Title: A Hundred Years or So
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/David
Rating: PG
A/n: Many thanks to the fantabulous yuuyaku for the French translations. As for the Russian, I used an online dictionary. Don't laugh!
Dedicated to catlover2x, my historical CSI fanfic writing muse.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: The war will end one day, in a hundred years or so, and he doesn't want obligation to keep anyone from the remaining world. Freedom is out there in the cities, not a worn out house lost in a maze of fields. WWII AU.

***

The train station is smoky, but Nicolas would rather die from suffocation than from what's approaching the French border. He sits against the wall, alone among others who are doing the same. They're the ones who will be left behind, they're the ones who have no money for a ticket. One ticket to Switzerland, that's all he wants, and he sits as though waiting –hoping- that someone has extra funds, that someone will give him a chance to escape. The conductor is bellowing "en voiture" in harsh tones; then again, everything's harsh now. The days, the minutes, they scratch against his skin and make him bleed. The world is unforgiving.

He knows he smells badly. He hasn't bathed in almost six days and his clothes are soiled with dirt and stale water. His face, his breath, it's all filthy, but no one cares about the trivial. He can hear the seconds tick away and he knows the train will leave, will never come back. It's the last train out before the Nazi's come. It's the last train that will ever board this station.

All aboard! Two minutes, all aboard!

A man is begging the conductor for a ticket, pleading, offering everything he has. But everything's not enough now, and he's refused; they've all been refused. All ten of them, and Nicolas expected there to be more. He expected so many more to be crowding the station, beseeching anyone for spare change so that they might escape France.

Has the world given up?

"S'il vous plaît, je vous donnerai quelque chose!"

That's what the man is saying. He's on his knees, crying, saying My family took the first train, I know where they are, let me go to them, but that doesn't change the fact he's poor. He can't afford it.

Nicolas knows he shouldn't hold out hope. There's nothing to hope for now, because getting to Switzerland by foot is almost impossible. He has no money for food or shelter, he doesn't even have a change of clothes. Everything was lost when word spread that the Germans were coming; he's Jewish, he's terrified, and he knows what'll happen to him if the Nazi's take over the country. He, along with many of his Jewish friends, had left their homes the night before to try and flee, but Nicolas has reached a dead end. He hopes his friends are doing better.

"En voit-''

Another man suddenly rushes in. He, like everyone else, is dirty, but hasn't reached Nicolas' state yet. He will soon, probably, as will the entire population. It'll be as though civilization never evolved at all. They'll be like animals: no compassion, no sympathy, everyone for themselves.

Nicolas doesn't understand what the new arrival shouts, but the conductor does and quickly moves aside. The man speaks in Russian, that's all Nicolas can recognize, and trips over the poor soul who had been begging before. He's on his knees, crying, pleading with the whole of his heart, and the Russian looks around and notices the other nine who will be forced to stay behind. He seems alarmed that human nature has left them, that the conductor won't take in those who are less fortunate than he, and then his startling blue eyes settle on Nicolas' tired brown ones. He turns to the conductor and speaks again.

His words are sharp, but Nicolas is French and can't translate it. His heart, though, nearly stops when the Russian and the conductor hastily usher the ten men towards them, telling them Get on the train! Hurry! and the men are too grateful to be stunned. The Russian reaches into his pocket and shells out the money it takes to get them all on board, and looks onto the beautifully empty station. They aren't leaving anyone behind. You can't put a price on that.

The train lurches forward, puffing out steam, and Nicolas is glad to breathe semi-fresh air. The new men quickly find their quarters, little rooms with a window and bench, but Nicolas is so tired and hungry that he can barely move. The train floor is carpeted, dark red with a floral design, and he wonders how comfortable it is before he spots the Russian. The man has cerulean eyes, so shocking and electric, but wears no expression when he motions Nicolas towards him with a wave of his hand. Nicolas hesitatingly approaches until he realizes the Russian is offering to share half of his compartment, and Nicolas is so thankful that he almost cries.

He sits in one seat as the Russian closes the door behind them. They face one another, unsure of what to say, until Nicolas speaks.

My name is Nicolas.

The Russian merely frowns, and Nicolas realizes he can't understand him.

He says something in return, and Nicolas can't translate it either. However, it ends with David, pronounced da'veed, and he supposes that's his name. Nicolas repeats it uncertainly.

David?

The Russian nods and echoes, Nicolas?

They give a small laugh, figuring a name is a good a start as any, before David opens his suitcase. Nicolas averts his eyes, not wanting to be nosy, but then smells something like bread and tomatoes, and can't help but glance back. David has a sandwich. It's on sourdough, and Nicolas' mouth waters. He bites his lip and looks towards the window. The man bought him a ticket, saved his life. Nicolas can't ask for more than that.

Hungry?

David's asking a question, but Nicolas can't understand him.

What?

They stare for another moment, both recognizing that this is going to be a very quiet train ride- no conversation. David merely hands him half his sandwich, and Nicolas plans to protest, plans to say No, you've done enough, but David's insistent. Nicolas wolfs it down; it barely sates his hunger, but it's more than he's had the past six days. Before he knows it, he's peeling off his coat and bunching it in the corner of his bench. He lies sideways, exhausted, and lets the tracks and the train wheels lull him to sleep.

…

He's not sure how much time has passed since they left France, but the sky is dark when Nicolas finally wakes. Someone is shaking his shoulder –David, he realizes- and David's pointing to the compartment door. The train seems to be slowing, so that must mean they've reached Switzerland. Nicolas feels a rush of joy fill him. He's been so scared that their train might be stopped somehow, and now they're in the mountains. It makes him weak.

Other passengers shuffle off before him, but he doesn't mind. He feels patient and rested, although he's definitely still hungry, and moves with the flow. He's standing behind David and the scent of sweet cologne ghosts towards his nose. He's suddenly embarrassed by his own stench and hangs his head a bit lower in an attempt to not stand out. As he does so, he admires David's shiny leather shoes. He must be a businessman or banker, perhaps. He's certainly wealthy.

His own beaten boots hit the concrete station floor with a soft thud and he feels the chill of the mountains begin to creep through his bones. He crosses his arms around himself to keep warm, but it doesn't help much, and briefly wonders whether he can find a place to sleep for the night. It's too cold to sleep outside, but he has no choice. He has nothing to pay with. Nothing, perhaps, except labor, and these times require more human effort then monetary gain. He turns to David and wants to say "thank you," but doesn't know how in Russian. He hopes his expression conveys it.

David meets his eyes. They're silent. Nicolas struggles, but is purely French and can't even express his gratitude in English.

Their eyes don't let go of each other, and even through the hustle and bustle, David holds up his right index finger and then makes a circular motion, as though indicating every possible direction. Nicolas is confused at first, but then realizes what he means. He's asking where Nicolas intends to go, so the brunette merely shrugs. He has no idea.

David sets down his briefcase and flips open two silver locks; there are papers with black print and news articles and photos, and now Nicolas knows he's some sort of financial master. David shuffles through the paper piles until he pulls out a yellowed photograph and hands it to his French companion. Nicolas furrows his brow but takes it. It's of a beautiful mansion, stunning with its pillars and windows and sky backdrop. David points to it and then to himself. Nicolas realizes that the mansion is David's home.

He doesn't want to hope that maybe David is asking him to go there, to live with him in that beautiful house, but what else can he mean? David takes the picture back and shuts his suitcase before touching Nicolas' arm and tugging him towards where David is heading.

Would you like to come with me?

There's nowhere for Nicolas to go, so even if they aren't heading to the mansion, at least they're heading somewhere.

…

The mansion is more rundown than in the photo, but God, what a lovely sight it is. Vines climb over stone walls, pillars ignore the rules of time, and the doors tower over any man. The sky is a bright blue setting and the green grounds are carefully kept, although the gates that separate the gardens have long since rusted. Nicolas feels small and insignificant when compared to the immense home that lay sprawled before him, but at the same time, he feels safe. David touches his arm again and steers him forward. The contact is rather comforting, actually, and he feels warm when David's arm brushes up against his.

David smiles, the expression tinged with excitement, and Nicolas can tell he's glad to be home. Nicolas would be too, if he lived here. The word "home" bids a brief, unwanted memory of France; it was once an empire, but a few days has changed everything. Now parts of it are in ruins while the rest is black with fear. Nicolas remembers what his own house looked like before he left it and feels homesick already.

"David! David, you're back! Jacqueline, get Robert and Ronald!"

The voice is so unexpected that Nicolas jumps slightly as a tall, dark man comes bounding out of the house, running towards David with an admirable speed. David barely has time to set down his suitcase before the man grabs him and actually twirls him around. David's laughing and hugs him back while a parade of others rush from the house as well. There's a woman with dark curly hair and several men who seem thrilled that David's returned. There's a hurricane of words that Nicolas doesn't understand, so he stays quiet while the reunion takes place. The woman seems as happy as the dark man is, but she doesn't have the strength to lift and twirl him, so she merely squeezes until David gives a breathy laugh and pushes her away.

