile. Then Hans would have changed the subject, knowing that he wasn’t going to get any hints from him. The information they kept from each other was just another thing that fueled their long-standing relationship. After so many years as lovers, there was still so much they didn’t know about each other.

Hans waited for Fredrick to get to the verb at the end of his sentence, then interrupted again.

“As much as I would like to continue this conversation with you, pleasant though it is, I do have other matters to tend to. Just bear in mind what I have said, Fredrick. I expect better from you in the future.”

He clicked his phone shut as soon as they had exchanged the necessary pleasantries. Hans turned his mind back to Archie. Dieter had better locate him, and quickly.

[pocket howitzer]

“Come in.” Smitty said, breaking his locked gaze with Gerold to glance to the door, drawing himself back onto the bed as he did. There was no point wandering about the place if people were coming to him after all.

It was Wicki that entered. Smitty immediately found a sense of relief upon recognizing the tall, broad figure at the door, haloed slightly by the morning light. Not that he disliked Gerold or anything, but the other man was in a proverbial lockdown, refusing to divulge further detail of what had happened the previous night after he was incapacitated. It was irritating, and, at that moment, Smitty wasn’t in the mood to be patient. He held his temper though, it not being in his nature to be outright rude to his friends, and, really, Gerold was only looking out for him. The man had been like that for awhile, now that he thought about it – always there and always wanting to know if he was alright. Usually, Smitty had brushed Gerold off without much thought, but, now that he actually thought about it. He glanced at Gerold shrewdly before his attention was diverted to the pressure easing onto the mattress.

It was Wicki again. Smitty started slightly at the other man being so close having not expected it, his blue gaze dropping from Gerold’s once more to catch that of the older man – it wide in surprise in spite of the pain. Wicki, after all, though dedicated and friendly with most of the basterds , never made it a habit to involve himself so thoroughly. Either way, Smitty found a part of himself grateful for it. He trusted the older man on a different level to that of Gerold, Aldo, or any of the others – there was something about the other man’s presence was comforting. Smitty could never put his finger on it; on why, or how, and had simply come to accept it over time.

Smitty sobered upon Wicki’s question – dropping his gaze momentarily, before lifting it to meet the other’s dark eyes once more.

“I-.” Was all that Smitty managed before the other man moved once more – drawing closer, and effectively forcing Smithson back with a muted sound of surprise.

He was left to lay back on the pillows then, twisted somewhat awkwardly at the bottom half while Wicki carefully picked at the bandages that secured the wound. Smitty wasn’t going to lie about it, it hurt. The gauze that had been carefully applied just hours ago stuck to the wound, causing his breath to catch at every tug no matter how careful the other man was. The wound, angry and red, beat hard against his shoulder and spread, outward, upon his chest. Smitty pressed his eyes shut for a moment, uncomfortably warm. And Wicki’s presence wasn’t helping either.

Smithson released a small, shaky sigh as he opened his eyes – they quick to meet the other man’s whose were firm. The tightness of Wicki’s jaw confirmed what Smitty already knew, which, really, didn’t make it any easier to accept – but there was really nothing much he could do about it. Smitty dipped his head slightly in a measure of resignation and from there, he could see puncture; once neatly stitched, now distorted and weeping. It nearly turned his stomach.

He was thankful for Wicki’s touch; it drawing his attention away from the wound, to concentrate instead on the firm and warm hand clasped upon his good shoulder. Smitty actually found himself almost leaning into it before the man seemed to come to his senses with a small jolt. He had well and truly been ******** around by everything last night.

“Figured as such.” He said after a moment’s pause, lifting his head to give a wry smile to the older man, “Go figure I have to pull the hard yards, whereas Donny gets away scot free.”

Smitty didn’t give Wicki a frame of time to respond, however, his words seeming to remind him of something. His brow knit as his eyes flicked towards Gerold who stood, watching mute, in the background – his face set to a dark frown.

“Wicki.” He started. He had always preferred using Wicki’s surname – it appealed much more than the formality of Wilhelm. Not that anybody knew of this seeing that it was rather customary to use surnames between them more often than not.

“What happened last night?. After I was…” Smitty finished, trailing off as he met the other’s gaze once more, waiting for an answer.

--

Archie was a little surprised to discover Donny at his door so early. Archie, after all, had long since been entrenched in the habit of an early rise, and, more often than not, did find himself having to function on pathetically small hours of sleep. He had expected Donny to be one to sleep in, especially considering the circumstances. Apparently not, and, if anything, the other man appeared surprised at his own appearance. In the shadowed hallway, Archie noticed that Donny had frozen; arm still lifted to knock, and his lips parted somewhat. It was a perplexed look, edged with something that Archie couldn’t identify, other than the fact that it was there. But the expression didn’t linger, and Donny quickly collected himself – assuming an air that was already familiar to Archie.

“Oh?.” He said at the offer, the mere suggestion enough to remind him that it had been several hours since he had last eaten,

“That would be appreciated.” Archie continued simply, the barest of a smile touching his lips.

It was borne mostly from amusement. He could see, after all, by Donny’s awkward offer that providing meals and accommodation wasn’t something that he did often, if at all. To him, Donny was a rather simplistic character – a person who relied on his brute strength to get him through life, as someone who was concerned, primarily, with themselves. Archie wondered then what had prompted the other man to set aside his selfishness for him. He studied the back of Donny’s head as he followed the man to the kitchen, his blue eyes trailing down the curve of the other’s neck, to the hard lines of muscle that were a mere suggestion behind the material of Donny’s shirt, thinking hard. A whim, Archie concluded.

