Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part I

It was mid-April and it was cold at night. He had done everything he could have done. A pencil was held in his slender fingers, twirled a bit between them while he stared over his desk at the calendar which hung on the wall. April and he was waiting with his heart in his throat. He was wearing his uniform. They would expect him to be wearing his uniform, after all. God, Rolf hated this uncomfortable black, the coat a little too heavy and the trousers a little too fitted. His hat was hanging up on the wall and the red band was hidden in a drawer where it stayed unless he had need of it. He supposed that after tonight, there would be no one who would have need of it again.

And thank god for that.

The sun had set and the sky was still tinged with the fading light, twilight giving the world outside a faint purple hue while the whole place seemed to sing with the static of nervousness. He'd let some of them flee. Those who were afraid to die.

The note had come by a scant little courier who was scuffed and bedraggled, who had hidden for days from Allied troops as they ventured through the chilly forests and the springtime fog. The letter was that of an officer of the Wehrmacht, a warning that Allies were close, and not just the Allies but a specific company led by a vicious and infamous Captain of the United States military. He was an Alpha who had seen the atrocities of this war—the pits filled with emaciated bodies and the horrors of combat. It warned him to leave. It warned him to burn the files, burn the evidence , find refuge somewhere, anywhere, else. The Americans had set a course right for him and they were after intelligence . They would not stay long once they found what they wished. They were not keen to draw the eye of the Soviets.

Rolf had read the letter carefully, setting it aside before he'd calmly consumed his morning oats. He had asked Peter if their rail was still functional and when the answer had been yes, he had sent another fifteen prisoners to the train.

“The train” was what he called it. About half of the staff in this little, out-of-the-way camp simply thought it was an idiosyncrasy of his. After all, there were plenty of troops who could not face what they did. They did not see themselves as the wolves who devoured and destroyed. They did not acknowledge their part in this extermination. But Rolf? Well, he sent prisoners to the train . But it did not mean what half of his staff thought it meant. They thought that once those poor souls entered the cramped brick building set off from the camp in the middle of the woods, they came out as person-sized kindling. What they did not realize—and what they had never realized—was that the other half of his staff was responsible for ushering those small groups into waiting train cars which would take them several miles before it would stop for water and they would debark, traveling another several miles with a well-paid guide to a Soviet liberation contingent.

It hadn't been easy. In fact, it had been so difficult that there were times he had peered down into the drawer where his gun lay over the cloths he used to clean it and he thought about it. He thought about it very long and very hard. But Rolf was a coward.

Meine Ehre heißt Treue.

His great great grandparents were of the Aryan race. His father was an Alpha who stood tall and proud and wore his medals with grace and dignity. Rolf did not have honor . Rolf did not have medals. Rolf was not loyal. Despite everything that should have made Rolf more, Rolf was nothing.

Just a scared little boy in the wilderness.

There was so much that he had seen, that he had been shown, that he had been taught and yet there was more to his heart than all of it. There was something that he was born with. It had to be this. It had to be. There was no other explanation for it. There was weakness. There was doubt.

A man in his position did not have room for doubt. He was meant to do the unthinkable. He was designed to commit atrocities like those that this American commander had witnessed first-hand. Rolf Ziegler had been conditioned to believe that he was honorable.

He tried not to sweat but the uniform made it difficult. The one thing he could say about it was that it was wool and it held in his scent well. No one knew the one thing that he thought might have been the cause for his dishonorable spirit. His disobedient spirit. Rolf was not what his father thought he was. He was not what his commanding officer thought he was. He was not what his staff—save Peter—thought he was. Rolf was not a Beta.

Rolf was an Omega.

Somewhat tall for an Omega, he kept a strict schedule and was diligent, observant, and conscientious. He had never slipped. He had never made a mistake. He had never even been close. Not a single soul had ever discovered his secret. Even Peter had thought him to be joking at first when he had taken him into confidence but ever since, he had become determinedly protective. Even Rolf's father didn't know.

It is the weakness of my heart. The love an Omega has for all children. It is utterly transcendent. Surely this is what causes this dishonor. Surely this is what causes pain.

He thought about the gun in his drawer and then spun his pencil again between his fingers. They were coming. They would find him here. They would kill him here. Then he wouldn't have to think about it any longer. He wouldn't have to think about anything. Not his secrets. Not the train. Not the memories that haunted him when he closed his eyes at night. The muffled screaming. The open sobbing of mothers. The hideous nights he lay awake and choked upon his own emotions roiling in his chest with the artificial malice bleeding out from the edges of his mind.

Peter came to him, the young Beta calm and settled despite that the entire camp seemed to be on edge. No one knew what to expect but this boy, this son of a Jewish merchant with his dark eyes and once-broken nose, was poised and unfailingly even-keeled. “Sir. Are you sure you don't want to leave?”

It was normal, he thought as his lips tightened into a sympathetic smile. A boy like this, who had come to know him so well, couldn't think about what might happen to him. What would happen to him. He would likely be summarily shot. Perhaps they would interrogate him first. Perhaps they would demand his records. Records which showed the names and ages of every man, woman, and child who had been “sent to the train.” Only the first few pages were those who had found the reaper waiting the small brick chamber. Only. Only... Only is enough. They were all before he had managed to shuffle everything together. When he had been pressured. When his hand had been forced. When some uppity officer under him had become presumptuous enough to order it without him. That had been dealt with. But every drop of blood spilled under his reign was a drop yet to be paid back.

And pay it back, I must.

He wasn't afraid of dying. He was afraid of what came before. He could handle most humiliations, but being discovered ... Rolf knew what became of Omegas like him. War was not the way it used to be, he thought. This was a war of rage. Americans, lofty, reckless, loud...they hated with a hate that Rolf found dangerously familiar. Should they discover his secret...he feared that . He feared finding a gentle sloping hope within degradation. He feared being subjected to an Alpha's sexual brutality before the press of the muzzle on his temple.

He answered Peter softly, his words tumbling from his lips as he pressed his pencil down on the teak of his desk. “No, Peter...though you should if you feel frightened.”

“I am not frightened. I am not frightened for myself...only for you.”

“You should not concern yourself with me.”

“I have concerned myself with you for nearly a year, sir. I cannot stop now. Why do you not get some rest?”

“And have them arrive while I'm in my nightclothes? No, I...I'd rather at least appear a gentleman.”

The boy sighed through his nose. “You are a gentleman.”

“I am nothing to them.”

Peter sighed again and then nodded, leaving a cup and a saucer along with a tray of tea with some cream before he departed, his room only just down the hall. It was difficult for most of the prisoners to accept him once they knew of his purpose—that of a messenger and an errand boy and a close personal assistant to that man they considered their enemy. They couldn't know the truth. Not until the very last moment. Not until they were free. If they knew, they could make a mistake. If they knew, they could ruin the whole operation. Peter was used to being a pariah. He didn't mind it, that Rolf knew. He'd been separated from his family early on in sweeps of the ghettos and from the moment he stepped within the fences, he had considered himself alone. That was, until Rolf chose him. Until he'd known Rolf's true purpose...the disobedience to which he was uniquely committed.

The sun was entirely gone, the purples faded into the deep blanketed blue of a clear spring night over the tall pines of the forest. They were nestled in a small valley surrounded by sloping hills where rain sometimes gathered in the spring to make the ground wet and sticky. With sloppy ground and cold nights, the forests were difficult to navigate and the camp's secluded nature was only aided by this. Perhaps they would not find it tonight. Perhaps they would not find it at all. Perhaps Rolf sat at his desk in his wool suit jacket for no good reason, waiting for an Alpha to rape him. To degrade him. To show him the mercy of war. His ears were pricked and he thought he might open the window tonight—to help him know when the company had come.

He'd given the orders to simply let the raid occur. The gates were unlocked. The orders were to unequivocally surrender. Maybe it would be enough. Maybe they would simply take them as captives. He hoped. For all of their sakes, he hoped that the Americans would find true mercy for those who had aided in the systematic liberation. He hoped for this as much as he hoped that they would find him and shoot him before they could discover the truth. Before they could discover anything about him or his plans or his usage of the empty stock train cars to smuggle the Jews to freedom. For all that he had done that was good, that he knew was not enough. It would never been enough. For the first few pages of that cursed book were enough to condemn him.

So he waited on this cold April evening. He waited for the Americans. He waited for his fate. He waited to find out what kind of man he was when everything was done and he was left with nothing but himself and the truth.

Part II

“Breaker.” It wasn't a question and it came as a murmur through the darkness of the trees. Within the sound of James Winecott's nickname came a question. At the coming of the night, did they camp or did they press on? The men were tired but they weren't exhausted. They could handle a little bit more and in fact, by the smell of them, they were eager to know what they were going to find tonight. Carlman, their sneaky Beta scout, had been following a scant scent like a bloodhound when he found the clearing in the dense thick of the forests that held within it a small-sized camp surrounded by wire fencing. One road led toward it, long and winding, and a muddied path led away from the other side, its destination unknown. This was not on the map. This was small enough that most surveillance from the skies had missed it and it was only by vague descriptions that its location had been deduced.

His first lieutenant and his best friend reached out and pinched the sleeve of Breaker's uniform jacket between his fore and middle fingers. “Breaker, the stars are out and it's a clear night. If we're moving in, the moon is full and their towers...”

“Their towers aren't lit.”

“They only have two. And it's quiet. It's very, very quiet.”

That it was quiet wasn't all that strange. Out of the way places like these were fairly normal for them by now and so much of what they had were things left behind after they'd gotten a whiff of the Soviets who howled about like mad dogs in their conquest. But this mission was about stepping lightly and it was something his higher ups were very keen about. Get in, grab the things of great import, and get out. There was a great need for intelligence from the ambitious war mongers and James was just ruthless enough and just ambitious enough to be known as a man who could pull up anything that wasn't nailed down when it came to German innovation. There was something being tested at this camp—a type of gas which was to be utilized in the field. His company had already found the notes for its creation but American war intelligence was keen to have samples and notations...and get it long before the Soviets.

“You don't have to remind me, Ike. I know what we're gonna see.” They'd all heard about the things they were going to witness. The Soviets had stumbled upon untold horrors and only snippets could make their way to the knowledge of these men.

Atrocities.

This was not simple barbarism. This was calculated and ghoulish, the things that were done to the men, women, and children of these countries. Prisoners of war, prisoners of some twisted, hateful ideology that threatened every inch of the earth with its blackness and terror. Hatred. Pure and simple hatred.

It was something James thought he knew and knew well. Whatever it was that afflicted these terrible men was perhaps the same sickness that had seeped into his own heart when it came to them . With a father who had gone off to war in 1918 and had come back without a leg and without the spark that had driven his life until then, how could a man like James think anything more about Germans than what they themselves thought of their own “ vermin ”?

After what he knew of them, what they'd come to know of them, he had never been under any illusions as to their humanity. What he was after was evidence of their cruelty. Samples of this hideous gas and the infamous long and gruesome notations that were often left over from experimentations.

Foliage crunched under his boots and Carlman walked beside him, his sharp eyes canvasing the trees. He'd claimed that there had been no soldiers stationed outside the fencing and this was of no real surprise. When the Soviets had taken some of the other camps, word had gotten to them beforehand. They'd been left with few prisoners and of those, mostly the sick and the dying. There had been no resistance for these places were not points worth defending. The Wehrmacht were not often careless or wasteful but when it came to places like these, they could not be bothered to do much more than cut their losses.