They quickly speak in Russian and then David turns and gestures to Nicolas. The Frenchman supposes he's introducing him to the woman, so he smiles and nods his head in uncertain greeting. She waves enthusiastically before bestowing a hug on him as well, being kind enough to ignore his ripe smell.

You're French, yes? she asks, smiling sympathetically, understanding how alienated he feels in his surroundings. A wave of relief crashes through him; someone speaks his language! He eagerly nods.

Yes! Are you?

She laughs but shakes her head. No, I'm an American reporter. I've been stuck here for months now. I'm glad that David brought you, though. You can tell me what's been happening in France.

He makes a face as the fresh memories come flooding back. Silence, fear, desperation. With respect, madam, I'd rather not.

That's understandable, Nicolas. Maybe some other time, but let's get you settled in first. I'll explain the language barrier here, yes?

But David-

Oh, he isn't leaving. I believe that'll be his last business trip for a little while. When we caught word that the Germans were so close, we… She trails off, looking as though her mind is somewhere far away. Her grip tightens on his arm as she shakes her head. Yes, well, let me take you to your room. My name's Jacqueline Franco, by the way. Before we go any further, you must understand our speaking system. Rick and Robert can only speak English. David and Ronald speak only Russian. You and Sofia speak only French. I know all three languages, plus Spanish, so I'm the heart of communication here.

Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Nicolas says, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on her knuckles. She merely smiles and rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

I'm surrounded by the nicest men, and yet I'm still unmarried. Why is that?

I wouldn't know, madam.

She leads him towards a long hallway. We'll get you a bath and something to eat. How does that sound?

Lovely, Ms. Franco, he manages to reply. He turns to see where David is; several others surround him, but their eyes are able to meet before Jacqueline leads him down another hallway. David disappears behind the wall.

…

They all rise and shine before the sky lightens. Nicolas feels so revitalized, because sleeping on a bed is far better than a street. He's able to freshen up and then goes down to breakfast, only he's struck with a bit of shyness. He hovers on the outside of the door and listens to his new house mates talk amongst themselves, with Jacqueline participating in several conversations at once. He realizes that he doesn't really know them and that he can't just walk in and expect anything, and he almost decides to not go in at all when someone taps him on the shoulder.

He turns to see… Rick, isn't it? Rick Brown from America. He's a photographer who came with Jacqueline, and now they're both stuck in Switzerland. He's tall, handsome, has the most stunning green eyes, and is obviously in love with his reporter counterpart. Nicolas is instantly mute, having no idea what to say. He can't even make himself meet Rick's gaze; he feels like he did something wrong, so he crosses his arms around himself and softly kicks the floor with his right foot.

"What're you doin'? Breakfast ain't out here, man," Rick says, not that Nicolas understands him. "And trust me, you don't wanna miss Sofia's eggs."

All Nicolas knows is that Rick's grabbing his shoulder and pushing him through the door. He's struck with shyness again, and once again wonders where to sit, but Rick seems to know what's what. He plops down next to Jacqueline and then indicates for Nicolas to take the seat on the other side of him.

Multi-lingual conversations flow between those who occupy the large table. It seems, though, that no one besides Jacqueline is any good at French, so Nicolas remains quiet as he takes the seat Rick offered. Everyone shoots him a welcoming smile while plates and glasses are heard clinking from the kitchen. A moment later, Sofia emerges, her golden hair pulled back into a ponytail and balancing several dishes at once. Nicolas has always been polite –his parents and sisters had taught him how- and so he jumps up to assist.

Let me help, he offers, taking a few plates. You do this all by yourself?

Sofia grins and nods, surprising him by replying in his native tongue. Most days, yes. I like it. It gives me something to do.

They set breakfast out, everyone murmuring their appreciation in different languages, before the two sit down with them to eat. Nicolas' initial hesitation seems to disappear, because everyone is friendly, and Sofia seems like a nice person to talk to. They introduce themselves (Jacqueline translates) and he discovers that Ronald's a sensible man who runs a Russian newspaper company. Robert's playful, always laughing and joking despite the dark times. He used to serve in the Army until he lost his troop somewhere in Germany. Albert's intelligent and serves as their resident doctor, making sure they all keep warm in winter and eat properly.

When they finish, Sofia sees to cleaning the kitchen while the others disperse. Nicolas has a feeling they all have specific responsibilities, and he's proven right when Jacqueline leads him to the garden in back of the house.

Our life is simple here. We keep up the house, the livestock, and the garden. You seem like the outdoors type, so we're assigning you garden duty. Do you mind?

Nicolas shakes his head. How could he ever mind? He's been given cleaning facilities, food, a place to sleep, and the least he can do for them is plant and water.

She explains what he's supposed to do –root plants, harvest seeds, pick the ripe fruits, water everything- and the tasks are simple but laborious. He doesn't object, though. As a matter of fact, he rather enjoys it. He sets to work immediately. He's careful, because their garden is most of their food supply, and in the distance, he can see Robert caring for the chickens and cows. The idea of this life, the notion of such simplicity, is comforting. In a world so torn by war and suffering, this minimalism is paradise.

Three hours later, he glances up to see someone standing on the back porch. He's too far away to tell who it is, but the pale skin color and build makes him think it's David. He wants to wave or something, show friendliness, but as soon as David knows he's been spotted, he turns and goes back inside. Nicolas wonders why David was watching him in the first place.

…

By the second day, Nicolas knows he and Rick are going to be friends. There's just something between them; even though their native tongues don't mix, their personalities do, and they're always egging each other on, trying to outdo the other. Around four, when Nicolas has finished up with his daily garden work, Rick approaches him with a ball and bat. He cocks a dark eyebrow.

"You like baseball, man?" he asks.

"Baseball?" Nicolas repeats. The ball and bat seem familiar, but he's never actually played.

"Yeah. We all play sometimes, and I figure you might as well know the rules. You ever watched a game?"

"Pardon, mais je ne comprends pas."

"Ne comprends, huh? Look, it's like this," Rick says, motioning for Nicolas to follow him. "There're three bases. Three. Tres, man," he continues, holding up three fingers. "Then there's home plate. Ball-'' He holds up the baseball, yellowed with dirt and black stitching. "-and bat." He holds up the long, wooden object. "Just gotta hit the ball and run."

When Nicolas pins Rick beneath a blank stare, the taller man merely sighs and shakes his head. "I can see Jacq's gonna be needed for this. How 'bout some regular practice, then?"

He hands Nicolas the ball and then steps about ten yards back. He motions for Nicolas to throw it. He does, rather uncertainly, and Rick lightly taps it so that it doesn't go flying across the field and into some unknown location. Nicolas repeats his previous action, throwing it a bit harder this time, and the bat makes contact with a slight thud.

"Think ya got it?" he asks. Not waiting for an answer, he picks up the ball and then hands Nicolas the bat. It feels strange in his hand, but he turns slightly, trying to copy Rick's stance and grip. When Rick finally tosses it, Nicolas not only misses, but swings too hard. He feels embarrassed when Rick laughs, but the laughter isn't mean; it's amused at most, and he quickly retrieves the ball before tossing it again, determined to get Nicolas into the sport. Nicolas concentrates. He keeps his eye on where the ball's going… and then swings.

The resulting crack reverberates throughout the field.

Rick's mouth drops open as he watches the baseball soar over him, over the field, and finally hitting the roof of the house with a thump. It's still for a moment before rolling off and falling onto the ground, landing in a flowerbed that lines the back wall. Rick's green eyes are wide when he turns to face Nicolas. Behind him, Jacqueline scrambles onto the back deck to make sure everything's okay.

"And… you're sure you've never played before, right?" he asks at last. Nicolas merely looks at him before handing him the bat.

"Baseball," he repeats. Rick's quiet for a moment before bursting into peels of laughter and shaking his head.

"You and me? We're gonna be friends, I can just tell," he says, throwing his arm around Nicolas' neck.

"Friends?"

"Amis, man. Now stop with the yard work, 'cause Sofia's cookin' chicken for dinner. You'd be crazy to miss that."

Nicolas wasn't sure of everything Rick had said, but he recognizes "Sofia" and "dinner" and amis. They walk to the house together, Rick's arm still slung around his neck.

…

Sunday, Jacqueline claims, is a day of rest. Nicolas doesn't want to rest. He'd much rather garden than do nothing, although there's a library on the second floor, and some of the books look interesting. There's a lake here, Sofia says. Past the fields and barn. Go take a swim or look at the wildlife. The idea is pleasant, so Nicolas heads off to look for it once breakfast is over. He promises to come back and help Sofia with lunch and dinner (she's the only one who doesn't get any rest of Sunday), but he can't bear the indoors on such a beautiful day. It doesn't take long to locate the lake –it's not huge, but it's blue and lovely- and Nicolas instantly falls in love with it. He lived in the city and never saw these things before. He feels free in the country.