He had seen several types of people in his industry, and those who were mostly like Donny were those who dived into things without thought before changing their minds entirely about it. Archie vaguely wondered just how long Donny would amuse himself over the fact that he had rescued an ill-begot Nazi, the thought prompting yet another upturn of the lips.

It disappeared, however, upon entering the kitchen. Donny, after all, was most likely the only person within the household who knew the entire circumstances of his position. The rest of them, well… Archie offered something of a smile to the other man in the room, which was duly ignored. He sat, however, claiming a chair opposite the other man, who had taken to jump between firmly ignoring him to flicking curious glances his way.

“You’re not a Nazi then?.” Was the other’s eventual question.

Archie turned from watching Donny move about, a politely confused expression settling upon his features. Omar swallowed, a frown marring his lips at having to repeat himself,

“A Nazi.”

“Hardly.” Archie said with conviction.

Omar stared for a long moment, his dark eyes studying the man before him before he simply shrugged.

Honestly, Omar had bigger issues to contend with than whoever Donny brought home. It was Aldo he was after. The man scowled at the thought. The sonofabitch was nowhere to be found. Omar was certain that the man had returned after ******** off last night, but, goddamn, he had been asleep for that. He was still seething. Sheer exhaustion had ensured him sleep last night, but now it was raw anger that ate at him incessantly. It made him edgy – as if he were on the verge of a fight, but Aldo wasn’t there to be on the end of it, and, oh ********. He was going to have to leave or else he’d simply go pick a fight with Donny and end up in hospital.

Omar shoved his chair back and stood abruptly.

“I’ll be out.” He said, before leaving, the door slamming hard behind him.

Archie’s brow furrowed before the man turned to regard Donny;

“Is this how it always is?.”

--

His plan was to sort whatever it was out with Donny the moment he had stepped foot in the door. Yet, strangely, he hadn’t bothered. Aldo supposed it was because of that moment they shared. It was significant, in a way. Any other time, Donny would have demanded Aldo an explanation. Donny, after all, was a man driven by impulse. He would have wanted to know when, why and where he had gone, whether by simple curiosity or by the frustrated annoyance of a lover. But he hadn’t. He had merely met his eyes – dark, and utterly detached, before descending the stairs entirely, leaving Aldo to stare, mute, at his back.

He had turned, decision made, then climbed the stairs before entering his room. A handful of minutes were all Aldo needed before the man left the house once more. The cool metal of his handgun was firm against the small of his back; lodged there for his own personal safety (it would have been bad form for him to have brought a weapon to Hans’). He was to find and collect Hugo Stiglitz. It was the perfect mission to distract him. Stiglitz, after all, was quite a notorious figure. He had personally murdered several key figures within the Nazis after turning rogue. What Aldo wanted to find out was, primarily, why. What turned this man onto his own men?. The Nazis had branded him a psychopath – a figure of death that could not be trusted with civility, but Aldo would judge that for himself.

And, hopefully, if all went well, Aldo would recruit him. That would be the second Nazi they managed to bag in the space of a few short days. The thought, although somewhat bitter, coaxed a twisted sort of smile to Aldo’s lips. Herr Landa was clearly having problems with the recruitment process.

It was just a matter of finding the b*****d. Word had told Aldo that Stiglitz frequented certain bars – not that he made it a routine or habit (Aldo was pleased to discover this, clearly the man was somewhat intelligent); but the man had a type. Of course the information made finding Stiglitz no made finding him no more easier, but at least it was a place to start. Aldo’s lips pressed together firmly as he recalled the rumours (information was never written down, it was far too easy to have it fall into the wrong hands) – Stiglitz had been seen on the fringes of Nazi territory as of late. In other words, he would have to head back to where they were that night.

Goddamn, Aldo thought, that place’ll be a mess of police.

--

Dieter patiently waited for Fredrick to deal with his business. And while his face was a perfect mask of detachment, his thoughts were quite otherwise. If he was to be perfectly honest, Dieter had expected Fredrick to wake near traumatized with what had transpired last night. After all, he had been a virgin, and, until several hours ago, solely attracted to women. Dieter had steeled himself before approaching Fredrick, but he had not been prepared for Fredrick to meet his eyes with lust that was no longer obscured by alcohol. He had been surprised, and he was sure that it was apparent on his face for a split second before he was able to hide it. However, beyond that, Dieter found he was rather pleased.

It was not for the fact that he was in love with the younger man or anything. Love meant very little to Dieter. He was never moved by it, and nor to did it ever come to touch him. Rather, Dieter plainly saw the powerful hold he had now over Fredrick. The younger man was always terribly influenced by him, but there was always that ever present barrier between them; the one that had Fredrick pause at Dieter’s words, to question what he thought. It was gone now, though, having been eroded over the course of the night having Fredrick all but lay his heart at Dieter’s feet. The very thought of it thrilled him.

Dieter clipped his cufflinks in place as Fredrick talked in near frenzied German to Hans. He listened with half an ear at the other’s words as he fixed his collar, only half interested. Really, Fredrick was far too important within the Cause to be disposed of. That said, however, Dieter was fairly sure that a repeat of last night would be met with serious consequences. That same weight lay on his shoulders as well. Finally, the younger man was aptly dismissed (for Hans always dismissed, and never merely parted ways) – and Dieter immediately spoke, not bothering to give Fredrick a second to collect himself.