So there it stood, as they marched slowly forward, its towers dark and the night still around it. Insects sang in the trees and the stars sparkled above but there was nothing else. Nothing save one glinting warm light which came from a window in one of the small permanent structures to the north of the camp.

Had this place truly been abandoned? Had it been left on its own to rot and wither away? Were there prisoners there still? Those who were emaciated and left with nothing so that they would die in the days between bondage and liberation?

They came to the clearing and without thought, he trudged forward through the foliage with his rifle in his hands. When he lifted it, he peered down the small scope at the towers which were empty and swept the perimeter to find not a single man about to guard. He felt in his heart that there was nothing here.

Ike reached out for him again, the snip of his fingertips his signature. “Breaker, if it's...”

“It's not a trap. They're not above traps but this isn't one.”

“They should have burned it...”

“They don't burn their own history. They're ghouls, Ike. And like ghouls, they like things that are ghoulish and they can't help but keep them around. They spent time on this. They made this. They like what they make, they take pride in it...especially if it's disgusting and depraved.” He spat on the ground. “Tell your platoon they're coming. The rest can camp in the woods. There won't be anything for them here but misery. We'll send for them if we need them.”

“You don't expect danger.”

“No.”

“But the...the SS.”

“Do you see any?”

“There could be one or two left...”

He sniffed. “Let them try for me.”

That was enough to get Ike off his back and telling his boys to move and for the others to stay behind. The small group of mostly Alphas walked with a wary sort of ease through the grass that surround the camp, their noses up toward the air sniffing for any hint of danger.

There were scents but nothing that would betray any ambush. Calm. Sleep. The faint haze of sugar and spice and leather that gave away real human lives within the larger structures which were likely bunkhouses with sparse equipment and thin blankets or dirty straw. On a night where James was clearly able to see his own breath rising from his lips, he could feel his heart pounding with a subdued fury at the men who would leave Omegas and children living like this.

They came to the gate and he frowned when he pushed at it, finding the hinges well-oiled so that the only sound was that of scraping as the edges rutted the damp naked ground in its wide swing. He readjusted his rifle in his hands before he walked decisively toward the permanent brick building with the light still glowing.

“Ike. Send some of your boys to that first bunkhouse.”

“Affirmative. If you don't mind, Breaker, I'd like to stick by you. You don't smell right.”

“I'm not gonna go gettin' my head blown off.”

“I'm not worried about your head, I'm worried about your court martial. If we find any of these bastards, they're gonna want them alive to interrogate. And to hang for war crimes.”

“I can hang them here.”

Ike let out a beleaguered sigh. “Captain...” He only ever called James “Captain” when he was serious. “I know you like things neat and tidy. But war ain't neat and it sure as hell ain't tidy. You can't just wrap up all your loose ends like this.”

“Shhh, I thought you were worried about ambushes.”

They walked together with their men behind them as Ike gave him an exasperated look. They said no more to each other before they breached the building. It was quiet. With their rifles out, they opened the first dark door and, to James' surprise, they found a huddled Beta on a bed who was quickly roused and made to kneel on the floor.

“Frank?”

A short but broad-shouldered Beta stepped into the room from the hall and spoke a few words of German. He was answered. “He's a cook, Captain. He says about half of them are left.”

“Clear them all outside. Let them put on their coats if you're feeling generous. Are there any guards?”

Frank spoke a bit more. “He's not a guard. He's their C.O.”

“Their C.O. is here?” he replied incredulously. “Going down with his ship, huh?”

“Seems that way. Says is quarters are upstairs.”

The light. He turned around and began walking in the direction he thought the stairs were in. Ike followed.

“Captain, you don't know what you're walking into.”

“Then walk behind me.”

Another sigh but Ike was still with him. Ike was always still with him. I didn't matter where he went or what he did, Ike was always with him. They'd met as comrades and they'd shouldered the war as friends. There was a vulnerability between them that could only be shared by Alpha men who had seen each other at their worst. Ike and James were always at odds and never apart.

They climbed the steps together and James raised his rifle at a figure he found holding a small lantern there. A Beta boy no older than nineteen with dark features and frightened eyes. He babbled in German and then in broken Polish, a language Ike had known from his grandmother on his mother's side.

“He's begging.”

“Tell him we won't hurt him.”

“He's not begging for himself...” Ike frowned, spitting out a few Polish words that sounded strange and disjointed to James' ears. When the response was formed Ike's face contorted and he shook his head. “He doesn't want us to hurt...the officer.”

James blinked. “ The Nazi? ”

The boy leaned toward him, putting out his hand before he seemed to rethink the choice, pulling it to his chest while tears formed in his eyes, glimmering in the lantern light. He whimpered more words and Ike answered him softly, almost placatingly.

The Alpha reached out and touched the boy's shoulder, conversing with him as he sobbed openly. He turned his head to James, almost as an afterthought. “He's very distraught. I think...I think there has to be something of a twisted kind of...loyalty here...it doesn't make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” he replied, adjusting his grip on his gun. “They've destroyed these souls...they've warped them and their sense of self. Making them love them...making them care about them...it's as ghoulish as the murder. Is there just the one?”

“Sounds like it...at least in terms of officers.”

“Fine. Tell him...tell him we'll consider it. Depending on the officer.” He didn't wait for Ike to talk to the boy again, turning his attention to the short hallway upstairs where only a few rooms were located, the one he sought leaking warm light from the crack under the door.

He thought about what sort of pistol the man might have. What he might be holding in an unsteady hand, the grip against the grain of his desk and the barrel at the door. Or maybe toward his temple. He'd seen Germans take the easy way out before. It's a flash in their eyes, not much thought into it, their expression more like that of a frightened, wounded deer than a man at the end. The question was not whether or not this man thought he would die—he knew he would—the question was in how much of a coward he was. Was he the sort that would seek to take down as many damned Americans as he could or was he the sort to simply wait for a witness?

He stood to the side of the doorframe, reaching over and turning the knob before he pushed it open a bit, his German rough but serviceable here at least. “ Guten Abend, mein Freund. ”

There was a soft clatter. Not the sound of a gun or bullets but a wooden sound like that of a pencil. James chanced a peek about the door frame and to his shock, the man at the desk held no weapon. At this revelation, the American held an unstudied laziness in his swing into the room, his rifle lax in his grip. The man's scent was minimal, almost undetectable. Or was it undetectable? He'd heard about scouts sometimes seeking medical aid in removing their scent glands but usually such procedures left nasty scars...he saw no such scars where the stiff black collar ended halfway up his throat.

“And to think I thought I'd see an Alpha here at this desk. They left you? How cute. Are you their little messenger? Sprechen Sie Englisch? Hm?”

There were two spots of color high up on the man's cheeks and James could see the short fall of his blonde hair trembling over his forehead as he sat and stared up at him. He was a pretty Beta, that was for certain, all blue eyes and cream skin and pink lips. He was fragile, he could be no more than—

“I am not,” he replied, his English heavily accented, “a messenger.”

“No?” James lifted his brows. “What are you then, sweetheart? I advise you to choose your words wisely, the man who ran this camp gets a bullet between the eyes and anyone who didn't stop him gets to mumble their last words from the gallows. With that uniform fittin' all nice on you like it does, you could be one or the other.”

His lips were trembling and his light robin's egg eyes took on a dulled resignation. “I have been...waiting...”

“Why didn't you leave?”

“I don't know.”

Without a scent in the room—not even a little!—James couldn't tell if the man was lying to him and the thought confounded him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Rolf Ziegler. I am—”

“A Nazi.”

He swallowed heavily, his finger pressing down over the pencil he dropped earlier on the surface of his desk.

“Say it. Say you're a Nazi.”

“I am a Nazi.”

James drew in a heavy breath, a flicker of rage passing through him at the ambivalence he heard in Ziegler's voice. The way he said it without a hint of affection for it, the way his nature helped him to shed the skin of his sins like a snake. He heard his voice lower into a murmur, heard it turn breathy in his throat. “Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet through your worthless body right now.”

Ziegler didn't say anything at all, his lips slightly parted and his expression that of a perplexed tiredness.

“Nothing?”

The shake of his head was nearly imperceptible and James lifted his rifle, taking aim for the German's heart. Still, Ziegler said nothing, sitting straight up, his eyes clear and calm despite the stuttered breath that swelled his chest.

“Captain...” It was Ike behind him.

He lowered his rifle. “Stand up.”

Ziegler, who had been staring down the barrel of his gun, was trembling so hard that it was difficult for him to stand. He came to the side of his desk, the muscles in his legs and shoulders twitching from tension. He was slight of form and utterly pathetic. How could this unsuitable creature be considered the prime of anything? Weren't the SS officers supposed to be perfect? He was slim, with slender fingers and high cheekbones. His jaw was soft and his features boyish and pretty though he may have been a little underfed.

“Tell me in your own words why you're here.”

Ziegler hesitated for a moment before he began diplomatically. “I am not a messenger. I am the man you seek. Whatever you want to do to me, please allow the rest to speak freely of their time here and give them a chance—”

“Like you give your prisoners a chance?”

His eyes shined when he snapped them clearly over James' face. “You said that you would put a bullet between the eyes of the man who ran this camp. I am that man.”

“You got a deathwish, sweetheart? You afraid of something?”

Ike cleared his throat behind him.

James approached the officer where he stood, setting his rifle slowly and carefully down on the desk before he came up close to him, looming and huge over the German's slight presence. There was no holster for a pistol on the man's belt and he kept his chin up, his eyes fixed upon James' chest while his face remained somewhat impassive. His scent was still difficult to discern. Every moment he thought he had it, he dismissed it, attributing all of what he could find to the books and papers around them, to the leather of his chair or the leaking of the cold April breeze from the edge of the window. “Why don't you tell me, sweetheart...what the fuck are you doin' here?” He darted out a savage hand and fisted it into the man's short blonde hair, pulling his head back sharply to bare his throat as though the Alpha were to rip through it with his very teeth.

The man was suddenly breathing hard, hissing through his teeth, his eyes closed while he tensed through the pain. An odd keening welled up from his throat but he made no other sounds.

“You know, my company calls me 'Breaker.' Because I break boys like you. I snap them in half. Men who kill children...men like you...I shatter their spines and leave them to die in untold agony. A bullet between your eyes is too much mercy. A shot to your head is—”

There was a sweet, cloying, and nervous scent. At first James had thought the boy from the stairs was back, that he had mistaken him as a Beta and this was his scent wafting in from the door. But...but that wasn't right. He stared down at the German whose head was forcefully tilted, exposing more of his pretty white neck from above his starched black collar. He hesitated, watching the pulse beat below the line of his jaw. With his other hand hard on the man's upper arm, he ignored Ike's whispered “Captain!"  before he tilted his head down and very nearly brushed the man's skin with the tip of his nose when he scented him.

A thousand things seemed to hit him at once. Disbelief. Shock. Questions. It tumbled together in a stew of frothing emotion. This couldn't be the man who held reign over a camp and its guards and its staff. This couldn't be the man responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men, women, and children. This couldn't be a man capable of such atrocities. This man shouldn't have been able. His very nature would have bucked against such passive destruction...wouldn't it? Shouldn't it?

James pulled his head back, his murmur fluttering Ziegler's eyes open and forcing a strangled sob out of him.