At the moment, looking is more appealing than swimming. He's always been interested in details, so the aquatic life fascinates him, and the birds are especially beautiful. The surrounding sand is gritty beneath his feet as he walks along the shore. Water hides items that are otherwise lost –bird feathers, coins- and it's possible that this lake is nothing but a blue mystery. Maybe there's a treasure chest at the bottom, or an airplane, although it couldn't be that deep. Could it? Nicolas has a feeling he'll never find out, so he lets the question go and rolls up the bottom of his pants. He doesn't want them to get too wet, and the water's far more inviting than the sand.

There are ducks floating in the middle. They're pretty quiet for such noisy creatures. A few toads hop here and there and fish quickly swim away from Nicolas' threatening ankles. This place is so strange; he remembers freezing in France, and somehow he's warm here. It's still a bit chilly to go swimming, but there's no doubt of the sweat he's worked up gardening lately. He listens to the water splash as he walks, observing all the small creatures that grace the lake, and wonders what his place is. How long can he stay here? Is he expected to eventually contribute money? He's fairly certain that he can stay as long as he likes, and as long as he does his share of work, money won't be a problem. The issue of coins and bills always lead to thoughts of David, though. Nicolas wonders how David ever afforded this place, and what it is he does for a living.

The sound of a snapping twig makes Nicolas turn around, and before he knows it, he has company. David's standing a few feet away, looking rather surprised himself.

There's a long stretch of silence where David looks terribly uncomfortable, so Nicolas tries to manage a smile. Hello, he says. Am I disturbing you?

It's so strange not to be able to talk to someone. Nicolas feels ridiculously stupid a moment later, realizing David can't understand him. All the things he wants to say are alien to the other man; he might as well be speaking Greek or maybe some ancient, lost language that's nothing but dust by now. David pauses, uncertain, before taking a few steps forward. He simply smiles and doesn't bother to say anything; they both know it's a useless endeavor anyway.

They walk barefoot and side-by-side. David is more of a watcher, content to study the lake and Nicolas, while Nicolas wants to touch and see everything from each angle. It's almost like David's amused by Nicolas' curiosity and wonder. He reaches out for anything, even the fish, and his chestnut hair blows in the mountain wind. The wind whistles through the trees, threatening a cold winter, but this time of year isn't frightening. It's cold at night, sure, but it heats up during the day. David likes it that way.

Something catches Nicolas' attention. David watches as the other man scrutinizes it first. It seems to be a small turtle, about the size of Nicolas' hand, and it takes its time as it crosses from the brush towards the water. Nicolas gently picks it up, laughing as the head and legs go in. David's struck by the man's smile, the beautiful crow's feet around brown eyes, and how his laugh's contagious. Nicolas sets the turtle down and continues his investigating, his feet wet as he walks through water while David stays dry on land.

Nicolas, though, isn't quite used to bodies of water, and slips a few minutes later. They'd been in companionable silence, only to have the silence broken by a loud splash. David, being David, can't help it: he laughs. Nicolas shoots him an annoyed look as he sits waist deep, drenched. Even his hair's wet and plastered against his forehead. He looks a bit childish, especially with his glare, and he holds up his hand in an expectant gesture. Surely David has a heart, right? He wouldn't leave a man to fend off lake creatures alone, would he? David reaches to help Nicolas onto his feet, but realizes too late that he's been tricked; Nicolas' hand tightens around his before he yanks David down with him. He makes a startled shout as he plops in next to Nicolas, and now they're both soaked.

That'll teach you to laugh at me, Nicolas grins. David merely glares.

"Ya ne ponimayu," he growls back, which only furthers Nicolas' amusement. He's still snickering as he crawls onto the sand, intent to leave, but David believes in revenge. He grabs Nicolas' ankle and pulls him back, and by now they're so wet that Jacqueline probably won't let them eat at the table until they've cleaned up. Nicolas slaps his hand away, David pushes him onto the ground, and they find themselves in an awkward position moments later. David's dominant, Nicolas is sprawled onto his back, and they're staring into each other's eyes without meaning to.

The seconds pass without passing at all. Time seems to slow, nearly stop, and Nicolas can honestly say that he has no idea how long they're like that. He's almost sure -almost- that David wants to kiss him, but perhaps everyone has sent their bravery to the soldiers, because David lurches back. It's like he realizes what's happening and cuts it off as soon as he can.

Without another word, David leaves, heading back across the field and to the house. Nicolas stays. He stays, uncertain of how to respond, and wishes that David had leant in closer. Thoughts swirl through his head as he rises unsteadily. He's no longer concerned about water or birds. He heads back to the house, slower than David, and when he wanders into the kitchen to help Sofia, she merely takes in Nicolas' wet appearance before smiling.

She seems to know something, but Nicolas isn't sure what it is.

…

It's a few weeks later that Jacqueline falls sick. Albert takes good care of her, despite her protests, and Sofia makes enough chicken soup to last them all week. Their only concern is who plans to take her chores, and David's just about to offer when Nicolas speaks up instead. The garden's doing well, he says. I'll have time to do her share. There's no reason for David to stop his work.

As it turns out, Nicolas is more fit for outside labor. He's not used to washing clothes and windows, and finds himself tackling the floors too aggressively. Even worse, his ability to shake out the rugs is questionable at best. He's horrified by the shoddy job he's doing, and can only imagine the lecture he'll get if Jacqueline sees that there are spots on the floor, so he ends up doing everything more than once. He goes over his work with a fine-tooth comb, which sets him back a great deal. By the time dinner rolls around, the windows still need to be cleaned, and he wonders if he should just skip dinner altogether and try to finish his chores.

Sofia, however, isn't a fan of having her cooking ignored. She tracks him down and drags him away from his bucket of water. He's still protesting as she pushes him onto a seat, and they have an argument in French before she says something that has Nicolas quiet and willing to eat whatever she dreamt up. Jacqueline isn't there to see it, but David's laughing at Nicolas' expression, and the Frenchman sticks out his tongue (childish, maybe, but so is laughing) before taking a bite of his beef stew.

Dinner, as always, is a pleasant affair. Ronald's an interesting man to know, and Robert's always smiling. Rick offers to take some stew up to Jacqueline, but Nicolas takes it instead, considering he consumed his within ten minutes and is ready to start working again. He's off like a shot, scrubbing windows like a man possessed, fuelled by the fact that he can get some shut-eye as soon as he's completed everything. The first floor's finished by the hour, and he's climbing up the stairs to start on the second floor just as Ronald's retiring to his room with a book from the library.

The first room, he notices, is David's. The door's cracked, so he peeks inside to see David storing books and notebooks away in drawers. He opens it a bit further, hoping to silently announce his presence. The door works as a fabulous broadcaster; David looks up, smiles, and waves him in. Nicolas smiles in return, lugging in the bucket of soapy water and the rag that goes with it. They don't –can't- make conversation, so he sets to his task and they both work in companionable silence for the first few minutes.

Nicolas stands by the window, cleaning the gold rod that hangs the curtains, and David watches from his place at the bedpost. Nicolas is a good worker, and David observes him move, dark hair that falls onto his forehead, muscles that shift beneath tanned skin that comes from backyard duties. Nicolas hops down from his stool and then quickly moves to his next window, aware that he's keeping David from sleeping. His motions are quick, although David rather enjoys the view.

"Nicolas?"

The man turns from his elevated space and gives David an inquisitive look. David indicates for him to come down from the stool, which Nicolas quickly does.

Content that they're on level fields, David hesitantly approaches his friend. Nicolas looks as though he wants to ask something, but knows it's pointless. Body signals are all they have, and David figures it's all they'll need.

Now that they're a foot apart, David reaches out and touches Nicolas' face. Their eyes meet, and he subtly leans forth, hoping his actions are clear. He wants to give Nicolas the opportunity to say no. Nicolas' back is against the wall and David takes the final step forth; their bodies are pressed together, their lips hover over one another's like a dirigible over the earth, and their heartbeats somehow match.

You can say no, David says, and Nicolas' brows draw in confusion. David bites his lips and repeats it slower, the Russian fluent on his tongue. But it's clear Nicolas has yet to become so assured with the language, and David hopes he's been catching a few of Jacqueline's English words.

"You can…" He trails off. He doesn't know English very well either. "Said… you can said no."

"No," Nicolas repeats, frowning in puzzlement. He knows what David wants, and he wants it too. Why is David saying no? Has he changed his mind?

David looks disappointed, but steps back, and Nicolas is struck with understanding. David was giving him a choice.

"Yes!" he suddenly says. "Yes, David." (What is the word I'm looking for?) "Wait, yes. Don't… go."