“Seeing as you’ve managed to invite yourself along, Fredrick.” Dieter started, moving to collect the papers that were set upon the desk. They were the legal documents that Archie left behind.

“Hans is wanting Hicox back. It is my suspicion that the Basterds have him.” He didn’t bother explaining anything beyond that, trusting Fredrick to have already known what had occurred two weeks ago – that initial domino that started the chain of events;

“However, these documents. Not only are they integral to his work, but a number of them are sensitive.” Dieter moved once again, retrieving the slim briefcase that sat by the desk, deftly unclipping the thing and slotting the papers inside.

“In other words,” he said as he clipped the briefcase shut, “He’ll be back to retrieve them.”

He glanced to Fredrick, a shadow of a smile upon his lips. There was no need to explain further. Dieter trusted Fredrick’s intelligence.

[maxwell must go free]

At his surname, Wilhelm met Smithson’s eyes again. The gravity in the younger man’s face touched him on a level he would never admit to out loud. With his hand resting on Smithson’s slim shoulder Wilhelm could feel the boy’s unnaturally high body heat through the fabric of his shirt. How had it become infected so fast? Probably something to do with the hack doctor who had tended to the wound. The one who had taken care of Donny’s injury hadn’t been available, so they’d had to settle for a different doctor. In fact, thinking back, Wilhelm couldn’t recall seeing the man sterilize the tools used in withdrawing the bullet from Smithson’s shoulder. He closed his eyes briefly at the thought of the possible bacteria that could have covered the surface of the instruments. It didn’t really matter anyway, since it wasn’t as though the Basterds could file a lawsuit or anything. They were criminals so they had to take what they could get.

Still, that undeniable fact didn’t change how much it bothered Wilhelm to know that the doctor had contaminated Smithson’s already-compromised body. He wished briefly that the better doctor had been the one to assist because of how quickly Donny had recovered. Though, if Wilhelm were honest with himself, Donny’s speedy recovery probably had nothing to do with the doctor or the tools involved and everything to do with his iron constitution. Donny was as tough as an ox; it would probably take a particularly potent strain of the Ebola virus to really take him down. If the nuclear apocalypse struck tomorrow, the only living things left in the street would be cockroaches and Donny Donowitz. Smithson had never been that strong. His body succumbed much quicker and more easily than Donny’s. Anyway, there was nothing they could do now except give Smithson powerful antibiotics and hope for the best.

Wilhelm cleared his throat and recalled the events of the evening.

“You didn’t miss much if you knew Donny made it out unharmed. I assume you know that Kagan is dead. Their sniper, the dark-haired boy, took him out right before he shot you.”

Here Wilhelm paused. He had never been close to Kagan, but it was still the respectable thing to do to give him a moment of silence. His death had been unnecessary and the very thought of it filled Wilhelm with a distant, muffled fury. But now was not the time to dwell on that unfortunate event. Nothing he could do would change the past. Wilhelm pushed the thought of Kagan back into the recesses of his mind and continued.

“We brought you back here. Soon after, the doctor showed up to extract the bullet and stitch up the wound. Donny…Donny came back about 3am, I don’t know if you remember that. He certainly made enough noise to wake you. I think that should bring you up current.”

Wilhelm deftly covered the wound again, careful not to put the boy in any more discomfort than necessary. He was being brave in spite of his infirmities. He offered Smithson a smile, one warmer than his usual stiff upturn of the corners of his mouth. He froze momentarily, something in Smithson’s wide blue eyes halting him. He was too stoic to express concern for himself but Wilhelm saw it in his face anyway. He wouldn’t say Smithson was scared, exactly, though he was worried about the sudden downturn in the status of his injury. Wilhelm wanted to assuage the concerns, to smooth that tense, anxious look from Smithson’s face however he could. There was a moment where neither of them spoke or moved. Wilhelm couldn’t put into words what he wanted to say; it would have just sounded stupid, overly sentimental. Instead, he gave Smithson’s uninjured shoulder a gentle squeeze, holding his gaze for a moment longer than required.

“If you don’t have any more questions, I’m going to call a doctor over here to look at your shoulder.” He hesitated, then decided to say it anyway. “Also, let me know if you need anything, all right? I‘m here for you.”

God, the last part came out sounding more stupid than he had intended. It embarrassed him to be so vocal about his feelings. To cover for the awkward moment, Wilhelm stood up quickly with his shoulders squared. He nodded curtly in Hirschberg’s direction before letting himself out of Smithson’s room and back into the hallway. He sat down in the living room with his phone. He’d thought about going into the kitchen but it was very difficult to carry on a phone conversation with Donny in the room. When the doctor finally answered, it took every ounce of Wilhelm’s composure to keep from giving him what for. True, he’d been uprooted from his bed at 1 am. Still, that wasn’t a good enough reason to explain why Smithson’s wound was an angry shade of red, why it was leaking most unpleasantly. If the boy died, and what a thought that was, Wilhelm would hold the hack doctor personally responsible.