“Well, well, well... guten Abend, Omega. ”

Chapter Text

It would have been easier if Rolf could have unhooked his consciousness from reality. He'd heard about men who were faced with impossible circumstances being driven toward the odd experience of watching a moment as though they were some sort of detached entity. It didn't happen to him. He was trapped inside himself, letting out a half-sob as the discovery was made. This American...this Alpha...he was tall and imposing and the manner in which he held himself was as though he were compressed energy. His motions were fluid but supremely controlled and his patience was that of a bowstring held taut. Rolf could smell it in his scent and feel it in the thrumming energy of his closeness. This was the man who would rape him. His second-in-command was of a more even temperament, the one who kept this Captain in check. How long before the man by the door left them be? How long before he was sent away and the man who held his head back forced him to his knees?

He was shaking and he had the vague notion that should he have had to go to the bathroom, he would have pissed himself. Oh, if his father could have seen him. His father who had pressed him into this terrible role. His father who had thought him a Beta...thought him honorable. It would be just as well, he thought, for his father to watch him in his disgrace. Perhaps he would have felt something about it. Perhaps he would have had to think about what he'd done and what he'd ordered. Perhaps knowing that his only son, the golden son, had been so shamed would have made him reconsider everything he'd pushed forward with before.

That's the silly Omega in you. That's your heart's hope and there is no hope left for you. There are no heroes...there are only men and all the evil in their wretched souls. Your father will have less of a redemption than you have.

He tried to swallow, finding it difficult at the angle he was wrenched at. His tears slid from the corners of his eyes toward his temples and he croaked out a single plea: “Alpha...”

The Alpha shook him, a frightened squeak escaping his lungs. “Don't you speak like that to me. Don't you fucking act like I'm going to give one single fuck more about you just because you can shit out a pup you disgusting Nazi piece of—”

“Captain, please...” The other Alpha in the doorway was still here and this was what finally made the Captain drop him, sending Rolf straight to his knees where he curled downward, hoping that the man wouldn't kick him in the face. He closed his eyes, bracing to hear the shift of the man's holster before the press of a pistol on the top of his head. It didn't come.

“Ike. I want you to check on your men.”

“Breaker, I—”

“Make sure that boy is with you. Make him tell you about this place. I want a debrief in an hour.   Keep everyone where they are, we can look around more thoroughly in the morning.  I'll be here.”

“Jim.”

There was a pause long enough that Rolf looked upward, gazing up at where the two Alphas locked eyes, a passive and distinct understanding between them. Ike left reluctantly, passing just one glance toward Rolf and meeting his eyes for just a single moment before he shut the door and left them alone.

Alone.

He swallowed again. “Do you intend to rape me? I would prefer to be shot.”

“Shut up.”

Rolf did just that, taking in a long shattered breath as the American began to walk about the room, peering at the spines of the books on the bookshelf and fingering at them as if he could determine what they were if only he could press on them with his fingertips. He came to the window and peered into the night past the curtains and his boots made a hard sound over the floor as he came behind Rolf and paused.

“I don't believe you.”

Rolf didn't speak. He knew better than that.

“That uniform fits but I don't believe you. You? In charge of this? A shivering, groveling, crying Omega? How could you?”

How could you? How could you? How could you?

It was the same question he asked himself every goddamn night as he lay in bed and stared up at the dark ceiling and the silver light of the moonbeams as they came in through the window by his bed. How fucking could he?

“You're supposed to be mothering. Compassionate. What kind of an Omega are you? God...” His scent shifted into a supreme frustration and Rolf heard him take in a deep breath. “You're loathsome. Did you fuck your way into this? Did they just like the way you taste?”

Rolf felt his lower lip quiver but he didn't reply. The American's boots thudded over to the door off the side of his office and he heard it open, the man peering into his small bedroom with its braided rug, bed, and mirror on the washstand. It was plain and it was serviceable and it was what Rolf was used to...but the American...

“Huh. For an officer you sure do live light. Most of the other Nazis we've found have tents more decorative than this...they do like their things.”

Rolf sniffed. “I am not so prideful, sir.”

“Did I tell you to speak?”

He pressed his lips together tightly, closing his eyes against the warm tears which welled up again. It had been easy to think that he deserved this before it was happening to him but now he couldn't help but wonder if he had been wrong in thinking so. In his mind, it had gone so much faster. It had been something of a whirlwind in which some brutish man would throw him over his desk, press into his body and rut him until he bled, ending it mercifully while Rolf still had his head down against the teak. This was something else. This was torture.

“Stand up.”

He struggled to do so, his muscles weak with emotion. He kept his eyes downward toward the Alpha's muddy boots.

“Take off your clothes.”

It wasn't an unexpected order and so he obeyed, unfastening the buttons of his uniform and shedding the pieces of it unceremoniously. He loosened his tie, smelling the force of his nervousness in his sweet sweat, knowing that his scent would be freely available and no longer hidden in the least. Rolf swallowed, taking a calming set of breaths before he continued to disrobe, leaving every bit of his uniform and his undergarments discarded on the floor. It was relatively chilly in his office as the stove was in his bedroom, the minimal heat flowing out from the open door a vague comfort and only upon where it could find him over his knees and thighs.

He let his hands fall freely at his sides and he dared not look at the way the American might appraise him, taking in the nature of his pale body. His too-long legs and the structure of him that was more befitting a Beta than an Omega. He had not the extra fat to him that most Omegas were blessed with around their hips, buttocks, and sometimes their bellies or breasts. He was very male even to the very soft blonde duck fuzz in the center of his chest and below his bellybutton which led downward into the champagne-colored nest which framed his genitals.

The captain came around him and picked up his clothes brusquely, casually tossing his shirt, tie, and trousers over the back of his wooden desk chair before he tossed the rest of his uniform into the wastepaper basket. When that was done, he moved his rifle and sat on the top of the desk and peered at Rolf, his eyes burning into him, causing a flush over his cheeks and ears.

“How's it done?”

He swallowed.

“You can speak. How's it done? How do they die?”

They don't. Not anymore.

“Zyklon-B.”

He nodded and Rolf chanced a look at him, at the way his broad shoulders had slumped just a little bit with knowing. He was significantly less imposing when he sat like this, turning over his thoughts. “What are you getting out of this?”

Relief. Freedom. Death.

“I did not see a point in running.”

“You could have gotten away.”

He didn't reply.

The American didn't press this aspect and only looked at him harder, his voice low and quiet in the chill of the room. “What happened to you? What turned a man into a monster?”

“There are no monsters. Only humans.” He wanted to break down. He wanted to sob. He wanted to scream into the night. He was naked and goosebumps were spreading over his whole body, his nipples tight and hard. This was hardly even close to what most men had to endure during this war and so he withstood it himself, ready for the moment the Alpha would put his hands on him in anger. Ready for the first bruising touch over his arms and hips.

“You're not so prideful but you'd rather die than be raped?”

“Dignity is not pride.”

“You forfeited your dignity the moment you put on that uniform, Omega.” He lit a cigarette with a match and began to smoke it thoughtfully. “How many prisoners have you fucked?”

“I beg pardon?”

“Oh that's right...that's something they wouldn't let you get away with. Unless you really are the commanding officer here.”

“I am.”

“Alright then, how many?”

“N...none.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I cannot expect anything from you. As you imagine, an Omega is hardly the sort considered fit for...for what I am. Do you think it coincidence that when you first came to me it took you closeness to discover me?”

His brows lifted and he gazed over Rolf with a slight surprise. “So you're a crafty little bitch. No one knew? Not a single one?”

“Only Peter.”

“Not anyone else?”

Rolf's flush deepened. “Not even my father.”

“Well aren't I a special boy then?” His smile was sardonic and though he quit speaking, he didn't move to get up, leaving Rolf standing in the cold room naked while he finished his cigarette.

He imagined that this was part of the game. Keep him waiting for the moment and then take him when he least expected it. He stood there for a long time while the American picked up his rifle and inspected it, taking out a cloth to clean it while he waited for the other Alpha—Ike—to return. When he did, Rolf kept his eyes to the floor, clasping his hands behind himself while he scented the returning Alpha's concern.

“The camp is secure, Captain. The company has moved closer and we'll have a better idea of what we're working with in the daylight. Here are the corporal's notes, sir. A more formal set will be ready for you by dawn and we can draft a statement for the Colonel. He'll want to know.”

“Of course he will.”

“He'll want to...”

“Yes, Ike. Thank you.”

Ike let out a controlled breath. “Will you be commandeering the officer's quarters for the night, sir?”

“I will.”

“And the officer?”

“With me.”

“Captain.” This was delivered flatly and with only the slightest challenge as though Ike had set his lower jaw a little forward when he stated it.

“Lieutenant when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

When his Lieutenant had gone, the Alpha unfolded the little piece of paper in his hand, taking some time to read it while Rolf studied his face. He was tragically handsome with thick brows and dark blue eyes under unkempt brown hair. His face was puzzled, pulled up with a type of mild confusion as he read the note and when he tucked it into the breast pocket of his uniform. His nose was proud and roman and his jaw was defined and prominent, features that made him an intimidating Alpha and those which would have made him very attractive to the ideal Rolf had come to know. It was a waste for him to know what this man looked like. It did not matter, after all, for it was this man who would kill him. Should he be comforted to know that the reaper was good looking?

“Go into the bedroom.”

Rolf hesitated.

“Go on.”

He hesitated again, his eyes wildly flitting from the door to the Alpha while the panic again began to take hold.

“You test me, Omega. Are you a coward?”

He drew in a soft breath. “Yes.”

“You stared down the barrel of my rifle with hardly a flinch but you cannot walk into a room?”

“I do not fear death.”

“I am no more a savage than grim himself.”

To this Rolf could only whisper. “I don't believe you.”

“Into the room, Omega.” It was sharp and it was cutting and it hit him with every bit of its force, the Alpha in the Captain's voice like a blade to his soul and he took one step before he collapsed, his legs unable to support him. Still, he was driven to comply and so he trembled heavily, crawling on his hands and knees toward the door. He paused halfway across the threshold to let out a string of soft sobs, saliva stringing from his bottom lip to the cool wooden floor. A gentle tap from the side of the Alpha's leather boot on his thigh just under his buttock was enough to get him moving again until he was fully onto the braided rug where he paused, unsure if he should present to make it a little easier on himself, as he could not imagine having the strength of spirit to get onto the bed.

He took short ragged breaths, his shoulders still shuddering and his mind still ringing from the use of the voice and he simply stayed, unable to do much else while he heard the Alpha's boots in the other room as he turned down the lamp and when he was back, Rolf heard the click of the door shutting and all there was around him was darkness and the dim orange glow of the wood stove in the corner. He heard the rustle of the man's clothes and he could smell this virile Alpha, scent that of forest and clove cigarettes, a rainbow through smoke and the sting of a too-bright summer sun. He heard the quilts move over the mattress and the sag of the springs as the much-heavier man sat down upon it.

“Over here, Omega.”

He turned his head, finding the muscles in his neck stiff already. The Alpha was in his undershirt and his briefs, his thighs open.

Oh. Oh no...

The horror must have been clear in his eyes for the American spoke again, softly in the darkness. “Lay on the floor here. I'm a light sleeper so if you think you can kill me tonight, you're welcome to try.” With that, he pulled his legs up and covered himself with the blankets, adjusting himself so that he could lay on his back to rest.

Rolf was left in the quiet, the only sound that of his quick breaths and the rushing of his blood in his ears. Eventually, he was able to crawl to the spot and lay down, thankfully still on top of the rug rather than the cold of the floor. It took him a long time, perhaps hours, to find sleep and when he did it was not for long for the wood in the stove had burned down and it became cold in the room which woke him.