David looks uncertain, but leans forward again, trying to determine whether what he thinks Nicolas is saying actually is what Nicolas is saying. Their lips linger again, both tentative until Nicolas finally presses them together. It's an odd feeling until Nicolas opens his mouth and his tongue swipes against David's lips. David takes a deep breath and follows suit, and their tongues hesitatingly meet in the middle. They break away and meet each other's eyes, brown gaze on blue –earth staring up at the daytime sky- and Nicolas gives a shaky breath before pressing his groin against David's thigh. There's hard evidence of what he wants. He can feel David, can tell that he craves it too, and the windows can wait until tomorrow morning.

They kiss again, both now aware that their desire is the same. David's hands –long fingers, pale skin- creep up Nicolas' shirt, brushing against his stomach. Nicolas sighs, a breathy sound, and smiles. David's struck with how beautiful he is; these encounters never happened in Russia, but that was before the war, and now people are too busy trying to stay alive to care what others do in their bedroom. Besides, David's employees are too grateful for his sanctuary to give him a hard time.

David's slowly unbuttons the shirt, trying to take it all in. Nicolas' eyes never leave David's face.

He finally reaches the last button and tugs the shirt off, revealing a body that's sun-kissed by garden work and strengthened by an adequate diet. His hand reaches out and he presses his palm against Nicolas' chest; he feels the other man's heart beat against his hand before David leans in and kisses his neck and right shoulder.

But his mind won't slow down. He wants nothing more than to keep this going, yet his door is wide open and anyone can pass by and see. He quickly lets go; even as Nicolas' expression flashes with question, he doesn't –can't- answer.

He grabs the brass knob and shuts the door, locks it just to be sure, and then turns and leans against it. He and Nicolas stare at each other from across the room; the French man smiles nervously before looking down at his feet. David grins and removes his own shirt, allowing it to fall onto the wood floor. He walks over again and presses his body against Nicolas' as they kiss, hands exploring every available inch of skin. The feeling is absolutely electric –they're burning- and David interlaces his right hand with Nicolas' before leading them towards his bed.

Nicolas slides on first and David straddles him; the sheets are cool and soft against Nicolas' back while David's lips and skin are smooth against his chest. It's like heaven, not that Nicolas has ever seen such a place. Still, he has an idea.

Before this –when France was without war- he found his encounters in midnight clubs that catered to men like himself. Nicolas was often drawn to men more imposing than he (their size made him feel safe), but when it was over, it was over. David's different somehow. He's not necessarily stronger or anything, but he seems to genuinely care for Nicolas.

David's lips go to Nicolas' neck, biting softly as his fingers begin fiddling with the other man's pants fly. He undoes them as quickly as he can, even though his hands tremble, and pulls them off. He then tugs the breeches beneath, leaving Nicolas splayed out and naked. David tosses the clothes onto the ground, his eyes never leaving the body below him. Nicolas' chest heaves furiously, trying to catch its breath, while his cock lay against his stomach and glistens with pre-cum. It's clear that he's shy; he barely meets David's eyes before looking away and towards the East wall.

David thinks he looks beautiful.

Although terrified, his body commands him to keep going, and Nicolas doesn't seem afraid, only timid. David's hands slink down and sweep against the other man's stomach before hesitantly brushing his penis; Nicolas hisses, arches up, and then says something in French.

"S'il vous plaît."

David freezes, terrified that he's done something wrong. Nicolas opens his eyes and searches David's face, breathily repeating what he said earlier, but David has no clue as to what he's trying to get across. His heart falls at the thought of stopping, but he prefers that over unknowingly continuing against Nicolas' wishes.

He quickly rises from his position and climbs to the side of the bed, cursing their inability to properly converse. S'il vous plaît. Did that mean "stop"? Or "no"? Had Nicolas only acted interested out of respect? Or thankfulness? Or fear that he may be kicked out otherwise? David isn't sure, and doesn't want to risk losing Nicolas' company to misunderstanding.

"David?"

The Russian turns to gaze over his right shoulder. Nicolas is sitting up, looking worried.

"S'il vous plaît," he echoes, his tone earnest. David can only shrug helplessly. Nicolas tilts his head, attempting to understand the problem; David stopped the moment Nicolas had spoken. What did that translate to? He frowned. Maybe…

He touches David's back, warm skin on warm skin, and then points at David before pointing to himself. "S'il vous plait," he says. "Please."

David blinks, allowing his mind to process the new information. Nicolas had been saying "please"? Well, that means… oh. Oh.

Nicolas laughs as David scrambles towards him, desperately pressing their lips together before pushing him down as he continues from his mouth to his neck to his chest. Nicolas begins breathing harder as David progresses downwards, whispering "please" over and over, tinting the word with remnants of Paris. His right arm rests over his eyes as he speaks, thrusting his hips up, dying for friction or suction or something.

"David, please," he whispers, his voice nearly broken by a sob. David brushes the tip of Nicolas' cock with his lips, kisses it, letting his tongue swipe off the cum. Nicolas groans and moves restlessly, visibly refraining from thrusting up again. David gives a soft laugh, pleased that the other man seems to be enjoying it, and takes Nicolas in his mouth.

He's never been with someone so responsive, so he's surprised when Nicolas cries out and clutches the sheets hard enough that his knuckles fade into white. He's babbling in French now, but David's no longer afraid that he doesn't want it. It's quite clear that he's desperate for it, in fact, so David sucks harder as Nicolas writhes beneath him.

His tongue swirls around the head, driving Nicolas insane. It's the good sort of insanity, though, so David continues without pause, grateful Nicolas even accepted this interlude in the first place. Listening to him speak so uninhibitedly –despite the fact he can't understand it- is also exciting. He only wants to give Nicolas pleasure, surprising himself when he realizes that whether the other man returns this pleasure is unimportant.

Nicolas' barrage of unintelligible words suddenly stops; his back arches, he squeezes his fists even tighter, and then he comes. Hard. David swallows without thought, his mind concentrating on how Nicolas looks right after, and how he can't seem to catch his breath or focus his gaze on anything but the ceiling. He notices that it didn't take very long, but it's been quite awhile for either of them. Personally, David hasn't been with anyone for almost a year, and he's sure that if Nicolas were to return the favor, he'd be finished in minutes.

As if reading his thoughts, Nicolas' eyes flick towards him, and he grins. He sits up, pushes David back, and kisses him like… like maybe he loves him, but David knows that can't be the case. David had helped him, and offered him a home, but that can't constitute love like this, and he doesn't want Nicolas to get confused. He doesn't want Nicolas to be stuck here after the war. The war will end one day, in a hundred years or so, and he doesn't want obligation to keep anyone from the remaining world. Freedom is out there in the cities, not a worn out house lost in a maze of fields.

His notions melt when he feels Nicolas' mouth on him, and his toes curl involuntarily while he wonders where Nicolas learned to do that. He comes shortly after, like he knew he would, and watches as Nicolas dresses. It's quiet between them. David doesn't like it. He wonders whether this was a bad idea, and then Nicolas smiles, says "merci", and walks out to finish his chores.

When the door closes, David starts crying.

…

You look pleased, comes a teasing voice, and Nicolas glances up to see Jacqueline grinning rather knowingly. Care to share or shall I drag it out of you?

Nicolas merely blushes and continues eating breakfast, the memories of last night returning full force. He's confused but elated. He wonders whether he treated the situation properly; should he have stayed? Or did David want him gone? Was it only for one night or would they be doing it again? He curses his inability to speak David's language and knows he must learn if he has any hope of staying.

He feels rather than sees Jacqueline take a seat across from him. They're both up early and know the others will be down soon; this is their only chance to talk. Nicolas wishes that Rick might be early as well so as to stall their conversation, but then again, avoiding Jacqueline and her thirst for knowledge is an impossible task. She's a reporter, after all, and always gets her story.

What do you mean? he asks as he takes another bite of eggs. He's tremendously thankful to have a food source; being allowed to eat on a daily basis has done wonders for him.

It takes ten minutes to clean windows and you were in his room for forty. Would you like to talk about it?

God, he wants to tell someone. He needs to get out all his uncertainty, his fears that perhaps he and David couldn't be friends after what happened, but it feels wrong to speak of it. Jacqueline would never tell a soul, and yet it's still so private that not even she's the right person to discuss this with.

I'd rather not.

What? Why? Nothing… bad happened, did it? As far as I know, David has always been a very good person-

No, nothing like that. I just don't know where we stand now. I don't know what he wants.

Her voice –so tinged with worry- fades for a moment as she sorts out Nicolas' insecurities. He takes this moment to admire her dark curly hair and pleasant face, and thinks that she's the sort of lady he'd fall in love with if only he wanted the company of a lady to begin with. As it is, he much prefers David. He desired nothing more than to stay last night, but he was so shaken and unsure that he left as soon as he could. He hopes he didn't give David the wrong impression.

I see. Would you like me to talk to him?

What? No! No, this is something I need to find out for myself.