--

Donny leaned his chair back on its hind legs, a smile of fiendish amusement at the corner of his mouth. It gave him an impish sort of glee to watch Archie get frustrated at the inevitable question he was just waiting for Omar to ask. Hell, it had been the very same question he’d posed to Archie several times just hours before. When Archie turned back to him, irritation barely disguised on that smooth, aristocratic face of his, Donny’s smile widened. Plain and simple he loved seeing the Brit react. Anything to disrupt that cool, smarmy demeanor of his was fine by Donny. It only made him that much more attractive. He couldn’t wait for the day that Archie really lost it. Donny didn’t think he’d be able to contain himself at when that would happen.

He watched Omar stalk out of the room, his dark eyebrows drawn together in unspoken frustration. Donny mirrored his gesture, shrugging as well. Whatever was bothering Omar didn’t matter to him. Donny had always known Omar was the emotional type. Even when they were kids, Omar had been prone to bouts of irrepressible rage. Ah well. If he wanted to sit and brood, that was his prerogative. At the moment, Donny was in a good mood and he planned on staying that way. In fact, he thought it would do everybody some good to stop being so touchy and get over it.

He turned his attention fully from Omar’s retreating back to Archie’s questioning face.

“Yeah. He’s always kinda like that. But you’d better get used to it from other people too. It doesn’t matter if you love Jews. Even if you’re a Jew yourself. If you’re working for Landa, you’re a ******** Nazi.”

He looked down at the plate in front of him, his undivided attention directed toward his breakfast for a few moments. He hadn’t realized how starving he was till he’d started eating. After a few uncharacteristically quiet moments, Donny looked back to Archie.

“I mean, even if you’ve never been to Germany, it doesn’t matter. But I think you have, seeing how you know their language. Which, by the way, doesn’t help with the whole ‘I’m not a Nazi, really’ shtick you’ve got going on.”

Donny grinned as he watched Archie eat his breakfast. Even the way he ate was precise and collected. He used his knife and his fork equally. It was the same way Wicki ate. Must have been a European thing. And he was drinking tea. Did he have to feed the stereotype? Were all British people like him, talking with their goofy accents, drinking their tea? All he needed was a monocle and a crumpet. Then Archie would be the very picture of how the world viewed England.

“So anyway. What are your plans for the day? I mean, they’re probably gonna be looking for you. Landa doesn’t take kindly to people who bail on him.”

--

Fredrick pressed the end call button, feeling distinctly unsettled. Landa had been far less upset with him than he’d expected. Somehow, Landa’s cool, almost cordial reception had unnerved him more than if he’d yelled at him. Landa was notoriously hard to read, something Fredrick didn’t like at all. Especially over the phone, it made him feel even more uncomfortable.

Fredrick perched on the edge of the bed, looking up into Dieter’s face as his comrade spoke to him. He wasn’t completely sure what Dieter was indicating. The documents didn’t mean much to him, he just knew that they were vital to Archie’s business. Legal terminology went over his head more often than not. His mind was still preoccupied with his conversation with Landa, anyway. Aside from that, Fredrick had never been much of a morning person. It always took him some time to fully wake up. What he thought Dieter was suggesting was that they would be here for a while. If they were going to wait for Archie to return, then there was no rush. It could be hours before he showed up.

This thought led Fredrick to other, less professional ideas. Sure, Dieter was dressed, shaved, and neat for the day, but…if they really had that much time, then it would stand to reason that he could become groomed again. Already the unpleasantness of the phone call was fading from his mind. Fredrick’s eyes drifted down from Dieter’s face to peruse the rest of his body. Ever since he’d woken up about twenty minutes ago, the lust had ignited within him and hadn’t fully diminished, even when Dieter had made it clear that they were beginning their day. Even when he was frantically explaining to Landa why he’d choked, a small part of his mind was still absorbed in Dieter. Fredrick raised his eyebrows, trying not to get too hopeful. There was so much they could do to pass the time.

“I see. So…we aren’t going anywhere then? We are just staying here till he returns?”

Of course, Fredrick could be wrong. Sometimes Dieter could be frustratingly vague about things. Fredrick waited patiently, resisting the urge to jump to his feet and grab Dieter around the waist and press his mouth to his own. He longed to undo the buttons on Dieter’s shirt and place his hand on his firm chest, to feel the heat radiating from his body. Fredrick clenched his jaw to keep his passion at bay. He wouldn’t move till Dieter gave the word. Honestly, he wouldn’t really be that disappointed if Dieter said no, just as long as he could stay in his presence. At the moment, Fredrick just wanted to be near him. What they were doing didn’t matter as much to him, though he obviously had his preferences about their activities.

--

Hugo could disappear if he needed to. He could be sitting at the table with a shot glass in hand one moment, then gone as if he’d never been there the next. If he was to be noticed, it was because he wanted to be found. Hugo was well-versed in the art of being surreptitious.

Hugo had heard through the grapevine that Raine wanted to talk to him. Apparently he had some business he wanted to discuss with him concerning Landa’s men. Probably had to do with the debacle that was the night before. Hugo smiled, though it wasn’t a pleasant gesture. It was a grim, thin, almost challenging expression. That had been sloppy work on behalf of both parties. He had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t directly Raine’s or Landa’s fault, however. From what he could gather, after running the event through his head again, one man from each side had acted unexpectedly. The whole evening had gone downhill from there.