He lay in a ball, shivering with his arms around himself, his teeth chattering while he looked at the cooling stove and felt tears release from the corners of his eyes, trailing across the bridge of his nose until they could drip to the floor. He had not expected any of this. He didn't know what to think now. What else would this American do to him? Would he make him piss on the floor? Would he make him clean it up? Would he leash him like a dog and pull him through camp naked? What measures of cruelty was this Alpha capable of?

Americans. Americans and their hot-headed hate...

How absolutely awful it was for fate to give him this Alpha. Breaker? Jim? He was strong and there was something in his eyes that betrayed him. Rolf knew that he regretted having come so close...having discovered that the Nazi—oh how Rolf hated that he must own to it!—was an Omega. He couldn't kill an Omega. Not in cold blood, anyway. He liked to think of himself as better. Stronger. More of something that he could not see in the Wehrmacht or in the Schutzstaffel.

Honorable.

Rolf nearly jumped out of his skin when a heavy quilt came over him from above, warm from body heat and infused with the combined scent of this Alpha and himself. He looked upward suddenly, able to see the man's eyes with a dim prick of shine through the darkness. They said nothing to each other and Rolf curled into the quilt as the Alpha settled again. He refused to see this as some sign of anything...though what could he help it if he did? It was insidious, this hope, and he knew that this was the hope that drove men forward when they should have turned back toward the rifles. He couldn't help it. It was only human nature, after all.

He pulled the fabric to his nose and breathed it, closing his eyes.

Alpha. Alpha. Alpha...a strong and powerful creature and just as death, only an arm's-length away.

Chapter Text

James woke early. It was normal for him to start the day with the sun and he opened his eyes to find the orange of the dawn diffused by the shade of the trees which still lay over the camp. It was cool but he was warm under the blankets and he had no doubt that there was likely some frost over the tips of the grasses before the heat of the sun could come to touch them. He tested the air by blowing between his lips, watching the barest wisp of steam rise up. Curious, he leaned over to find the Omega a rumpled bundle, completely ensconced in the quilt that James had dropped upon him in the night when he had noted the chill of the room without the stove's constant heat. An Alpha he would have shot. A Beta he would have let freeze. An Omega...well.

He sat and watched the gentle rise and fall of the man's sleep breaths, moving quietly to put his bare feet down on the cold wooden floor. Getting up wouldn't wake the tired little thing on the floor but putting wood in the stove would no doubt. He hated that he was thinking of the enemy's comfort and with that in mind, he got up and opened the grate of the stove, using the poker to find that there were embers still burning before he rekindled it and waited for the soft dry wood to catch. When he was finished placing some of the smaller logs over top the burning kindling, he turned about to find the blonde peering at him from where he sat still bundled in the quilt on the floor.

“Good morning,” James told him flatly. “I see you forgot to try to kill me.”

Ziegler didn't reply to him, his pale blue eyes falling to James' knees and then his bare feet where he stood on the rug.

“Are you tired?”

Ziegler chose not to answer that one either, taking in a soft breath, his eyes clouded and dark with the delicate skin below his eyes ringed with sleeplessness. But they had been like that before this morning.

Perhaps he doesn't sleep very well at night. Perhaps there is a conscience in him.

James disregarded the thought and moved to dress, letting the Omega sit on the floor, tumbled with a scent that was clearly distressed. When he was in his fatigues and his boots, he checked his watch and then sat down on the edge of the bed again.

“Would you like breakfast?”

Ziegler was looking at the stove now, watching the orange licking flame behind the grate in the dim gray morning light that was diffused through the panes of glass in the window. “I need to relieve myself.”

“By all means.”

He got up gingerly, a small amount of pain evident in his scent probably from the stiffness of having lain on the floor overnight. The water closet was attached to the bedroom and James spoke as the Omega opened the door.

“Leave the door open.”

“Alpha—”

“Leave it open.”

He hesitated only for a moment before he did as he was told, the quilt trailing him as he squeezed inside the tiny room and sought to hide himself behind the fabric as he took his morning piss. It took him a little while with James watching him, a frustrated sigh escaping him before he squeezed his eyes shut and forced out the tense stream which came in pathetic little bursts.

“Piss shy, huh?”

Ziegler didn't answer, washing his hands when he was finished before wrapping himself up prudently again and emerging into the room which had warmed by the stove's work.

There was an energy between them that was difficult to quantify. He could see the severe line of Ziegler's mouth, gently turned down at the edges as though he were a boy who had grown up seeing too much of things that upset him. The future for him was uncertain and bleak. Why had he not wished to be discovered? Just for the prospect of rape? It was a small price to pay, James thought, for having been such a festering pile of shit as to have become the commander in the SS. An Omega was often taken into custody and provided amenities far beyond even those that officers were given. Private rooms, comfortable clothes, extra bedding, frequent baths, and at the end of it all, they were often released into the custody of their ruling Alphas—usually a trade for prisoners of war. He wouldn't be put on trial for this—so why the reluctance to be discovered?

James repeated his former question. “Would you like breakfast, little one?”

“Am I so little?”

He arched a brow. “No. You're about the size of a Beta. You have the jaw of a Beta too. I suppose you found it somewhat easy to pass for one.”

“Some days.”

He sniffed. “So you're not hungry.”

“I don't know. I cannot know. If I cannot know what is to become of me, my body cannot decide what it wants.”

James pulled a rolled cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What do you think is going to happen to you?”

He swallowed. “I'm...I'm going to be interrogated...and then I'm going to be...”

“You think I'm gonna kill you?”

“You said you would.”

“I said that when I thought the man running this place was an Alpha who left a green boy in his place to be brutalized.” He took a heavy drag, his head swimming with it and his stomach clenching. The first cigarette of the day on an empty stomach was always a little daring. He met Ziegler's pale eyes and they watched each other for a few moments before there was a soft knock on the outer door to the office and James got up, moving into the other room to answer it.

“Ike.”

“Breaker. The men and I have been speaking to some of the captives...our captives, not their captives.” He gave a slight frown at nothing. “The kitchens are in working order and food is being prepared for the men.”

“Bring us something from the officer's stores, some ham and some eggs...maybe some gravy.”

“Sir, there's something odd about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are no officer's stores.”

He gave pause for a moment, soaking in the concept that was so utterly foreign. “What?”

“There aren't any. The prisoners here...they eat relatively well. Not one of them is more or less than how this commanding officer appears...a little wane about the face but...”

“You mean to tell me that our officer has been eating from the prisoner's stock?”

“More so that the officer has been combining his with theirs. I can bring you ham and potatoes...”

“Very well. And what to drink?”

“Bad wine and water.”

“Water. I want him clear-headed.”

Ike's reaction to that was contained curiosity. “Breaker...you didn't...”

“Did you think I would?”

He gave a sigh that might have been relief, the side of his mouth tipping upward with a sardonic little grin. “No. I knew that rape was beyond you. Or...I hoped it was.”

“How long have we been together?”

A flush crept over Ike's cheeks. “Long enough for me to know better. I'm sorry, Breaker. I was tired...my faith was...”

“Go get yourself some breakfast, bring me mine and with it bring a report. You've been looking about haven't you?”

“We have. I'll have a report for you soon.” His voice lowered. “And...your interrogation?”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the open door to the bedroom. The Omega was still inside though he imagined the man was near to the door listening in. “I've not yet begun.”

“I suppose you won't need thumb screws for him.”

“Get out of here,” he scoffed, shutting the door in Ike's face as he chuckled his way back into the office, his boots thudding over the wooden floor. He looked at the desk and moved around it, opening the drawers. The first held pencils, pens, and a leather-bound ledger which he removed and placed upon the desktop. The second below it held a Mauser pistol which would have fit easily into the Omega's hand. Upon inspection he found it to be loaded with extra ammunition in a box to the side on top of the one piece of the man's uniform that had been missing the night before. James hadn't even noticed then but as he reached in and and slid it out from under the ammunition, he wondered at it.

Ziegler's voice was thick from the doorway. “It can go in the basket with the rest of it.”

He was curious. “You hold no sentiment. Is that a trait all Germans possess?”

“Perhaps it is.”

He tossed it on top of the ledger but left the gun in the drawer. He was so difficult to read and his scent wasn't as strong as some Omegas. Some had scents that reached out like tendrils from a lover, caressing and telling and giving things away. This one's scent was relatively mild, sticking close to him and under that damned quilt that covered up his creamy nakedness—a sight that James was not proud enough to pretend was not pleasing. Ziegler's blue eyes were impassive and chilly, his nature and countenance that of a man who was resigned to his fate. He merely waited for the blow that would destroy him.

Ike returned quickly and when James bade him enter, he could see Ziegler's form tense in the doorway, his eyes moving immediately to the ground so that he might not have to peer upon the other man who had seen him nude the previous evening. He put down a tray with some bread, potatoes, and thick cuts of cooked ham which smelled good. “Brought you the best, Captain.”

“And the report?”

He pulled a set of papers that were folded in his breast pocket and handed them over. “There's about one quarter capacity of prisoners here though the bunkhouses were all clearly used at some point...likely maximum capacity was reached—”

“A year ago.” Rolf's voice was soft and mild.

James felt a stirring of brutal anger begin to spark and flutter as a blue flame in his heart. So it took this little bitch a year to run through them like water. A stream of them in and a stream of them out until they dwindled as the war crushed on. He knew his scent was about to smell like smoke and blood but he did nothing to quell it, letting a flat gaze rest on the long eyelashes of this decadent blonde monster.

Ike looked at the Omega impassively and then went on. “The food stores are well-stocked and there's a nervousness among the lingering staff that's bothering me but I can't put a finger on it. I'm curious as to why there are so many left.”

Ziegler's throat made a slight sound as he swallowed, his expression crudely dampened while he hid his reaction. James noticed.

“I...haven't found any samples.”

This tightened James' throat. “What?”

“I can't find the samples. But I will. Our intel on it was good, I'm sure. There must be some outbuilding somewhere...” His eye flicked toward Ziegler but then flicked away, knowing it was not his place to make the inquiry. “I'll be with the men, sir. We'll keep looking.”

“Very well. Thank you, Ike.”

The dismissal left them alone and in the few seconds after Ike had gone, Ziegler spoke again.

“I've made you upset. I apologize for talking out of turn.”

James did his best to release the tension in his jaw. “That's not why I'm upset.”

The Omega shifted nervously, taking in another swallow and his pale eyes watched James' fingers as he flicked the bright red armband away from the ledger next to the breakfast tray and flipped open the cover, revealing dates and names.

“Is this what I think it is?”

His voice was a breath, his eyes shining. “Ja.”

The Alpha peered down at the list, his fingers finding the edge of the page and flipping to the next. Then the next. Then the next. Not all of them were in the same hand. At the beginning there was a masculine, heavy-ink script and near the end it was neater, clearly a new commander with great control over his hand and his emotion. “This is why I'm angry.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Jawohl.” He said it with a harder conviction, his blonde brows knitted.

“There was someone here before you. How did you get here? Why are you the commander here and not some Alpha?”

“He drank. It is not permissible to drink to excess. My father is high ranking within the organization and...I am here. He thought it would keep me out of trouble and there was a need for commanding officers in out of the way places like these.”

“Ones who could keep their heads. Betas.”

“Correct.” 