Oh really? And how do you propose to do that? David's Russian, you're French, and both of you barely know ten English words. How do you expect to communicate?

We'll find a way.

She snorts and Nicolas thinks he hears her mutter "foolish romantic" beneath her breath, but thinking and knowing are two very different things. Nicolas finishes breakfast early so that he can complete his chores from last night as well as the ones for today. He works quickly, barely stopping for lunch, and doesn't see David the entire time.

***

He's never really been ashamed of himself before, but as Nicolas stares out the kitchen window, he realizes there's a first time for everything. It's been three days since that night, and he's avoided David at every opportunity. David, though, hasn't exactly gone seeking him out, so doesn't that mean they can at least share the blame?

Despite all of his doubts, he knows there's one thing for certain: he's in love with David.

He's in love, has ruined it, and now he's paying dearly for his mistake. He misses spending time with the other man; the lake and the games and the way David makes him feel. It's all so frightening, so new, and he's sick that he's lost a love before ever having the chance to know it. He and David's magnetism towards each other is as strong as ever (at least, he thinks so), so he wonders if this separation is as painful for David as it is for him. In a way, he hopes it is.

Dinner's almost finished on the stove and Sofia's rustling through the old cabinet, counting out dishes and cups so that she can set the table. She smiles as he takes the heavy pile; she's grown rather fond of having someone help her, plus Nicolas is all too happy to do it. The fact that they're the only two true French-born helps their bond, and she's so friendly anyway. They enjoy each other's company.

If it's any consolation, I think you're both being stupid, she says as she begins slicing a loaf of bread. He blinks once, then twice, wondering if he's really so transparent.

What's that supposed to mean?

Nothing, really, only that David isn't very used to love. You're new to him, and he's scared.

David's never been scared of anything.

That's what he wants people to believe, but he's terrified, Nicolas. Of the war, of losing us, of the fact we're nestled right next to Germany. And don't even get me started on you. I've seen the way he looks at you. I've been living here for three years, and he's never acted like that. You're his whole reason for leaving his lab.

He wants to believe this more than anything, but David's taught him to be analytical. Scientific. Curious.

Sofia, I don't-

For being a scientist, he's isn't very smart with people. We aren't formulas, Nicolas. Being in love isn't some sort of equation. It's truth. Truth has to be dealt with, don't you think?

Sofia's words soften when David and Rick's voice carries from the dining room. It's only about five minutes until suppertime, and everyone's gathering around the table, looking forward to some good food. He gives Sofia a helpless look, wishing he knew what to do. She merely smiles comfortingly before nodding towards the door, silently telling him to start setting out the plates, because no one can be expected to eat off the table. He stares at the plates in his hand, willing himself to just go in already. Just because David's in there doesn't mean he can't buck up and be a man, right?

Nicolas fights for breath.

He walks in, hoping to appear confident while feeling like a coward. His heart's beating faster, and his palms feel sweaty, plus he senses Jacqueline pin him beneath a frighteningly determined look. That's never a good thing.

The sound of Albert hobbling in breaks his small panic attack. He narrows his eyes and stands a bit straighter, because while he's terrified, he refuses to show it. He won't be the weak one here. He won't be a child running from some monster. He forces his breathing to regulate and begins pouring fresh milk in the glasses; Sofia, sensing his spiraling thoughts, enters with natural grace, and gives them all a laugh as they shoot the pot roast appreciative looks.

Dinner's ready, she announces. Ronald and David may not know French, but they certainly know what she's saying. Everyone quickly takes their seat, Nicolas following suit. It's almost like it was before, when David and he were only friends and they'd share smiles across the table. Nicolas once lived for those moments where he could sneak a glance in David's direction, but now it's strained and awkward. Nicolas wants nothing more than to leave.

Ronald cuts the roast and they begin passing around the food. Nicolas pretends to be interested by the design on the plates, but no one can ignore the painful silence that sits between them. It was never like this before, and Nicolas hopes that no one blames him for this alien hush. Rick asks Robert to pass the salt, Sofia gets up for a refill of milk, but nothing is ever really said. Likewise, Jacqueline doesn't look pleased. Their friendships have been compromised.

This is rather tiring, she finally announces. No one argues, not even David. Everyone knows she would be the first to address it. It's been three days and I'm sick of your stupidity. You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

She's speaking in French, but everyone else seems to get the general idea. Forks are put down. Suddenly, appetites disappear.

And you! she exclaims, rounding on David, her language easily shifting from French to Russian within a moment. Don't even get me started! You'd think you're a hermit by the way you've been acting. I want this fixed at once!

David sends her a dark look from his chair. Why don't you be quiet for once, Jacqueline?

I most certainly will not! We're friends, David, every one of us, and I hate to see it wasted because you're both too stupid to talk!

We aren't-

No excuses. I can't stand this tension anymore. No one can, honestly.

She speaks the truth. Of course, she's a reporter, and has made it her job to tell the facts. Nicolas shifts uncomfortably and David doesn't respond at all. Finally, Sofia kicks Nicolas in the shin, and he tries not to wince. She's got quite a leg on her.

Perhaps… he finally says, taking every ounce of strength he has to rip his eyes off the plate. Perhaps we've been a bit foolish.

Sofia scoffs, but doesn't interrupt with actual words. It looks like Jacqueline is inclined to do the same, except she's too busy translating for David.

I suppose I'll just say it, then, and hope for the best. I know you all know what happened, so there isn't any need to pretend you don't. It's been awkward since that night Jacqueline fell ill. It's partly my fault.

And partly mine, David confesses. Robert and Rick can only guess what's being said.

Nicolas smiles and ignores the pterodactyls that are flying in his stomach. I wasn't sure how to handle what happened. It's all so new to me. But I'm sorry for all the trouble we've caused, all the things we've done to make you uncomfortable. And I don't really know what to say with all of you here, but I know that- that I-

Sofia shoots him an expectant look, and he knows he can't back out now. He sucks in a deep breath and then looks David square in the eye.

"Je t'aime."

No one, save Nicolas and Sofia and Jacqueline, can actually speak French, but they all know what he said. It's made doubtless when he smiles and rises to kiss the Russian across from him.

Everyone understands, because love is a universal language.

A cheer goes up.

…

The moon is white and the sky is black when a collection of loud, violent voices wakens David and Nicolas from their sleep. Nicolas is vaguely aware of the warm arm that's draped around his waist as he wonders who can be visiting at such a ridiculous hour. The arm is removed when David shoots out of bed, hurriedly pulling on his robe before turning to Nicolas and tugging his hand, all but yanking him off the mattress as well. The Russian gives him his own robe and Nicolas slips it on, worry beginning to seep into his bleary consciousness.

David takes his hand and quickly leads him to the kitchen; Nicolas immediately knows something is wrong, but asks no questions. He can't until he sees Jacqueline, but then again, he's sure David would understand his confusion if Nicolas expresses it enough. This has never happened before. What's the hurry? Who are the strangers yelling on the porch?

Someone's banging on the front door while footsteps are scattering around the house. Nicolas thinks he hears Rick's hushed whisper, the faint voice of Robert and Ronald, the mute orders of Jacqueline. Is that Sofia speaking? Is that Albert collecting cans of food? Nicolas is lost in confusion as David hurriedly leads him into the warm kitchen, which still smells of pot roast. Everyone's awake and in their night clothes, just like he and David, only they seem to understand what's going on while Nicolas doesn't.

Good, you're all here, David says, obviously relieved to see the entire household crammed into the now-tiny space. Bobby, Rick, move the cabinet. Jacq, take the food. Sofia, you have the candles?

Rick and Robert immediately move towards the china cabinet that proudly sits against the West wall of the kitchen. Nicolas has seen it so many times before, and yet he's shocked as he watches the two men shift it with ease. It reveals a tunnel that leads into darkness, but he's sure it goes somewhere, does something. Ronald and Jacqueline go in first, followed by Sofia and Robert. Rick then enters; they quickly disappear into the tunnel's shadows. Albert pauses for only a moment, pinning Nicolas and David beneath sad blue eyes, and then hobbles in after them.

Nicolas suddenly knows what this tunnel is for, why David built it, why they're using it in the middle of the night.

He knows who's at the door.

Their time is limited –a minute at the most- so Nicolas desperately squeezes David's hand and attempts some English. It's their only way to speak, although both are still awkward at it.

"You come with us, yes?" he asks, and knows how frantic he sounds. He doesn't care.

"Nicolas-''

"You must, David. Nazi's outside."

David knows this, but surprisingly, doesn't follow the others. He frames Nicolas' face with his hands and looks him straight in the eye.

And then he says, in very careful French, Please be strong and wait for me. Please be here when I come back.