When Raine inevitably approached him, Hugo was prepared for it. He would listen to what Raine had to say and decide at that time what he would do. If Raine appealed to him for help, he may put on a brief act of making up his mind. But Hugo knew without a moment’s pause what he’d do. If he could assist in any way to bring Landa down, he was there. He’d do whatever he needed to. Besides that, it would give him an opportunity to wipe that smirk off of Hellstrom’s scrawny, twitchy face. Hugo was a remorseless creature, driving only by cold passion. He didn’t have personal feelings concerning the Nazis, the men he’d once been affiliated with (except for Hellstrom of course) so it wouldn’t keep him awake at night if it proved necessary to stab one of them to death. In fact, it would give him great pleasure.

He wouldn’t give all this away, though. Hugo would sit in silence, all his emotions utterly hidden behind his impassive, broad face. No need to let Raine know just how eager he was to start killing Nazis again.

[pocket howitzer]

Hugo Stiglitz was entirely as Aldo had expected. Broad, and thick with muscle – the man could have given Donny a run for his money. But that was where the similarities ended. Even Donny was able to flaunt good humour whereas the man before Aldo appeared more ready to thrust a knife in one’s gut before much anything else. Any other person would have been nervous sharing a table with someone such as Stiglitz, even if they were ignorant as to what the man had done. But Aldo wasn’t any other man. He bought them both a drink, waiting until it was delivered before leaning forward on the table, cutting them off from the rest of the bar.

“I heard you were quite skilled at killing Nazis,” he started, “Well. We like killing Nazis, too. So I’ve got a proposition for you.”

The act of recruitment was, more often than not, merely formality. Not that Aldo was privy to Stiglitz’s thoughts, but there was something about the other’s body language that suggested he wouldn’t be turning down what Aldo had to offer. The man before him had killed thirteen high ranking Nazis with his bare hands, and here Aldo was, giving him the opportunity to do it once more. Formalities.

Aldo met Stiglitz’s gaze evenly, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

“Our long term goal is, of course, to bring down their Fuhrer. That’s a little ambitious, ‘course. So in the meantime, we’re making do with whatever Nazi we get our hands on.”

Aldo paused again, drawing out his snuff-tin and taking a moment to inhale a neatly pressed amount. He didn’t rush what he had to say; not only was it unnecessary, but completely unprofessional. He set aside his tin before continuing;

“Naturally, someone like yourself would be a great asset, having worked intimately with the Nazis and all.”

Aldo’s accent lingered over the word ‘intimately’; each syllable noticeably separate, each vowel pronounced.

“And what we can offer you.” Aldo paused once more, lifting a hand to rub against his chin in a manner that could only be described as thoughtful; brow furrowed, and lips twisted downwards. The moment dragged as if the man were honestly turning thoughts over in his mind, despite the fact that what he was to offer would have been fairly obvious to both men.

“Board. Meals. Weapons. Your standard Basterds care package.”

As he had said; formalities.

--

“Call me naïve,” Archie said as he set his cutlery together upon the plate, having finished, “but I hardly expected to be involved with, essentially, an American version of the IRA during my stay here.”

He knew that the two groups and their situations couldn’t have differed more, but Archie couldn’t help but draw the comparison regardless – there was much sameness in their squabbling that Archie couldn’t look past, despite the fact he knew that it was quite possibly an insult to compare something as significant as the Easter Uprising to some petty gang war. He glanced to Donny, an eyebrow quirked in mild expectation. The fact that the man beside him would likely have no idea as to the reference he made didn’t cross his mind; he was much more used to speaking to like people. Even Landa had made reference to United Kingdom specific affairs during his less-than-willing stay.

The thought of Landa served to remind Archie of Donny’s previous comment, and once more, his expression grew slightly exasperated. Honestly, had they not covered this topic enough?. And, surely, if Donny had any real concerns to where his loyalty lay, the Basterds’ hideout would have been the last place he would have taken him.

“To think that something I learned as a child to make me more appreciative towards other cultures would land me in such a situation.” Archie said, “Perhaps I should have studied French instead?.”

He refrained from mentioning that his mother was German, not particularly wanting Donny to draw conclusions from that little fact, and instead paused to drink some tea. The action was a stall, mostly, allowing Archie a moment to thinking about what Donny had just asked. It was a good question, really. And Archie was a little surprised that someone like Donny would have considered it, especially seeing as he didn’t appear too bothered by consequences last night.

The man set the mug back to the table, eyes fixing on his hands that were wrapped about the porcelain as he thought. He knew very well that Landa was going to be looking for him. He understood the man enough to know that. And though it would be much easier to attempt to escape back to England in spite of Landa’s threat, the recollection of a large number of important documents strewn upon his desk at St. Ives grounded him. Simply put – he would need to retrieve those before even considering any other move to make. But if he knew Landa, and how his men worked, Archie was already aware that those documents had been already seized. And that to go back with the hope of finding them would be no different than him returning to his allocated spot as one of the Nazis. Regardless…

“I have to collect some documents,” Archie said, looking towards Donny once more. His words were firm, relaying the importance of the matter; that leaving them in the hands of the Nazis was not an option.

--

It had been a long time since Dieter had been a virgin, and so he had forgotten how significant the affair could be to some. Fredrick’s attempt at curbing his enthusiasm was poor, and it amused him as much as it irritated him. Still, however, there was a small part of the usually somber man that couldn’t help but glory in the fact that he had claimed that part of Fredrick – especially in the memory of that woman the other man had all but forgotten about. Dieter wondered what she would do, once she had discovered the opportunity that had slipped through her fingers. Women were fickle like that; so eager to turn brush away the attention of a man, only to needle them incessantly once said man drifted off. No wonder he preferred male company.

