"That was what he told me when we built the ovens."
There was a sharp crack when Ludwig's head hit the tiled wall. Francis's fists were still clenched as he took a step back, shaking with rage. "Don't you dare!" he spat, barely able to put the words together in his head. "Don't..."
"I'm sorry," whispered Ludwig. "That was uncalled for." Those blue eyes glanced up at him, beseeching. "But I don't think I can stand by knowing that you are planning to terminate another child."
Another? Planning? "What gave you the idea... that I... had that child aborted?" His voice was eerily flat and calm, and sounded so distant to his own ears that he wondered if he spoke at all. He wished he hadn't, because confusion was flickering across Ludwig's face and he was going to have to explain himself and he would have to remember...
...legs. Legs kicking, arms beating, rifle butts. Knives. Girls weeping, weeping and weeping, their beautiful long locks scattered across the ground, hacked off, shaven, shamed. Yelling. Traitors, collaborators, whores...
"I didn't... I didn't want... I didn't want to..."
...pain. Pain exploding across his belly. Screaming, screaming because they didn't know, he couldn't, wouldn't blame them, because it was right. It was wrong. It was anger, relief, retribution. It was Germany's child, it was...
It was his.
"Francis?" Ludwig was approaching him, concern overriding the horror apparent in those blue eyes, reaching out, but hesitating, as if afraid that a single touch would break him.
It didn't even take that much.
The floor rushed up to meet him, but Ludwig got there first, and his last thought as blackness crawled into his vision was that it was good he wasn't going to land on his front.
Crossing that Thin Line [2/?]
There was a sharp crack when Ludwig's head hit the tiled wall. Francis's fists were still clenched as he took a step back, shaking with rage. "Don't you dare!" he spat, barely able to put the words together in his head. "Don't..."
"I'm sorry," whispered Ludwig. "That was uncalled for." Those blue eyes glanced up at him, beseeching. "But I don't think I can stand by knowing that you are planning to terminate another child."
Another? Planning? "What gave you the idea... that I... had that child aborted?" His voice was eerily flat and calm, and sounded so distant to his own ears that he wondered if he spoke at all. He wished he hadn't, because confusion was flickering across Ludwig's face and he was going to have to explain himself and he would have to remember...
...legs. Legs kicking, arms beating, rifle butts. Knives. Girls weeping, weeping and weeping, their beautiful long locks scattered across the ground, hacked off, shaven, shamed. Yelling. Traitors, collaborators, whores...
"I didn't... I didn't want... I didn't want to..."
...pain. Pain exploding across his belly. Screaming, screaming because they didn't know, he couldn't, wouldn't blame them, because it was right. It was wrong. It was anger, relief, retribution. It was Germany's child, it was...
It was his.
"Francis?" Ludwig was approaching him, concern overriding the horror apparent in those blue eyes, reaching out, but hesitating, as if afraid that a single touch would break him.
It didn't even take that much.
The floor rushed up to meet him, but Ludwig got there first, and his last thought as blackness crawled into his vision was that it was good he wasn't going to land on his front.