He kisses Nicolas, the kiss of a fraught, brave, terrified man… and then shoves him back. Nicolas cries out in surprise before realizing David has pushed him into the tunnel. He hits the ground, watching as David begins moving the cabinet back into its original place, only David's still outside while everyone else is hidden away. Nicolas is fuelled by the terror gripping him –he's more scared now than he ever was at the train station in France- so he scrambles up to try and get back out. He's made it two whole feet when Rick and Robert quickly pull him away. Rick shushes him, making sure no one from within the house can hear while Robert gathers him into a hug. Nicolas wants to fight them. He wants to go back and be with David no matter what happens, but he can't be that selfish. If he fights anymore, the other six will be found as well. He feels scalding tears disappear into the cloth of Robert's usual plaid shirt as he cries, clutching onto the other man with as much strength as he can find, wondering how their night turned into this nightmare.

All he can truly understand is that David is Russian, which means the Germans will take him away.

They'll take him to a camp.

…

They stay down there for three days.

The tunnel extends for about two hundred feet until it balloons into a large room. The room has dirt walls, but there's a small wooden table and some chairs. Candles and matches are stored in one corner while three guns are stored in another, the two items carefully kept apart. Wooden beams secure the corners of the earthen room; it's surprisingly well constructed. Nicolas can tell David took great care in making sure it would never collapse on them. He feels comforted knowing that David had been in there as well, and sometimes, if he closes his eyes, Nicolas can pretend the Nazi's never came.

The first day, no one can manage to stomach any of the food Albert brought. No one speaks. Sofia lights candles, but they only reveal their dirt surroundings. Nicolas can't bear to talk, so he sits and stares in front of him, watching insects and worms wriggle around. It's clear that Jacqueline hates the bugs, but she doesn't say anything. Albert makes sure they don't catch colds, but other than that, all they can do is wait. Nicolas is almost glad. He's not sure he's worth anything in his current state anyway.

The second day, Albert and Sofia gladly open a few cans of vegetables and a bag of bread. No one wants to eat, but their stomachs are making all types of protesting noises. Nicolas manages to eat one slice of wheat bread and some canned broccoli before feeling sick. Small conversations begin and end, mostly consisting of questions and hopes. Jacqueline translates while she sits next to Nicolas. Sofia sings them to sleep and watches the candles, making sure the flames remain small, and holds Nicolas' hand when he wakes from nightmares. He sleeps uneasily, his consciousness taunting him with all kinds of horrible images. He wants to cry but doesn't; he knows David wouldn't want him to, and besides, David made a cognizant decision to stay behind. Nicolas just doesn't know why.

The third day, Rick gets antsy. He wants to go to the surface and see whether the Nazi's are still there, but Albert isn't fond of the idea. They end up flipping a coin; Rick wins, and he promises to be careful. He disappears into the darkness while Nicolas and the rest hold their breath to see what happens next. Although they can't see him, they know Rick is kneeling with his ear against the cabinet, trying to discern any noise or voices. When he hears nothing, he begins moving the piece of furniture aside and then creeps out.

He doesn't return for almost five minutes, which is an eternity in their war-torn world.

Jacqueline lets out a sigh of relief when Rick ambles back. He nods his approval, helping the ladies up and the assisting Albert to his feet.

"Their jeeps are gone and no one else is here," Rick explains as he leads them through the tunnel and back into the kitchen. The room is filled with sunlight, and Nicolas guesses the time to be about noon. It's a beautiful day, but the beauty is muted by the absence of the man he loves. "Took a lot of our stuff. There's still some canned food, and I guess they couldn't take all the cows and goats. Our garden's still growing."

"Robert, would you water and feed the livestock?" Jacqueline asks. He nods and is gone within an instant; they know they must keep the animals healthy if they want milk, eggs, and meat. She turns to Sofia.

Would you please cook us something? she requests. The blonde woman follows Robert's action by nodding, ducking into the pantry to scramble up food for a real meal. Jacqueline turns to Rick and Ronald, but they already know their duties; they head out to the garden to collect the ripe vegetables and water those that have been sun drenched.

Nicolas turns to Jacqueline to ask what his own assignment is, but she takes his arm instead. It's like déjà vu; Jacqueline is leading him down the hallway to get cleaned up, and Nicolas wonders if all he has to do is turn and see David standing in the foyer. He doesn't. Only empty space disappears behind the wall this time, and he resists the urge to cry again.

Jacqueline?

Yes?

Why did David not stay with us?

She doesn't answer at first. They simply continue to walk, her bare feet soft against the floor. He doesn't insist she respond immediately; he knows an explanation is coming, and he only has to wait for it.

There was a system we agreed on, she slowly replies. It's obvious to anyone who comes here that this house is taken care of. If Nazi's were to knock down the door and see it empty, they would guess that people were hiding. They would look for us. David didn't want that.

Jacqueline, he spoke French to me. How did he know what to say?

There's another silence as she considers her answer. She bites her lip in concentration as they make their way down the hall; her hair's flat and her clothes are rumpled, but no one cares, least of all Nicolas. He needs to know how David learned French.

He knew the Nazi's would eventually come. He wanted to say goodbye to you in your own language.

Nicolas is stunned. David knew this would happen, or was at least aware of the likely possibility. He blindly opens the door to David's –their- bedroom and sees the sheets are still rumpled. He walks over the bed, filled with anger (why didn't David ask for help?) and despair (how can this end happily?) and weakly reaches for David's pillow.

He cries when he realizes it still smells like him.

…

One month passes.

Everyone knows not to speak about David in front of Nicolas.

Nicolas doesn't want to be weak. He wants to be strong for them, like David was. David was their lifeline; he kept them safe, warm, fed, clothed, and discriminated against no one save sadistic Nazis. Nicolas wants to carry on that pillar of light so that they'll always feel safe, but he can't remain strong when everything reminds him of David. The smoke from the oven reminds him of smoke from a train; a flash of station and floral carpet and the very first time they ever saw each other. Tomatoes growing on vines reminds Nicolas of their first stilted conversation, when David offered half his sandwich as France passed them by. Blue sky reminds Nicolas of blue eyes while David's bottle of cologne has a new home on the bed stand. Similarly, whenever the moon is too bright, Nicolas remembers the night the Nazi's came. It's always such a sickening memory, and he hates himself for not being stronger, for not staying by David's side, for not fighting the men who took him away.

Even in the latest hours of night, Nicolas sits by the bedroom window and watches the path to the front porch.

He waits for David to come back.

…

Two months pass.

Nicolas feels as though he's living in a fog, completely disconnected from the rest of the world. He gardens like a madman and there's an overabundance of food, but no one ever complains, because Sofia easily cans the leftovers. Besides, many others don't have enough to eat. No one ever mentions how thin and sick Nicolas looks, or how it seems like he isn't getting enough rest. They know he can't stomach anything and they know he can't sleep.

And so he gardens, because that was what he had been assigned when he first came here.

Even in the latest hours of night, Nicolas sits by the bedroom window and watches the path to the front porch.

He waits for David to come back.

…

Three months pass.

Nicolas does everything he's supposed to and even tries to eat, but it always comes back out the way it went in. He prefers to spend his time outside and by the lake, comforted by shimmering blue water. Sometimes he watches the surface of it and waits for it to ripple, waits for it to shake from the blast of the bombs, wonders why he was rescued when he wishes to die anyway. The pain of separation is consuming, and yet he never allows for it to show.

He knows that David exists beyond the mansion. He's somewhere in Europe, Nicolas is sure, and he's managing to survive.

The prospect of David's death is never verbally considered.

Even in the latest hours of night, Nicolas sits by the bedroom window and watches the path to the front porch.

He waits for David to come back.

…

Four months pass.

Nicolas knows there's a bottle of cyanide salt in David's desk. All he has to do is swallow.

Even in the latest hours of night, Nicolas sits by the bedroom window and watches the path to the front porch.

He waits for David to come back, and on nights that he's sure David isn't coming home, he sits outside the kitchen and listens to Sofia sing.

…

Five months pass.

As Nicolas gardens, he sees a man straggle up the path towards the front door, and his heart lodges into his throat. For a moment –a blissful, precious moment- he thinks that perhaps this is the day where David makes good on his promise. He drops his hand trowel and almost flies to where the man is walking, flies like the airplanes that dropped the bombs in France. How did David escape the camp? How did he make it all the way back here? A symphony of questions fills his head, although none can shield his elation. No more wondering whether David was alive, no more sleeping alone, no more watching the window in light of the moon. He can't wait to hold David in his arms, hear his language, listen to him speak, watch him move.

He knows he was rescued at the train station so that he could experience this feeling. It's like seeing the world as art, as a painting, seeing every perfect stroke and color choice.

"David!" he calls. He wishes he had cut his hair or worn better clothes, but it doesn't matter now. "David, you're back! Davi-!"

The man turns.

Nicolas wants to cry.

Even in the latest hours of night, Nicolas sits by the bedroom window and watches the path to the front porch.

He waits for David to come back.

…

Six months pass.