“Yes, Fredrick.” Dieter said curtly, soothing a crease in his sleeve, “we are to stay here.” His dark eyes flickered to the listless man on the bed; the very same man whose eyes were blatantly fixed on him in a manner that was anything but innocent.

To see lust scrawled upon Fredrick’s childish features was something else entirely; out of place almost. And in the light of what they did; in seeing the man before him usually set in fierce determination behind a weapon – it was sometimes easy to forget that he hadn’t even escaped his teen years. Nineteen. The thought caused Dieter’s lips to turn upwards in a muted smile – the man finding a twisted sort of amusement at the utter debauchery that Fredrick had subjected himself to, yet which failed to brand itself on that baby face of his.

Yes. They could have sex. And to say that Dieter wasn’t interested would have been a lie. At that moment, Dieter would have quite liked to press the younger man against the sheets; to pin him down and repeat what they had done the night before with Fredrick wholly aware, and not stupefied by alcohol. And they could then move on to more interesting methods, too. It was amazing what some people allowed once they were blinded by lust; so eager to humiliate themselves for a few short moments of bliss. But that was for later.

While it was quite possible that Hicox wouldn’t show for hours, it was also equally as possible that he turn up within the hour. And the sheer thought of being interrupted, well, it wasn’t professional in the least. Fredrick and his insatiable lust would have to wait, as did his own.

Of course, Fredrick wasn’t at all part of his initial plan, and it left Dieter a little at a loss with what to do with him – aside from the very thing that they couldn’t. It was quite obvious that Hans had no use for him at that moment either – and whether that was because their leader honestly didn’t, or that he was disinclined for the moment due to Fredrick’s actions, Dieter could only guess.

“Mein Junge,” Dieter continued, the endearment having an almost warped meaning from his lips despite it uttered no differently to how he spoke previously, “I assume you’ve been excused by Hans?.”

--

Smitty’s lips had parted to speak, but at Wicki’s final words, his own were rendered frozen. He peered to the older man with wide eyes and his mouth a small ‘o’. But the moment was broken when Wicki abruptly stood and left the room. It was only then that Smitty managed to regain composure, and the man fancied himself blushing, but he wasn’t really sure. Honestly, words were words, and Wicki could have uttered them out of pity. But there was something in the man’s face that suggested it wasn’t. It was evident in the way he immediately closed himself off the moment they left him, as if embarrassed.

And then there was the fact that Wicki had never offered them to anyone before now. It made Smitty feel rather warm, actually; a burning in his chest that made the edges of his lips turn upwards in spite of the infected wound deep within his shoulder. It was… nice. Smitty decided. Being with the Basterds wasn’t a place to be when wanting comfort from another being. They were all men; men who didn’t do soppy s**t like that. Men like Donny and Aldo who didn’t require that sort of support, or those words, or that touch. Not to suggest that Smitty was unable to tend to himself – hardly. He had more than enough experience having been part of the Basterds for so long. But it was easy to forget how much these small gestures could make one feel.

He had almost forgotten that Gerold was in the room until the man stepped forward to claim the spot Wicki had vacated. Smitty lifted his head, shooting the other man a quizzical look. His previous annoyance directed towards Gerold had long since passed, and Smitty merely looked to him as if expecting something. Gerold looked awkward there, unsure of himself as he bestowed upon Smitty an expression that was half apologetic and half unreadable.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” He said, causing Smitty to remember, all at once, what Wicki had said. Shock flooded his system, causing his breath to hitch. Immediately his thoughts turned to Andy – the thin face of the other man dragged from his mind to swim before his eyes.

“Oh.” Smitty breathed, almost afraid to say something more.

He had been so caught up with Wicki that he had failed to acknowledge the death of his own comrade. Like Wicki, he had never really been close to Kagan, but his death still struck home deeply; serving to remind the man just what sort of life he was embarking on. But, unlike Wicki and Omar, and even Gerold to a degree, Smitty didn’t feel any sort of anger, especially none towards Aldo. He understood that casualties were part of the life they lived, and that it was almost impossible to guarantee any of them were to wake up alive the next day. Smitty trusted Aldo. He trusted that their leader would always act and respond to the Nazi situation in the best way possible, and that if any of them were to die – that it wasn’t in vain.

Smitty dipped his head, looking to his hands a moment before peering back up to Gerold.

“No. It’s alright.” He said, unsure if he was referring to himself, or to the fact that the other man had tried so hard not to let him know. “It got a bit crazy, didn’t it?.”

Gerold’s lips turned to a wry smile, “That’s one way of putting it.” He said, a poor imitation of humour in his tone.

Smitty’s lips pulled to a small smile, his lips dry and cracked. The expression almost had Gerold reach out and touch the other man’s shoulder in a shadow of Wicki’s own gesture just minutes earlier. But he refrained, hands fisting where they lay instead.

“Listen. You just say here and get better, right. We’ll sort out that doctor.” With that, Gerold withdrew before leaving the room. Though he usually preferred spending time with Smitty, he wanted to speak to Wicki. He told himself that it was just to ensure that the doctor was indeed to come – that bullet wound was hardly the best looking thing he had seen that day; but that was only a farce. He did feel a little bad for wanting to deal with such petty matters so soon after the death of one of their men.

He caught Wicki in the living room just as he was hanging up. And even the Brit with Donny in the kitchen wasn’t enough to divert his attention as he approached the other man. Gerold eyed him critically, as if trying to determine something that was hidden upon the other’s face.