“Ones who could be cold and unforgiving...not hot-headed or soft-hearted. Ones who could keep good records and take good notes.”

Ziegler blinked a little in confusion.

“Come eat.”

He did, shuffling awkwardly toward the desk until James offered him the chair, taking mercy on him as he tried to keep the quilt around his body. Sitting would make it easier. He perched on the edge of the chair, seeming to wish not to crumple any part of the clothes he might still get to wear which were folded over the back of it. In order to use his utensils, he let his arm out from the protection of the thick blanket and James admired the man's finely muscled bicep and the smooth paleness of his shoulder. The anger in him was blunted and he hated this instinct. To protect. To create comfort for a delicate creature who needed it.

Goddamn Omegas.

They ate mostly in silence, James polishing off the whole of his meal while Ziegler only managed to take a few bites.

“Why did you lie to me last night?” He wasn't the sort to go on long-winded interrogation techniques, far more suited to cutting right in.

“What do you mean?”

“Zyklon-B.”

Ziegler stared at him blankly.

“Why did you tell me that's what you use?”

“That is what is used.”

“You had orders, didn't you? Use the gas and write down the effects. Your notations, where are they?”

This produced a gentle and pregnant pause within Ziegler, his eyes bewildered and wide, his plush lips slightly open.

“Your notations, Omega.”

“I...there...on the shelf. To the left. I am afraid I did not keep them very well after a while...after I found that no one was coming to look for them. I think they had more pressing matters they needed to attend...”

James strode over to the spines on the shelf and pulled out the left-most book, discovering a smattering of German under dates on each page. “What does this say?”

“I don't want to read it.”

“Read it or I'll make you read it...naked. Outside.  For the men.”

His bottom lip trembled and he looked at the page when James held it out, reading it without emotion or with emotion dampened with chilling ease. It recounted the hideous effects of Zyklon-B though not in any minute detail and with nothing embellished. Just the way one might think a Beta should write it. It didn't make sense. The gas this camp was utilizing had been sent from a small lab which had housed a fairly prominent scientist who was in British hands. His information was good and all signs pointed to the notations and the largest samples being housed at this location. So why were the notations for a gas that wasn't being used here?

His mind was turning over as he took the notes back, staring down at the carefully crafted foreign words. “You share your food with them. Are these the decisions of a commanding officer or the decisions of a weak-hearted Omega?”

“That decision was recent. We lost a great portion of our staff and without them there was no reason not to. It is not as though there are so many of them and I am free to do as I will.”

“There aren't so many of them because you're killing them.” A muscle twitched under Ziegler's eye and James turned the ledger with the names toward the seated Omega, watching him look at it. “These names written here. This is your hand. You wrote them. You killed them.”

“What are you trying to do? What do you want?”

“I want to know what's going on. Whatever you're killing them with,” he pointed to the notations, “these are lies. Where are the real notations? Where are you hiding them?”

“What? Those are my notes. There are no others.” His eyes were almost grey in the morning light and the sun was glinting in through the window over his short blonde hair and the strand which had fallen onto his forehead. His scent held absolutely no deception, sweet even as he was puzzled and uncertain. “The gas comes in canisters, they are labeled—”

He couldn't control his movement when he reached out, snatching the Omega's face and squeezing at his bottom jaw until he squeaked in pain. He pulled the man forward and then shook his head slightly. “Where are your real notes, Ziegler?” His face was mere inches from this boy, pale eyes frozen open in terror. “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to persuade you?”

He didn't have to make a decision. There was a gentle knock on the door and it was Ike who said nothing when James released the Omega with a small shove which sent him backward in the chair hard enough for it to jump a few inches. He held something in his hand and very slowly placed it on the desk while Ziegler sought to compose himself, pulling the quilt around him from where it had slipped, wiping his tears on his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

“Captain.”

James reached for the canister clearly marked “Zyklon-B.”

“The kit that Dr. Mabel sent with us confirmed it. This isn't what it says it is. It's what we're looking for.”

He picked it up, looking at Ziegler with his thoughts still mucking around in his head. “You should have known we'd find it. Why hide the notes?”

He trembled fiercely, his scent packed with a metallic confusion and his features pinched into a steadily growing panic. “I...”

Ike interrupted. “There's something else, Captain.” He licked his lips. “Before you touch him again...there's something you need to know.”

Ziegler's eyes were desperate, his breath in a sharp gasp as if he were helpless and horrified at what he knew Ike would say.

“Nothing here is what it seems. I thought it was odd how things were shaping up for us and so I took whatever staff was left into confidence alone one-by-one. There was a man who said he ran the chamber...and he took me to a place two hundred paces into the woods on the western side. There's a trench there, Captain. It's full of this. There's so much of it...and it's all untouched. Never been used.”

“Never been used?” A sick feeling was starting to well up in his guts and he couldn't ignore it. Not when he looked at the shine of the German's blonde head in the grey morning light and the shimmer of wetness on his cheeks.

More tears were escaping Ziegler's pretty eyes, his breath stunted and shallow the same as when James' rifle had been trained on his heart. He looked like a man who had known the truth of the gallows but had not been prepared for the sight of them.

Ike leaned forward, earnest. “Captain...this man is a traitor.”

Chapter Text

Being discovered for what he was, having to hear it even in another man's language was beyond what he was meant to endure. Whatever hope he had left that they might just hang him in the courtyard or take mercy upon him and shoot him near the fences was gone. He had expected death for so long that now, when hope of it began to slip away, he wasn't certain how to process it. These Americans would never kill him now. He would never be free. There was so much that he was going to have to do. So much that he was going to have to say. So much that he was just too tired to think about. His voice was a breath, his vision lost to the blur of the moisture in his eyes.

“Do not forgive me.”

The Captain was staring at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Do not. Do not forgive me. I am guilty.” He wept, his head bowed.

Ike ignored him. “There's a train. It brings prisoners and supplies through the forest. He's been funneling them back to the Soviets on the return trips in the night.”

The Captain's voice was incredulous and dark as he turned his attention back to where Rolf was sitting. “Clever.” There was a realization still dawning in his dark blue eyes and Rolf was overly aware of it, every minute focus of his attention on the way the Alpha was looking at him. As though he were seeing him for the first time. As though he were gazing at some shimmering gemstone that had been revealed from an austere rock face. “This is why...this is why your notations are wrong.”

He was weeping still, holding the quilt tight around him.

“Ike?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Load up the samples.”

“Are we leaving sir?”

“Not yet. I'll meet you outside.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rolf's head was lowered, his tears dripping from the tip of his nose into the fabric that covered his lap. There was silence between them and he thought about the gun. It was loaded but it wouldn't be possible to reach it and to pull the trigger with this man here with him within an arm's reach. He would be stopped. It wasn't as though he could stomach pulling the trigger anyway. He never could. All those nights when he'd sat alone with the muzzle in his mouth. All those times he'd thought it might have been easier at his temple.

He let loose a desperate sob. “Do not forgive me. I couldn't...I couldn't...”

“What do you think I'm forgiving? Is it true, Omega? These people in this ledger? They're not dead? I'm not going to find them in another pit to the east?” His tone implied his meaning. I've been lied to before. I will not be lied to again.

Rolf choked out his breath, forcing himself to look into the Alpha's searching gaze. “I couldn't save them all.”

There was a silence between them only broken by Rolf's hitching and unsteady breaths.

“You would have, wouldn't you? If you could?”

His bottom jaw trembled. “If only...”

Breaker swallowed thickly. “Another sentiment born from a weak-hearted Omega?” The inflection to his words lacked teeth and it came out blunted and awkward before he moved toward the window, peering out into the morning light. “I'm sorry.”

“Do not forgive me.”

“You're suffering.”

“Do not forgive me!” He'd wanted to shout it but it came out strained and stilted. “Is it all Americans who believe in heroes? You have asked me,” he tried, taking in another difficult breath, “what made a man into a monster? There are no monsters. There are only men and their limitless capacity for all evils. I do not believe in monsters...and I do not believe in the heroes who slay them. We are only men. Only human. Neither good nor evil complete. Helpless to the tides we fight against.”

The Alpha—Captain, Breaker, Jim—was quiet and stoic, staring at him from the window, haloed by light. His voice was low and soft and very unlike it had been for all the time to now.

“If this is all true...you are a hero.”

“I have killed innocents.”

“And you think I haven't?”

“You have killed Germans. They are not innocent to your heart. You do not truly believe that you have killed anyone of worth.” He could tell that he was right by the tensing in the American's jaw. “That a man is told he is of the Wehrmacht or his family is killed...it makes no difference. War is war, he will kill you if he can so that he might live. Is he innocent? Or is he a Nazi? I am not of the Wehrmacht. I am a son of the Aryans, I am a son of the Schutzstaffel. I have been taught my whole life what honor means. And it is so very different from what it means to an American.” He searched the Alpha's face, hoping for some hint as to how he might reach understanding.

“Put on your clothes.”

“Alpha—”

“Do as I say.”

He did, flushing greatly as he pulled on his underthings and his trousers, his fingers trembling when he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it before he fastened his belt. He felt very small next to this Alpha and his eyes felt gritty and tired. He tensed when he was offered the too-big outer later of the man's jacket but he did not refuse it, ultimately grateful that the man had not fished the wool of Rolf's uniform from the wastepaper basket. He didn't belong in it.

I never belonged in it.

The hallways felt like a whole different world, the air cold and somewhat humid, a lingering dampness to the morning that trailed along with him and clung to his golden hair. When they reached the door to the outside, it smelled like campfire smoke, dew, and muddied ground. The camp was less quiet than it had been in the past few days, the sound of American English floating through the stillness as the company moved around him with their orders. There was no wind but he felt the chill all the same and pulled the Alpha's jacket closer to him, taking in the scent of him and seeking not to savor it.

Faint color against the gray of storm clouds and the first rays of sunlight which beamed up toward the heavens when they broke. Drips of rainwater off the tips of green beech leaves, trailing through the ridges like the lips of a lover.

“You said your name was Rolf,” the Alpha said, shrugging into another jacket he was given by a man in the company who peered upon the Omega as though he were some odd novelty.

“Ja.”

“I'm James.”

“They call you Breaker.”

“I break men.” It was stated dispassionately, almost as an aside.

He wondered how terrible it was to be broken. How much suffering a poor boy in the Wehrmacht would have experienced to have his spine severed by a vengeful Alpha. He wondered if Breaker thought of it. “Would you have me call you by your soldier's name for you?”

“You can call me James.”

“What if I want to call you 'Breaker'?”

“Do you?”

Rolf looked up at him, meeting his eyes. In the chill of the morning, his voice released in wisps of steam. “Are they the same? Breaker and James? Or are they two men? Which do you want me to see, Alpha?”

“I am one man.”

“One hero.”

“You don't believe in heroes. And I...” He took in a steady breath and let it out, the cloud rising from his mouth into the still morning. “I'm not one.”

“You break men. You break Nazis. Is that not a hero's work to you Americans?”

The same muscle that tensed in James' jaw in his rooms tensed now in the open daylight. “It is. I would break a thousand Nazis without guilt. War is war. You're right. They might not have a choice. They might not hold to the ideology that put them there.”

“I did. I have been trained. I have been taught. I have it in me to ruin and destroy goodness and innocence. This is why I tell you not to forgive me. Never forgive me.” His shaking voice trailed into a murmur and then a whisper. “Alpha...I want you to break me.”