It's rather nice to have someone new living with them, especially since their new addition is French. His name is Ryan, and he has apologized to Nicolas many, many times. Nicolas understands why he feels bad, but insists that there's nothing to be sorry for. It was a simple case of mistaken identity –in the sun's glare, Nicolas had thought Ryan was someone else- and Ryan can't be blamed for that.

"I'm sorry. Who's David?"

Nicolas is surprised that the stranger speaks his own language, but the surprise mixes with relief when he realizes they can communicate clearly.

"Is there no one else with you? Not another man? Russian?"

"No, I'm afraid there isn't. My name is Ryan Wolfe and I'm trying to get to Paris. I heard there have been bombings."

Ryan has dark hair and lovely skin, but he isn't David at all. He's a bit shorter, his hair is longer, and his eyes are brown, not blue.

"Paris? People are trying to get away, not enter."

"But my family's there, and I don't have anywhere else to go. I was only wondering if you could spare some water?"

"Sir, I was in France when the Nazi's came. You don't want to be there. Trust me, please, and stay."

So he does, and like everyone else who has ended up living in the mansion, he adjusts. He's given a job and a room, and no one asks any questions about his past. Histories are personal until you choose to tell them. Ryan's fortunate to not have been in France at the time, and he's even more fortunate that Nicolas convinced him to abandon the journey.

Even in the latest hours of night, Nicolas sits by the bedroom window and watches the path to the front porch.

Please be strong and wait for me. Please be here when I come back.

He waits for David to return.

…

The moon is white and the sky is black when a collection of loud, happy voices wakens Nicolas from his sleep. For a moment, it's that horrible night all over again, and he briefly wonders if he should head for the kitchen and the tunnel that's hidden there. First he hears Jacqueline's voice, then Rick's, then Robert and Ronald's, and they all carry from the front foyer. Nicolas thinks he should get the gun that's stored in the bedside drawer, but when he hears Sofia laugh, he knows there's no threat. He rolls out of bed and pulls on his robe, speculating on what could cause such joy. There's one possibility that he doesn't allow himself to dwell on, because he can't stand the disappointment. He can't allow himself to think that David might be back.

He hurries down the stairs, still bleary-eyed and confused, and rushes into where everyone else can be heard celebrating.

A hush falls when Nicolas comes in; all eyes swivel to where he stands, shocked, and then back to where David is positioned in front of the doorway. Nicolas barely registers that there's another man by David's side –shorter, light brown hair, chocolate eyes, pale- because all he sees is David. He, like Nicolas, has lost weight. He's dirty and ragged and there are dark smudges beneath his eyes, but those eyes are still as blue as the noon sky.

Nicolas breathes deep.

…

For three days, David won't leave his room. Only Jacqueline, upon her insistence and Nicolas' constant worry, goes inside. She brings him food, but later reports that he doesn't say much and is unresponsive to her conversation and questions. Likewise, their new Norwegian addition doesn't say much either. They're running short on rooms, and Gregory's bunking with Ryan, but the two seem to get along well enough. They, like Nicolas and David, understand each other despite the language barrier. Gregory's solely Norwegian and Ryan's solely French, which is problematic at worst.

For three days, Nicolas gardens while his mind is on everything except his task. He wonders what David's doing cooped up inside, and tries to imagine what the camp was like. He can't. He knows his imagination isn't capable to dream up the unthinkable, and yet David lived that life for sixth months. Half a year of abuse and hopelessness. Sometimes, Nicolas can't walk at the mere thought of it, and so he sits in the sun with a hand trowel by his side, and prays for the answers.

On the fourth night, Nicolas waits for David to start bathing. He's scared for him. He knows he should believe in David more than this, but it doesn't stop him from sneaking into their –David's- room. It used to be theirs, but that was before David was taken away. Now that he's returned, Nicolas has gone from hopeful to frightened. After all, there's a small bottle of cyanide salt, and Nicolas can't count the number of times he considered suicide while David was gone. But he was strong then, and he'll be strong now. He'll look out for David. He only cares about his safety, and wants to remove all temptation.

As Nicolas quietly sneaks inside, his eyes are drawn to the window. It reminds him of long nights he stayed up waiting, and he feels relief that he doesn't have to wait anymore. The scent of the room hits him next; the cologne is especially powerful. A sudden parade of images marches through Nicolas' head, and he remembers what it was like to kiss David's fragrant neck while they made love. It feels like he hasn't been here in forever. The train station, the lake, the baseball games; it's as though years have passed since then, when it's only been six months.

Time changes during wars.

It's always too fast (when the grenade lands in the foxhole) or too slow (when you're waiting for the bombs to stop falling), but it's never right.

Nicolas creeps to the desk where David often worked his theories. It's covered in notebooks and pencils, papers and pens, maps and books and numbers. He opens the top drawer and finds the small bottle, quickly pocketing it. Even during all the time that has passed, he's never looked in David's things. It felt like an invasion of privacy, and he was too worried to concentrate on the complex words anyway. There were equations he'll never understand and indecipherable diagrams that make him dizzy. Nicolas knows he'll always be a bit simple, and it's never bothered him before. Now he wishes he were brighter. Perhaps he and David could be connected by something, like formulas and chemical compounds. Perhaps they could actually talk if he were a scientist as well.

He's about to leave when the window lures him. He grew so accustomed to it, but now he doubts he'll sleep in this room anymore. The view's still the same, of course, but he no longer looks at the path leading to the front porch. Moonlight is no longer his ball and chain. He enjoys the stars and breeze instead, and thanks God over and over in his head, because David's alive.

Behind him, someone clears their throat.

Nicolas jumps and tears his eyes away from the window's scene, turning as quickly as he can, ashamed of being caught. He allowed his mind to wander, like always, and now he and David are staring at each other from across the room. He hates himself for being so stupid.

"I'm sorry," he says, jumping up from his seat, forgetting the moon and stars and the war that lay beyond them. "Would you like some privacy? I can leave if you prefer."

David quickly shakes his head and closes the bedroom door behind him, leaning against it once it's shut. They stand in silence, facing each other like armies. Nicolas doesn't know what to say. David's hair is wet and plastered onto his forehead, his skin is pink from the hot water, and his nightclothes bag on him, but there's nothing Nicolas wants more than to kiss him. Kiss him hard, make him breathless, and try to tell through actions –not words- how much he's been missed and loved and feared for.

"I'd much rather you be here, if that's all right," David says, and Nicolas watches as David's hand creeps down by his side and he locks the door. Nicolas doesn't know what this signifies, but David doesn't make a big deal out of it; he hangs his towel on the back of a chair and they continue to stare each other down. He finally smiles, sad and scared, and looks at his feet.

"How have things been? The house still looks good. You've been taking care of it."

Nicolas struggles to reply. "We all have. That's the only thing we could do to stop from thinking too much."

"You've learned English."

"Jacqueline and Rick taught me. You've been learning it, too."

"A girl named Sara."

David doesn't elaborate on who or where she is, and Nicolas has a feeling that he doesn't want to know. There are a lot of things he doesn't want to know about David's experience.

"You're tired. You should sleep," Nicolas says, propelling himself forward. "Sofia will cook you a big breakfast tomorrow and you can meet Ryan."

"Where are you going?"

Nicolas is surprised by the desperation in David's voice. "I didn't know whether you wanted to sleep alone. I didn't want you to think that I… expected anything."

David glances at Nicolas from beneath his lashes. He's always been the braver of the two, and so he walks over and takes Nicolas' hand before throwing his arms around the other man's neck.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers, and it's okay that his grip nearly makes breathing impossible. Nicolas doesn't care about that right now. "Every day I thought about you, and wondered if everyone was safe. I was scared that they might have found the tunnel. I was scared of being there and dying before getting to see your face again. You're the only thing that kept me going."

Nicolas feels his eyes sting and he quickly closes them, wanting to remain strong and supportive. He concentrates on David's warmth instead, and winds his arms around the Russian's waist.

"I haven't been able to sleep since you've been gone," he confesses. He clenches his jaw and holds David tighter, afraid that this is all a long, vivid dream and he might wake up alone again, having accidentally fallen asleep by the window. "I kept watching the road and trying to see if you were coming home. Sometimes I waited until sunrise, but other times I just knew I'd have to wait a little longer. The last thing you said to me was my only hope."

"And what did I say?"

" 'Please be strong and wait for me. Please be here when I come back.' You were coming back, so I tried to be as strong as I could."

David takes a deep breath before extracting himself from Nicolas' grip. He places his hands on Nicolas' face, palm against cheek, and tries to smile. It's going to be a long time, if ever, until David can smile without being haunted, but in the most imperfect of times, Nicolas figures they're doing pretty well for themselves.

"Let's go to sleep," he suggests. "It's been a long week, don't you think?"

"David?"