“Hey,” he started casually, “so the doctor’s coming ‘round?.” Truth be told, he had been feeling animosity from Wicki as of late. And Gerold wasn’t a simple man, he could figure out why.

[maxwell must go free]

Hugo was only human. Even if he was stoic and about as emotional as a sculpture it still flattered him that he was being approached specifically for his skills. Raine had done his research, that much was certain. To say that Hugo had worked intimately with the Nazis was quite the understatement though. He’d done his share of unsavory activity, mostly directed toward people who hadn’t deserved it. Hugo had never been a man to fall prey to remorse, so instead of sitting around consumed by regret he’d taken the proactive route. In this case it was to become the exact opposite of what he had been.

And the beauty of it all was that it had taken them so very long to catch on. The mysterious Nazi killer had really had them running in circles, trying to figure out what Jew would be so brazen as to murder Germans in cold blood. It had taken them months to start scrutinizing their own men. Hugo had had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling and giving himself away. As they discovered another corpse of a well respected Nazi, it took a Herculean effort to sit there as stone-faced as he always was, unsmiling and seeming utterly devoted to the Cause while he internally decided which mutilated body they’d find next.

But as with all things in life, it didn’t last forever. Finally they had caught on that it was an inside job. In Hugo’s mind, he didn’t understand how they had thought it could have been anyone else. What Jew could have possibly had the amount of inside information it took to pull off what Hugo had done? He’d managed to slip out before they were able to catch him, though of course they knew who had committed the crimes by now. So far he’d been careful enough to avoid falling back into their grasp. There had been a few perilous moments where he’d thought he had finally been caught. Yet he had managed to slip out of each troublesome situation. Each time he lived to fight another day against the organization he had once put his heart into.

So Hugo of all people knew the importance of laying low till it was imperative for him to act. As Raine laid out the deal for him, Hugo sat in complete silence. He offered a curt nod or two at the appropriate moments and waited till Raine was finished before he opened his mouth to respond. He spoke quickly in his low, heavily-accented English.

“I am glad to see that we are on the same page here. I too want the fall of the Fuhrer. I normally would not just sign myself up to any group.”

Hugo paused as he thought of how to phrase his reply without sounding too eager. He studied the man sitting across the table from him, taking note of his appearance. He’d pictured Raine to be a little broader across the chest and shoulders. His features were a touch more finely wrought than one might expect. However, there was a quiet power about Raine that was formidable. He thought briefly of how the night before had gone awry. Hugo of course kept that particular notion to himself. He wasn’t the type to waste words, especially ones that would inflame his future boss about something that was sure to be a sore subject. Besides, he was fairly certain that had been beyond Raine’s control. Hugo nodded once more.

“However, I believe your Basterds know what they are doing. So yes, I will join your ranks.”

--

Donny blinked, not following Archie’s train of thought. To him, the phrase “IRA” drew up vague mental references to a retirement fund that people put contributions into. Donny was fairly certain that Archie was not describing bank accounts however. He could gather that he was instead talking about some foreign organization that Donny had never heard of. He didn’t feel like discussing it, since the thought of it was already making his eyes glaze over. His mind moved on from that topic, since there was nothing he could really say.

He shrugged, pushing his now-empty plate from himself. “Yeah, people only think of French guys as limp-wrist pansies who surrender at the first sign of danger. I mean, better to be a coward than a Nazi, I guess.”

Donny watched Archie as he set aside his cutlery. Yeah, he came off as a nancy boy when you first met him, especially the way he talked. Even in the brief time they spend together, his perception of Archie had changed drastically though. He believed him now. He could concede that it was possible for someone to speak German and not be a Nazi. That’d just be ignorant to label him anti-Semitic just because of a language he spoke. It was harder to simply ignore the whole part about him being Landa’s man and not a Nazi but…Donny couldn’t help it, Archie had convinced him.

Even Donny could understand Archie’s apparent urgency to get his paperwork. Whatever the documents contained, obviously they held some great importance in Archie’s mind. Donny couldn’t imagine what would be so vital that he’d go back to the hotel room that the Nazis were renting for him. In Donny’s normally incautious mind, he could guess that Archie going back to the hotel was a very bad idea. He frowned faintly, his dark eyebrows descending.

“Hey, so you’re going back. By yourself? You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

He wasn’t sure why he was offering to accompany Archie. Generally he didn’t feel protective of anyone, except for maybe Smitty on rare occasion. Smitty was different; the guy just radiated a sort of helplessness. Donny knew full well he wasn’t as weak as he appeared but he couldn’t help feeling defensive about him. He’d just look up at you with those wide, slightly sleepy blue eyes and suddenly you felt like he was a troubled child rather than a capable young man. In comparison, Archie was far from feeble; Donny could read it in the lines of his hard, lean body and his determined expression. Not one thing about Archie, once you got past the accent, indicated he was a pushover.

Donny was about to say more regarding the documents when Hirschberg walked into the room. Something about his round face indicated that he was on the offensive, ready to start some s**t. Donny’s undivided attention changed direction from Archie’s situation to this new drama that could potentially begin right in front of him. He watched Hirschberg approach Wicki, standing close enough to invade his personal space. Oh, this was gonna be good. He was pissed at Wicki for whatever reason and Donny couldn’t wait to find out why. He was actually disappointed when Wicki made it clear that they weren’t going to argue there in the kitchen.