James reached for him and for a second, Rolf thought that perhaps the man might do as he asked. But he only flipped open the breast pocket of the jacket Rolf wore and pulled out a cigarette, putting it to his mouth and lighting it. “You smoke?”

“No.”

He drew, the orange tip of it the only drop of warm color around. “You cannot claim to be heartless when I already know what you've done. Tell me how it is accomplished.”

Rolf hesitated at first, having kept this secret for so long that it was difficult to find the words. When he did, it swept out of him like a river that had lost its dam. He felt himself betraying every small part of his plan and realized himself when he was explaining the role of the guide, Nikolas, how absolutely grand the undertaking had truly been. It took him the better part of an hour to wander with the Captain, showing him how they had all kept it hidden, kept it secret, kept everything in order down to the very smallest detail. The prisoners were always escorted at just the right time to avoid suspicions to the brick chamber where they remained, tense and waiting, until they could be surreptitiously boarded onto the empty train cars. From there, they were deposited to Nikolas who kept a small lodge in the woods and who was used to escorting groups of fifteen to thirty down a well-known and well-hidden path to the Soviets who took them in and fed them and surrendered them into the hands of a team of brutal and mothering female Alphas that Rolf had met once in the dead of night in the forest. He trusted them. They were true to their word and with them, the men and the women and the children were safe.

James listened to him, quietly smoking as Rolf spoke, nodding when it was appropriate but making no sounds. Finally, when Rolf had no more to tell him and the silence had strung on for a little too long and they were out near the western edge of the woods, James looked at him, his dark blue eyes soft and searching. He rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Was anyone ever close to finding out?”

Rolf took in a heavy breath. “Once. He was young. A boy. Eighteen. I had thought to convert him. He would have made a wonderful scout, all silence and snooping. What would have made him great got his guts spilled in the end.”

James flicked away the butt of his cigarette into the wet grass. “Who spilled his guts?”

“I did.”

“He never had a chance, did he?”

“He was loyal to the only Fatherland he knew. He told me that he would see my throat cut. That he had confided in another and that his victory was already in hand.” Rolf passed James a sardonic expression. “He had told only one other person...a man he thought of as his mentor. He had not the thought that such a man might have been part of the very conspiracy he hoped to unravel. I killed him. A boy, only. No one questioned my words when I told them that he had been sickened by our methods and had gone home on the train.”

James' voice was thick as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “War is war.”

“Yes. So it is. It was the first time killing had touched my hands with true blood. The rest had been indirect...and no less brutal.”

“How many died before you could set it all up?”

“Fifty-six.”

A short stretch of quietness slotted behind this number while they watched the camp, alive with lazy motion of a company without strict orders. James' voice was placating. “You can't die fifty-six deaths, Rolf.”

“Fifty-seven. If you count Johann.”

“He was a Nazi.”

“So am I.”

The Alpha then did something that puzzled him, turning to face him completely, a nakedness to his expression that was bewildering and strange. “Rolf. My father fought in the Great War. He lost his leg and he lost his spirit. He passed his hatred for Germans onto me and then the army passed its hatred of Nazis onto me and...and even now it's hard to see the difference between the two. You're a man who was given orders and defied them. You would have been killed if you'd been discovered.”

“Yes.”

“How many people have you saved? Do you know that number?”

“No.”

“Because that number didn't mean anything to you. Because that was a matter of course. That was a given, that you would do such a thing. It comes so naturally to you that you would never count. Because it could never make up for the number you do remember. The part that ripped away at all your conscience until it left you like this. Willing to hold onto this secret so you might have a chance to die by my hand...by my anger and my bias.” He cleared his throat, taking a moment before he forced out his words. “Last night, when you said you were a coward, you meant that you could not turn a gun onto yourself. You wanted to use me as a weapon.”

“I have already said—”

“That you want me to break you. I know. But Rolf...” He reached out, his fingers soft and unerringly gentle on the flesh beneath the Omega's chin. “...god, Rolf...you're already broken. You don't believe in monsters but your superiors...they do. They think you are one. They think they've turned you into one. Perfect, impenetrable. Obedient.”

“Loyal,” Rolf told him. “Meine Ehre heißt Treue. My Honor is Loyalty.”

“That's what German honor is?”

“That is what Nazi honor is. It is the honor of men who know nothing more than the vacant compliance of trained dogs.”

James was still facing him completely but moved to cut off Rolf's view of the camp, his body swallowing the space between them until they were too close and the Omega could smell the spice of him, the smoke, and the damp earthen scent that clung to his clothes. “You are more than a trained dog, Rolf. You are far more. You...the son of the Aryans, the traitor of the Schutzstaffel. You withstood them. All of what they taught you was lost to your honor. True honor. Not the honor they told you to believe in but the one that comes from the heart of men who value life.”

“Weak-hearted Omegas?” Rolf joked, though he did not feel like laughing.

“No. Not weak-hearted ones. True-hearted ones.” He reached out like he was to touch Rolf again but then rethought his course, his arm dropping to his side. “I want to tell you that I...I'm sorry. For how I handled you. You didn't deserve that.” His cheeks were blazing red.

“I should not have to tell you what I think of that sentiment.”

“You think I'm a fool.”

“I think you, like them, ascribe to ideologies that are...unsustainable. I deserve to meet my fate. I deserve to pay back everything I have ever stolen. I have stolen life. I owe it. I am not a hero. There are no heroes in man. Heroes who are larger than life? No. True good and true evil...it happens softly. It happens quietly. It happens in the heart of things when no one is watching.”

“I won't kill you.”

“You won't have to.”

He did not elaborate, crossing his arms to hold himself before he started walking again toward the camp, the toes of his shiny boots muddied by the journey. If anyone had anything to say about the commandant wandering about in their Captain's clothes, smelling very much like him, no words were said. Most of the soldiers peered at him with curiosity, the knowledge of what he'd done seeming to be common among them. With James at his heels, he made his way back to his rooms where the stove had kept it warm and he was not in danger of weeping openly in front of dozens of bored Alpha soldiers.

“Rolf—”

“You are going to keep me here,” he interrupted. “And you will tell your superiors what has happened. You will meet with the Soviet women and they will liberate the rest of the prisoners. Your superiors will tell you to take me as your captive until they can debrief you and decide that what you tell them is true. Then they will take me and surrender me to some political faction who thinks they know what is best for me. Eventually they will find family to foist me upon who will promptly give me to my father.” He rounded on James, his eyes serious while his voice was plain. “You do not have to do anything. No one will want me. In Germany, I am a traitor. Anywhere else, I am a Nazi. Do you think a country torn apart will be able to do anything efficiently enough to keep me from my own murder?”

“Your father—”

“I have dishonored him.” He tightened his hold over himself, his voice catching in his throat.

James pressed on. “Your father will be tried for war crimes.”

“You don't know that.”

“Is he a coward? Then he'll kill himself. And you won't have to concern yourself with him.”

Rolf felt anger hot like an iron in his stomach. “I wish you had shot me when you had walked in the door. Maybe...maybe I can...” He went to the drawer of the desk, opening it up to find the Mauser, still loaded. He reached for it only to find that he was grasped suddenly and bodily moved away, his feet dragging along the wooden floor while he struggled fruitlessly. “Let me go, Alpha! You can't stop m-me! L-let me go!”

“Don't you understand me yet?” he asked easily, as though the action of detaining him had no more physicality to it than holding a small, errant child. “You don't believe in heroes, but I do. And I can't let one die. Do you know how many lives you've saved? I came here expecting to liberate people left to die only to find that the man I thought I was going to kill had beaten me to the punch. There's loud glory in kicking down gates and delivering freedom, Rolf. But there's a silent glory to what you've done. Can't you feel it?”

All he could feel were this Alpha's arms around him, soft iron under warm flesh. James was behind him, an Alpha in strength and scent and heat and Rolf didn't fight his instinct, his head tipping to bear his throat. It was a gesture he'd never allowed of himself before but for this Alpha, he felt free. Finally, in this Alpha's arms, he was free.

“Rolf, please. I'm not going to let anyone murder you. Least of all me.”

“I am not afraid of death.”

“Yeah, so you told me. But Rolf. You don't have to live like this. It's over. It's done. You don't have to look over your shoulder anymore. You don't have to worry about someone finding out.” James moved him, finding him his balance before he turned him around and backed him up until he was sitting on the top of the teak desk. He let him go and then reached forward again, tipping his chin with his fingers. “I'm sorry I hurt you, Omega. I'm sorry about all the things I said to you when I thought...well...you know what I thought. But please understand me now...” His brows came together sharply as though he waged an internal battle against himself, his eyes sweeping down toward the floor as he thought and then made his decision. “You have played the role of savior, and I will do that for you, if you let me.”

“How?” Rolf asked, his doubt clear in his voice. “How do you think you would ever free me from this? I am...”

James' eyes grew dark, warm, and lustrous with something deeply intimate. He was close. Too close. So close that he was nearly standing between Rolf's thighs. “Rolf...let me save you.”

“I wanted you to kill me. It was the only freedom I could hope to gain...”

James reached up, his fingers hot over the Omega's face, the touch so light and reverent that he wanted to sob. “You've been just as much a captive here as your prisoners. Is it so unfathomable that someone might come to liberate you?”

He repeated his question, this time with hot tears again on his face, wiped away by the American's tender touch. “How? How? I don't understand...”

“Rolf,” he breathed in reply, “Let me make you mine.”

Chapter Text

There was a stunned silence which took complete hold of the Omega, his mild sweet scent suddenly peppered with notes of confusion and shock and an insidious fear—fear of the unknown and of James' former reckless violence no doubt. He'd been so wrong, so mistaken. How could he have touched a man like this in such a manner? A hero like this...

If only he'd told me...if only I'd known.

He sniffed at his own thoughts, recognizing the futility of them. He would never have believed a Nazi's word. He would never have believed a man with such lancing, frozen eyes—eyes that were cold blue from so much distrust and wariness.

God, he was attractive. James had noticed it before when he was naked and standing up straight in the warm lamplight the night before but he noticed it better now in the gray light of the day. When they had been outside and his cheeks had taken on a light pink flush, the milky undertone of it so supple and darling. The sweep of his golden hair and how it shined platinum under an overcast sky. A son of the Aryans. His thin pink lips and his wide stare at all the things that took place around him that were strange and committed by strangers. Was it so odd to find himself attracted to a man who had funneled innocents to freedom? Was it so bizarre to find a desperate need to touch him? To hold him? To keep him safe?

It was an Alpha's place to protect an Omega who had no other protector. Here he was. Alone. He was competent—oh god, he was that—but without purpose and without family and without anyone who could sway him one way or the other and with his secrets exposed... He was in the wind. James couldn't help it. There was an instinct here he could not deny.

He touched Rolf's cheek so lightly, just enough to transfer some of his warmth. “It couldn't be so bad as dying, could it?”

Rolf had raised up his hands, pulling at the side of James' jacket to hold it closer to him, to keep himself guarded as he began to tremble again, looking around at the parts of the room he could see and across the width of James' shoulders. “Y-you want to...you want to what?”

“I want you to let me bondmark you.”

“B-bond...”

“Yes. You have to realize, Rolf...there's something about you.”

“There is nothing about me,” he replied, though he did not push James away or insist upon getting down from the desk.

“There is so much about you. Let me do this for you. What other options do you have? You yourself have told me that your future is bleak and has marked you for death or...or worse. How terrible could I be?”