David looks up, and Nicolas can see he's a breath away from breaking. He wants nothing more than to fall asleep with this man, wants to forget the past ever happened. He wants to wake up tomorrow, only there won't be a war, and their biggest concern will be what to have for dinner. He wants to make David forget it, too, and turn him back into the man he was before. A man who was fierce and passionate and owned only by God.

"You don't have to be strong for me," Nicolas whispers, taking David's hands and holding them in his own. He has to say this, because what he wants and reality are two very different things. They can't pretend the war isn't happening. They can't act like dinner is their only problem, but Nicolas knows that the first step to wholeness is to just… talk. "You can tell me. You can cry. You can scream if you want, but you don't have to keep it all inside."

David's blue gaze flickers for a moment before he hangs his head. There's silence, and Nicolas can hear the stars crying and planes flying and bombs dropping, but all that really matters is right here, right now, this one second that he's been holding his breath for.

David's shoulders shake, and his grip tightens.

A sob catches in his throat.

"Everyone…" be whispers, his grip tightening even more. Nicolas tries not to wince. "Everyone was starving to death."

Nicolas doesn't feel his fingers lose their blood flow. He doesn't hear his own breathing anymore, and he doesn't see anything except David.

"Not even the children had anything to eat, and all the babies were born dead. We couldn't get clean, couldn't bathe. And… and Sara, she… she was Jewish. She was rounded up, she didn't do anything wrong. One day, a guard put a pistol to her head, and she just looked at me before he pulled the trigger, and her brains splattered onto the ground."

David's voice, once quiet, took on a steely tone. "There was a little girl lying in the middle of the sidewalk once. I thought she was sleeping. But people don't sleep with their eyes open, and I realized she had gone hungry and finally died. And everyone just passed her by, like she wasn't there."

"David-''

"And then Gregory, he gave his daily rations to this boy, and we shared whatever was given to us if we were given anything at all. There were- there were guards who- those places shouldn't be there, Nicolas. They shouldn't exist!"

"David," he tries again, hoping to calm him. "You aren't-''

But David doesn't listen. Instead, he picks up his dinner plate –the one Jacqueline had brought him that night- and hurls it towards the wall, watching it splinter into tiny porcelain pieces.

Because the house is so still and quiet, the noise is amplified, it seems. Nicolas knows Jacqueline and Rick heard it, at least, and if they start milling around, it's sure to get everyone else's attention as well. He's scared; not for himself, but for David, because he has no idea how to handle the situation. He opens his mouth to reply, but words die, and he thinks he must be the worst lover in the world if he can't even comfort the one man who means more than his own life.

As predicted, there's a knock before Jacqueline and Rick come barging through. This is so wrong; Nicolas feels even stupider now, because all he was supposed to do was take the cyanide bottle. He was never supposed to get caught and David was never supposed to throw anything and no one was ever supposed to come barging in like they owned the place, and he's left standing there unsure of how to react. David's still upset, crying and yelling and cursing and throwing things, and Nicolas prays (why doesn't God seem to hear anyone?) for some sort of solution. He wishes he could make him better, make him whole.

Yet the sad truth refuses to disappear.

David, once owned only by God, has had half of his soul stolen by the Devil.

Everyone watches in uncertainty; even Jacqueline doesn't know what to do. It's Gregory who walks up and touches his arm, and David doesn't turn around or instantly become better, but he doesn't fight him away. The younger man places his arms around David's neck in an attempt to soothe a very stained soul, and even if it doesn't mean anything romantic, it does represent a bond forged by suffering. Nicolas wonders if that's the strongest bond of all. They've seen each other at their very worst, surviving oblivion together… it's possible that Nicolas might always be second from now on.

He slowly fades into the back, where Ryan stands unspoken. His dark eyes are trained on Gregory, filled with curiosity and adoration. It's funny, Nicolas thinks, how language is secondary to emotion. It's clear to him that Ryan fancies Gregory more than he probably should; of course, everyone within the mansion finds Gregory to be a bright, albeit Norwegian-speaking, ray of light. Nicolas, however, hasn't quite fallen for all his charms. He understands David, understands why he's breaking down and what the camp was like and what happened to Sara, and Nicolas doesn't know anything about it. He needs to know so he and David can communicate on a level field, but he's still stuck in the back anyway, watching Gregory comfort the man he loves. Nicolas feels useless.

It isn't a good idea to fall in love, he quietly advises, his French soft amongst the chaos. Ryan looks up, surprised, and Nicolas is sure he's going to fight it. It looks like he wants to deny his feelings for Gregory, but Ryan finally shakes his head and looks down. David and I probably weren't a good idea. It hurts so much, you don't know.

I know. I would never… I'm just going to be his friend. He needs one.

And after that?

After what? Gregory and David have been through the unthinkable. They might never want to feel another person's touch for as long as they live.

Nicolas bites his lip and glances back to where Sofia is insisting David get some sleep. Ronald's making the bed, and Robert's downstairs warming up some tea. Jacqueline, usually leader and queen, stands helpless in the corner, and Nicolas can see just how scared she really is. Despite her strong personality and take-charge attitude, she's just as frightened as the rest of them, which makes them all equal. It's oddly comforting.

A moment passes, until Ryan finally stands taller. Things will get better, he says, as though decreeing it. His words are loud; strangely enough, Ryan wants everyone to hear. We're going to take care of these two, and we're going to take care of this mansion. No one's going to take this house again, I don't care if it's an entire Nazi army. This house is ours. These people are ours. We belong to each other, not to Germany.

There's a silence, only it's laced with agreement, and David looks grateful from where he stands by the familiar window. They all stand taller, and it's like a pact of refusal, a refusal to surrender this time. They'll fight and die for each other, but they won't ever let anyone be taken. Not by troops or even Hitler himself, because the Germans don't have the right. No one has that right.

No one is going to take them.

When the house is tranquil again, Nicolas can still hear the stars crying, but they'll undoubtedly cry for many years to come. The only important this is that David's not crying, that the Americans liberated his camp, that he and Gregory escaped, even if Sara couldn't. Nicolas feels so grateful now, because David had asked him to stay, to sleep with him. For the first time in six months, they're both actually able to rest. David wakes from time to time, victim to nightmares, but Nicolas shushes him back to sleep, and holds him while time passes either too slow or too fast.

…

There's a moment they'll always remember, one they'll always treasure more than others. It's Tuesday, and they're playing chess (which Nicolas loses at most the time) in the dining room. Sofia's making dinner, Robert's writing a letter; Ronald and Ryan are both reading their respective books. Gregory's tired and leans against Ryan's shoulder; their hands are intertwined, and it's easy to see just how much they love each other. Albert's attempting to sketch. He isn't much of an artist, but it's a hobby, and just because you aren't perfect doesn't mean you have to quit.

There's the sound of footsteps, the clink of small heals against the floor. Only two women live there, and Sofia never wears anything other than comfortable shoes, so it's obvious that Jacqueline and Rick are on their way. The only difference is that the footsteps are quick, as though they're running, and everyone tenses up. There are guns hidden beneath the floorboards, and everyone's ready to take them out, because they'll never let David go back to a camp. Even if they die, even if they lose, they still won't let anyone be taken again.

They'll always defend that house.

Jacqueline bursts in first with Rick following after. The silent question of What's the hurry? Did you see German soldiers? hangs in the air, but Jacqueline quickly smiles and shakes her head. Black curls bounce as she does this.

She holds up a newspaper. The black, bold letters stand out against the thin gray sheets, but her night eyes are like fire as she huffs for air.

"The Germans have surrendered unconditionally," she says, and there's a pause as everyone soaks this in.

Unconditional surrender.

And if they can make the Germans surrender, then surely the Japanese were soon to follow.

She repeats it, and then says it in every language she knows. Over and over again; it's like a song -unconditional surrender- and Jacqueline and Rick dance, Ryan and Gregory kiss in celebration, Ronald and Albert and Robert all raise their voices in joy, and Sofia quickly finishes up dinner so that she can use their sugar reserve for a cake, because now's the time for festivity.

Nicolas and David look over the chessboard. They're silent while everyone else moves and shakes. David looks at the board; as usual, he's been winning this match from the beginning. He's about to trap Nicolas' king.

"Germany," he says, pointing to Nicolas' piece, and then indicates his own queen with his index finger. "The Allies."

He moves the queen so that the king can no longer escape, and it's easy to see what he means.

"Checkmate," he concludes. The Allies, after many years, after much death, after much suffering, have won.

Nicolas meets David's eyes, still as blue as they day they first saw each other, and takes the other man's hand. He brings it up to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

"Échec et mat," he agrees, while everyone around them is jubilant.

In the kitchen, Sofia sings.

FIN.

En voiture. "All aboard."
S'il vous plaît, je vous donnerai quelque chose! "Please, I will give you anything!"
Pardon, mais je ne comprends pas. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."
Amis. "Friends."
Ya ne ponimayu. "I don't understand." (Russian)
Je t'aime. "I love you."
Échec et mat. "Checkmate."

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