--

Wilhelm hung up, feeling more irritated rather than relieved as he closed his cell phone. This doctor had agreed to come but he was obviously going to take his time about it. He had heard the defensive tone in the doctor’s voice when Wilhelm had insinuated that Smithson’s worsening condition was a result of the doctor’s poor sanitizing of his tools. Perhaps he shouldn’t have added that part in but Wilhelm believed it was very true. He was not impressing Wilhelm in the slightest but the other, the better one, hadn’t been available, again. Ah well. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

His train of thought drifted back to Smithson. The boy was stronger than anyone gave him credit for. Even the fact that he was in a world of pain at the moment hadn’t really affected him on the outside. He’d borne Wilhelm’s exploration of his wound in fiercely determined silence. It was admirable, really. Wilhelm felt a smile come to his face involuntarily. He found that he wanted to get to know Smithson a lot better than he did, which was uncommon for him. He was the kind of person who kept everyone at arms’ length.

Wilhelm was not paying attention to Hirschberg as he approached. He barely acknowledged mentally the fact that he was in the room. Finally, the younger man brought him out of his reverie with a question. His smile faded as if it had never been there. Wilhelm resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as it was an incredibly immature gesture and out of his character. Though he seriously considered it for a moment. Hadn’t he answered this question exactly in Smithson’s room? He kept his tone even as he turned to look down at Hirschberg.

“Yes, the doctor will be here in an hour or so. He’s going to take a closer look at Smithson and possibly prescribe some antibiotics.”

Wilhelm stopped talking when he realized Hirschberg wasn’t interested in when the doctor was showing up. This was about something entirely different, Wilhelm could feel it. All at once Wilhelm felt waves of exasperation roll over him. He really just wanted this little stalker out of his face. He wasn’t the only one who had…attraction…to other men, but did he have to be so overt about it? It was completely obvious, the fact that he wanted Smithson. And it was also completely irritating, the way he followed him around with that queer expression on his face. It was clear Smithson had no interest in him, Hirschberg just needed to back off. He was standing on Wilhelm’s last nerve.

Wilhelm turned his full attention to Hirschberg, the conversation with the doctor all but forgotten. He was going to settle this stupid love triangle Hirschberg had created in his brain right now.

“That’s not what you want to talk to me about, is it?”

He saw Hirschberg’s lips thin as he caught on to what Wilhelm was referring to. Suddenly Wilhelm was aware of the eyes on him in the kitchen. The two men at the table had been drawn into the conversation whether Wilhelm wanted them to listen in or not. Donny was staring at him with an intensity that was almost indecent. Hicox had turned to look, a polite expression of interest on his handsome face. Wilhelm cleared his throat, cutting his eyes over to the table then back to Hirschberg pointedly. His voice was quiet.

“Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere?”

--

Fredrick stared, for a moment unable to comprehend Dieter’s question. What in the world was he talking about? Oh. Yes. His conversation with Landa. It had already started to fade from his memory to be replaced by far more pressing thoughts. Fredrick shrugged, a sheepish grin gracing his young face. He was the very picture of a naughty boy, having now been properly chastised and as a result completely repentant.

“Yes, he forgave me for this one misstep. I promised him I’d never fail him again. Which I won‘t, I am determined to do as asked of me every time in the future. ”

Fredrick’s smile faltered as he watched Dieter’s face. He wasn’t the most perceptive person in the world but he saw something in his comrade’s face that bothered him.

You heard all that. Do you think I‘d be sitting here on this bed, thinking about sex if he‘d told me I was of no use to him any longer?

Dieter’s term of endearment rang in Fredrick’s ears gratingly. He didn’t mean it in a kind, affectionate way. Dieter didn’t understand affection. He had meant to belittle Fredrick and it had worked. The jibe had hurt Fredrick’s pride, had damaged his lofty ego. He knew he was a capable person, very skilled at what he did for the Germans. Possibly the best. Landa was keeping him around because he knew what an asset he was despite his mistake the night before. Fredrick began to slowly see what was going on. He had thought that Dieter just didn’t realize what he wanted but now he was starting to see that Dieter was baiting him on purpose. He knew they had hours till Archie showed up. He also knew that Fredrick was dying to pull him back down on the bed wordlessly. His brown eyes narrowed as he put two and two together.

The softness seemed to disappear from Fredrick’s face, adding years to it as he clenched his jaw. An undeniable anger began to unfold in his chest, intermingling with the slow-burning lust. Instead of dampening his desires, it only amplified them. His dark eyes met Dieter’s pale ones, passion clear in his expression. Fredrick got up from the bed and into a standing position in one fluid motion then crossed the room to where Dieter stood. He reached for Dieter’s collar with one hand, pushing him toward the wall firmly. There was no violence in Fredrick’s gesture, only a simple, driving force that would not be ignored any longer. His other hand rested flat against the wall next to Dieter’s head. He could smell on Dieter’s breath the mint of his toothpaste this close. At this distance, he could almost kiss him if he’d wanted to. Fredrick’s voice was gentle, belying the sheer amount of emotion he was feeling at the moment.

He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to injure Dieter or take him right there.

“Dieter, don’t toy with me anymore. Are we going to do this or not? Because I can go somewhere else if you’re just going to stand there all day and talk about nothing.”

If this was all merely a game to Dieter, then Fredrick was determined to play rough.