“I'm sure I do not know how terrible you could be...I have already been brushed by what you can do to a boy.”

It was as though he'd been struck. He reeled backward, staring down at the blonde whose face was turned away toward the floor, his hands holding the jacket together over his chest protectively. James felt breathless before he slowly sank to his knees, Rolf stubbornly still refusing to look at him. With both his knees firmly on the floor and the Omega above him, he sat back, his mind jumbling through all the things he'd done to deserve this.

“Rolf. I'm sorry. I thought you were a killer.”

“I am a killer.”

“You had no control over what was happening. You're not responsible. You know more than anyone that if you'd tried to do something, you would never have been able to save as many people as you have. You know that. I know you know that. I thought you were murdering children. Innocent children. I know you can't say that you wouldn't have done the same because you're the man who killed Johann. You have just as much hatred for them in your heart as I do...it's just more complex. It's more human.” He reached out and let his fingertips brush the outside of Rolf's knee, the touch more intimate than what he should risk though he couldn't help doing it. Rolf didn't shy away.

“It is all human.”

“Rolf. I'm sorry. I don't want you to throw away your life because you're afraid of me...of what I might do to you. I'm not...I'm not like that.”

“So you are not the man who would strip an Omega down to humiliate him and force him to sleep on the floor?”

It was another punch to the gut and he winced, withdrawing his hand and letting it sit on his lap while he closed his eyes. “God...I am. I am...I am that man. I am that Alpha. I wish...I wish I could prove to you differently but I can't. I've already done it...when I thought you...”

“You should have done what I did to Johann.”

“I won't.” It was heavy but it wasn't Alpha. It was husky with emotion that was thick in his scent, smokey and fierce and laced with the potential for arousal. “Omega, I'm placing myself at your feet. I know what you've been waiting for but you're wrong about yourself. You're wrong about what's possible for you. Give me a chance. To show you.”

Rolf was able to sense what James meant and his cool eyes sliced into him finally, a pinched and apprehensive look in his eyes. “Don't touch me.”

There was a silence between them, thick with the dueling scent of their emotions and James stayed silent, his hands in his lap, his eyes on the toe of Rolf's once-shiny boot now scuffed with mud. He didn't know how long he sat there, waiting for the Omega to speak again...but speak he did, his voice breathless and soft and filled with a terrible uneasiness.

“I've...I've never...with...”

“We don't have to. I know I implied...”

“Alpha.”

That stopped him, bringing his eyes from the German's boot to his face and he saw the rawness there, a side that he was sure that even the boy, Peter, had not seen. Maybe something that had never seen daylight. A wanting.

“Alpha. God...why does it feel so good to say it?” He wiped at his eyes furiously, sucking in a tight breath. “I don't want to...to lose control.”

“You don't have to.”

“Yes, I do. What you want...you want to have me. You want me to...to trust you. Completely. How? I don't understand how I will do such a thing. A man who hates Germans. And me? What about me?”

“Let me show you what I feel, Rolf.”

There were tears glittering again in his pale eyes. “Fine then. Show me. Show me how you would care for me if I let you mark me. Show me what I can expect from a man like you...show me that you are better than how I already know you to be.”

There was a pause in which James tried to measure just how serious the Omega was. But Germans—and Nazis—were not known for their sense of humor and so he reached up experimentally, his palm cupping the heel of Rolf's boot. When no protest was made, he slid it off slowly and with purpose, still staring up at where the man sat above him on the desk, his cheeks ruddy with pink. The other boot was similarly disposed of and when it was gone, James went about the business of the man's socks which peeled away from his damp, cool skin and left his feet and the few inches of his calves above them exposed and creased with where the fabric had been pressed against them. It was at this juncture that he broke eye contact and leaned forward, his hands gently taking the man's heel again to raise his foot just slightly. Enough so that he could press his mouth to the inner side of the ball, skimming his lips over to the bridge where the fine bones lay beneath.

What handsome feet he had and cool to the touch like most Omegas, he thought as he laid gentle kisses over it until he worked back to the arch, bending enough to press and softly tickle there while he smelled the man's scent deepen with a poorly hidden stirring of arousal. He let his tongue flicker out over his ankle, delicate with his slim bones and he slid upward against the exposed part of his lower calf, his thumbs and fingers finding the sensitive places of his foot again and rubbing generously. His whisper was seeking and soulful.

“I want to please you, Omega.”

When Rolf didn't respond, in part because he was likely unable, James switched to the other foot, remembering how darling these little feet had seemed in those shiny boots. He kissed underneath his toes, listening intently for the small breaths which marked his ticklish pleasure and when he got them, he made sure to breathe a little harder out his nose over them, into the tiny little crooks of them, kissing between them sweetly before he nibbled at the ball of this foot, rubbing at it with his fingers, making certain to hold him so that it was possible for him to pull away if he wished.

He didn't.

Bolstered by the passive receptivity to his advances, he took liberties. It was just an open-mouthed kiss along the arch, tentative and slow and only the slightest bit damp. He heard the subtle press in of the Omega's breath as he tested the air, scenting an Omega's pleasure at being worshiped like this. Still, though Rolf was curious, he was hesitant. 

“Omega...Omega...” he whispered softly against the sensitive flesh, “Punish me, Omega. Step on me. Make me beg for you.”

Rolf's features were halfway between limpid-eyed arousal and a benign alarm. “I...I couldn't...”

“Of course you could,” he murmured, lifting Rolf's leg by his heel until the ball of his foot was pressed against James' adam's apple. “You could always keep me here if you wished.” He let his mouth spread in a gentle grin as he felt the pressure increase on his throat, his body leaning back to accommodate as Rolf did as the Alpha thought he might, pushing him backward until the whole of his leg was outstretched, pressing against his windpipe.

“That's a darling,” James half whispered.

Rolf's other foot was placed very tentatively on his chest, not pushing but set there deliberately and James trailed his fingers down from the German's toes over the bridge and to his ankle without looking at it, his eyes set upon the Omega's face which was only partly turned away now. “Do you like this?”

“W-What do you smell, Alpha?”

“I smell that you're interested.”

He swallowed heavily, moving his eyes to where James' fingers trailed over the pale flesh of his foot, tracing the bones there and teasing over his ankle. “What are you going to do if I let you go further?”

“I'm going to kiss them more. Then I'm going to kiss your legs. Your knees.” He waited for Rolf's flustered little movements to subside before he continued, his voice deeper and smoother, a lure for a wary Omega. “I'll kiss your thighs, if you like.”

Rolf's pupils were wider with a lust that was slowly becoming fully realized and when his eyes found James' his breath was more difficult, his scent sweetened and only a little bit stronger. “You know what I would like?”

“Anything...”

“I would like to be the one with all my clothes on this time. While you are naked on the floor.”

He was still grinning despite having to place his tongue between his back teeth so that he didn't retort with anything overly assertive. He gently took Rolf's foot and removed it from his throat, shedding the jacket he was wearing before he reached back and pulled off the undershirt he was wearing, setting it aside and watching the Omega's gaze move over the breadth of his shoulders. He was the epitome of an Alpha, he knew. He was tall and his muscles were finely formed, his body proportionate and well built. His chest was muscled and boasted a softly whorled pelt which most women and Omegas adored to finger through. He wondered if Rolf would like to touch him, explore him, know what another man felt like beneath his hands—or his feet. He shifted to shed his pants and his boots, coming back to his knees when he was naked, watching Rolf's eyes move naturally downward to where his arousal stood at attention, rigid between his powerful thighs.

When Rolf's eyes came back up to his face, James was pleased to note that he was flushed, his cheeks, neck and ears a delightful pale pink.

“You can touch me.”

The German's voice was laced with something, a light shade of a taunt hidden there. “With my feet?”

“With any part of you.”

“What about with none of me?”

“Will you let me touch you?”

Rolf thought for a few moments before he seemed to make up his mind about something and when he did, he lifted his foot again, pressing the cool bottom against James' warm bare chest. He didn't complain when the Alpha reached up and petted over the top of it, slowly easing his fingers upward underneath the fabric of his trousers, working over his calf to rub him and touch him tenderly there.

“Will you let me show you more?”

The Omega's nose flared for a moment of indecision before he gave a slight nod, not moving his foot when James came up on his knees and very slowly reached forward, his hand light over the outside of Rolf's clothed thighs until he'd found the man's belt. He didn't stop examining him even as he unfastened it and stripped him of everything from the waist down. The only moment that he dared to break his contact was the one in which he had moved downward to place one very demonstrative kiss the top of Rolf's knee while his hands massaged his ankle and his calf. His scent was sweeter, more powerful now that his male arousal was revealed, a dusty pink flushed with blood between his legs.

“Rolf...” he tried between tender kisses, never higher than the top of his knee. “I'm sorry.” Kiss. “Tell me...” Kiss. “Tell me what you want.”

“I...” His voice was less controlled, open and matching with the way his eyes had become heavily lidded. “I want you to...”

“With my mouth?”

He swallowed and then nodded, a passive eagerness in his scent that had James' hopes high. Of course, it could not always be so easy. He held Rolf's feet in either hand, his fingers pressing over the arches while he leaned forward and put out his tongue, lifting Rolf's Beta-sized cock by the underside of the tip in order to bring it to his lips, kissing it to the sound of the Omega's hitched breath and a male sound of pleasure that was unique and emotional. He took his time, his lips wet and solicitous, his tongue amorous without—he hoped—becoming too overbearing. He'd sucked plenty of cocks before but Rolf's was the most handsome, he thought, and handsome was the word. He was built less like any of the Omegas the Alpha had ever fucked and it was this that truly intrigued him.

I must be out of my goddamn mind. Mate with him? Marry him? My father will kill me. A German? Even one who's a hero...

He couldn't think much further when he heard Rolf let out a light moan, his toes curling against James' palms. He was inexperienced and quick, his orgasm washing over him with a choked out little sound to accompany it while his body gave light trembles and his thighs instinctively closed around the Alpha's head, trapping him in a light grip.

“Mmmgh,” he tried, pulling back and taking a swallow of the spend that had ended up in his mouth.

Rolf, for his part, was bashful, one of his hands over his mouth while he seemed to contemplate what had just happened to him, his eyes unfocused and unseeing down toward the creamy pale of his legs. He was so distracted that he did not move or protest when James began to pull off his jacket, tugging at the German's tie and his shirt until he could slide all of his clothes off of him, leaving him just as naked as he was the previous night, though under far more favorable circumstances indeed.

“Come with me to the bed, Omega. Let me show you what kind of man I can be for you.”

He was shaking but it was not the tremble of fear but the tremble of anticipation—he was on the cusp of some wild discovery, an aspect to his humanity that had not yet been explored. He'd never. Not with anyone. He'd been through his heats before but he wasn't in one now—did he know what kind of sensual man he could be without instinct to guide him so forcefully? Did he realize how badly an Alpha might wish to have him like this?

“Do you nest?”

Rolf shook his head slightly, taking a pause before he spoke again. “N-No...I...I have never allowed it of myself.”

“But you have the urge.”

He nodded.

“Why don't you nest now? Get that bed ready for me and I'll lay you down in it. I know the Omega in you would love that...to be taken like you were meant to be taken. Isn't that right?”

It was this that had Rolf's feet finding the floor, his rump sliding off the desk before he padded into the other room, his arms moving to hold himself again. James, watching his pale little bum disappearing into the bedroom, found that arousal had done much to heat his body up but surely the little one was cold for the day was not at all warm and the stove's fuel had waned. He stood, groaning a little bit at the ache in his knees before he came to the door, fondly watching Rolf manipulate the heavy quilts and the sparse pillows on the mattress, naked and heedless to it while his mind focused intently upon the task at hand.

The Alpha stoked the fire in the stove, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible while he did it, hoping that his large presence wouldn't affect Rolf's concentration or his singular focus—make a nest in which he could be thoroughly pleasured and comforted. The smell of him strengthened in the smaller room, sweet and distracted with his instincts sated by the act itself. He watched him, lit by the light from the window as he climbed into the finished product, careful not to disturb what he'd crafted before he pulled one of the wool blankets over his shoulders and peered up, as though he just now noticed the Alpha in the room.

James kept his voice low and soft and just the slightest bit possessive. “You look comfortable.”

Rolf looked around him, his scent fluffed and content. “Yes...it is er...nice to know that it is possible for me...”

“It's been hard to hide so large a part of yourself.”

“Yes.”

He approached, coming close to the edge of the mattress before he settled himself back down on his knees on the braided rug there. He examined the nest. “It looks mighty inviting...though maybe you want me on the floor here still.”

“No,” he said, maybe a little too quickly for he bit his lip just after, his cheeks very pink indeed.

“Alright...I won't tease you about it. You tell me what you're comfortable with. Do you want it all? Or do you just want enough to...”

“You are going to bite me, are you not?”

“That's the idea. That's how I get you home. They always tell you that the Colonel can't fight a bite but once you lay one down, that's the one you get. And Rolf...” He looked at him seriously, catching his pale blue eyes. “I mean it. About you and me. I can't let you go. Not when you've done what you've done.”

The German shifted nervously, his scent faltering. “I am not worthy of your praise.”

“You're worthy of much more than my praise. If you want to move on from me when we get back state-side I understand...but I wish you'd stay with me.”

“You don't even know me.”

“You're right. But I don't have the luxury of time. We can have that later. And I wish you'd let me have that chance.” He reached out and Rolf did not shy from the touch to his neck and his jaw, warm and yielding. “Will you? Let me have that chance?”

His lower lip shook. “Ja.”

“Alright,” he murmured. “Now...how would you like it done?”

This time the flush was almost to his toes. “I, well I have never done this before, Alpha, surely you would know better than I. I...imagine there is some kind of a procedure?” He appeared at a loss. “When you ask if I 'want it all' do you mean...”

“Sex. The wet sort. The kind where I'm on top makin' you howl and right when you're spillin' all over the sheets, I sink my teeth into you and you're mine. You're mine and you're safe.”

“Safe.”

“That's right. I can always just bite you. Or anything in between there, of course. Maybe just my hands. Maybe I just oil you up between your thighs.”

Rolf licked his lips. “You are very crude, Alpha. But I think I will come to appreciate this part of you. I have already succumbed to my instinct of nesting and now I think I am curious as to the rest of it. How it might feel to—to have you over me. I have been thinking about facing my death for so long and it is like I forgot to have my fantasies...what I might like...”

James moved his hand to very lightly lay over Rolf's naked thigh. “I surely wouldn't mind finding out just what you like.”

A shaky breath. “Well then? What are you waiting for?”

He wanted to make it slow and so he did, rising up from the floor and crawling into the nest alongside his new lover who accepted his next kiss without hesitation. Though the Omega was unpracticed, his body held a tentative eagerness that was only too easily sensed. His movements were repressed and shaky but not hesitant. Not anymore. He touched at James' shoulders, his fingertips moving over his chest to press and feel his warmth and his heartbeat. His lips when he was kissed were so giving and sweet that the Alpha could not help but give out a low moan into his mouth as he opened and bloomed in sensual passion.

It wasn't long before he was able to press Rolf down into the nest, opening those white thighs around his hips and enveloping the sweet German in his arms. Every touch of Rolf's hands on him was fire. Every kiss sent starlight into his mind, brilliant and immersive. Emotions tumbled through him and he wanted. He wanted to be the one to show a hero what he was worth. How much he deserved to be treated like a prince. James kissed him languidly for a long time, sensing that this was a man who had not been kissed very often at all and was drinking it in rather ardently. He was so unbelievably aroused that the musky dulcet scent of a passionate Omega was hanging about the room as a transparent lacy veil of fragrance James was proud to have had a hand in forming. It was as though each and every kiss were a singular apology, laid out on top of one another, a begging and a pleading that Rolf wholeheartedly devoured, his body accepting what his mind resisted.

Time. Time. All I need is time.

He touched. He brushed with the backs of his fingers. There were no forceful motions. There was nothing demanding, only asking. Only seeking. When he was forced to pull away to find a suitable method of lubrication, he thought perhaps that when he returned, Rolf would have closed off again but he hadn't, his body language remaining open and ready to resume. Heartened, James kissed him again, whispering little words of affirmation and affection into his ear before he nibbled at his lobe and the edge of his jaw. It was enough of a distraction, he thought, as he dipped his fingers against the part of Rolf that made him gasp and sigh.

“Alpha...” he breathed at the breach and he breathed it again minutes later when he was breached by the blunt head of James' cock, the slow penetration marking the very first time this Omega had been taken. His thighs were tight around the Alpha's hips, preventing him from sinking down further inside though he was in no particular hurry, peering back at the way Rolf's toes were curled with his tension and how his face was pinched with the novelty of the sensation.

“Does it hurt, Omega?”

“N-Nein!” He mumbled out a few German words before he managed a bit of relevant English. “Oh...A-Alpha I...I don't know...”

“We don't have to.”

“But you're already...”

“That doesn't matter, sweetheart. It's just a little bit and I ain't gonna be upset.”

“Maybe...” he gave a little whine that had James' cock pulsing. “Maybe a little more.”

He reached to brush his palm over Rolf's thigh, petting up and down a bit to relax him before he let his weight ease down to press a bit more of himself inside. It was easy though Rolf was extremely tight, his body grasping around him, pulling him in. “Oh, sweetheart...you're gonna swallow me whole...”

“It is feeling very awkward.”

“Don't think about it.” He draped over Rolf's body, give him a distracting set of open-mouthed kisses until he could press in a little more and then a little more until he was as deep as he could go and the Omega was squirming in his arms, his body so full with cock and begging for James to move. And move, he did. The first few pushes out and then in again were excruciatingly slow, marked by Rolf's heavy, unsure breaths, but soon he was ready and the American couldn't help but pick up the pace. Just as he had been to kiss, Rolf was eager to fuck. He writhed, his mouth open and his breath catching on salient sighs, his hands searching over James' shoulders for purchase as he was rocked at an ever quickening pace.

“Hunh! Huh! Hah! Auh! A-Auh-Alpha! Alpha! Auh!”

He kissed at Rolf's temple, his murmured words a tad bit louder to drown the cries of his lover and the wet sounds of their bodies. “You do like that, don't you? You like it when I take you like this. You've been so controlled all this time. You've been everyone's commandant. Do you like being under me? Do you like losing control?”

“Hnnh! Hah! J-Ja! Jawohl! Jawohl, Alpha! Ahn!” His nails were digging and scraping into James' back, his whole form tensing as he bowed and jerked, his peak cresting deliciously while the Alpha mouthed the slope of his shoulder, teasing with his teeth until Rolf was shuddering and coming with a low, mesmerizing moan that ceased only at the sharp piercing of his flesh. He grasped suddenly at James' hair, the yank of it rough and the pain enough to send the American into a rutting climax, his jaw locking on the place he held his Omega while he spilled deep within him, emptying all of his passion and desire in the depth of his lover and his mate.

It took them a long time to recover, James compulsively licking at the place he had bitten while Rolf laid on his back, his thighs loose and open while he kept his eyes shut, his brows pinched while he slowed his breathing and touched at his own sweaty chest as if measuring his heartbeat. When, finally, they both were able to lay together, James gathered him into his arms and held him close, petting his damp golden hair without a word, just to let the whole of reality sink in for a moment. This man, this Omega...was his. No matter what he thought about it now, he could not take it back. He would bring Rolf home. He would marry him before they even got back to his parents' home in New York. His father's reaction to his marrying a German would be bearable, he thought, if only they had the marriage papers. He could hardly argue against a good, solid marriage, could he? And once he knew...once James told him about Rolf...well there was no way he could argue then, could he?

His thoughts were interrupted by the quiet and careful tired English from his Omega.

“I hate my father.”

James sighed. “Well...I guess if I was you, I'd hate my father too.”

Rolf's fingertips toyed with the hair on James' chest, following the pattern of the whorl. “When I was a boy, he took me to a place one night when they were making a big pile of things to destroy. Mostly, they were books from the libraries and personal collections that were discovered. I had thought at the time that it was good what we did. We were getting rid of the work of the undesired. Perversions. Evils. Thousands of books.” He swallowed thickly. “Books. That had the hopes and dreams and fears and emotions of real people inside them. All the humanity that can be found in the world good or bad or whatever...lost to flame. Lives within pages.” His voice here became sticky with tears, his scent altered from sated to a primal sadness borne of human love. “I was older when I realized that the fires...they never stopped taking. Instead of lives within pages...it was the whole lives themselves. People. It was so surreal to be here. To have these expectations placed upon me. To take them and dispose of them as though they were only books.”

He held the Omega a little tighter, craning his neck to press his lips over Rolf's blonde hair to kiss it. “You're alright. It's alright now.”

He drew in a hard breath. “I hate the exactness of cruelty here. How easily it is done. Unsparingly. You told me that I was already broken. It must be so for I have seen just how black and terrible a human soul can be. It is unending the depth of inhumanity...a misnomer, for certainly only humans could dream of such atrocities and then bring them to horrible fruition.”

There was a long quiet between them as James held and Rolf's silent tears wetted his skin. It felt like hours but it was perhaps only minutes when Rolf spoke again, his voice rough but steady.

“What will it be like in America for us?”

“Well,” James began, “you'll meet my mama. She makes amazing pie and she'll love you to pieces all golden like you are. She'll call you my little prince. I always had this idea that I was a knight and I would slay some dragon and rescue some Omega prince, you know. I always did like a happy ending.”

“Yes, your monsters and your heroes.”

“You know. You say you don't believe in any of that but I don't quite buy it.” When Rolf shifted to look at him, he peered back undaunted. “You must believe in monsters if you believe in darkness. It's the monster in a man's heart...and we've all got one. You've seen mine...and I think I've seen yours.” He touched Rolf's cheek, brushing away a stray tear. “And you must believe in heroes somewhere deep inside you...because heroes are what make happy endings and I know for sure you believe in those.”

“I don't...”

James let a soft grin come to his lips. “You can't lie to me, Rolf. I know you do. Elsewise you never would have tried so fucking hard to let them live. To let them all have a chance.” He watched Rolf's emotions flicker over his expression, raw and knowing. “You can't guarantee a happily ever after...but you could fight the dark. You could fight the monster. You could save them. And you did.”

He looked down at where his tears had matted James' chest hair, thinking and pressing his lips tight. “And I suppose you think you have saved me...”

“No,” he replied easily, nicking Rolf on the chin with his thumb. “You did that too. Now. Are you ready to go?”

Flushing again, Rolf looked about at the small tidy little room that had imprisoned him for so long, his pale eyes taking in every part of it from the stove to the water closet to the worn braided rug. When his gaze finally came back to James, he nodded resolutely. “I am ready Alpha. I am...free.”