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Title: Black Edelweiss (Interlude)
Series: Zeitgeist
Follows: One Giant Leap
Wordcount: 1,400
Summary: Three days after Claire Bennet's televised leap from the Ferris wheel, Javier needs help coming to terms with what this new world of specials means for him...
Details: Minimal details due to inflation. Full details and warnings in main post.
PREV: Interlude 3 // MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Six
Konrad & Fritz—Konzentrationslager Auschwitz-Birkenau, Poland; January 1945
They had kept him apart from the other prisoners. Konrad wasn't sure how he felt about that.
It was certain in his mind they could only fear him for the aberration of nature that he was, or else detest him for who he had been. Still, whatever abuses he could conceivably have suffered at their hands paled in comparison to what he had already experienced. Given the choice, he thought he would much rather suffer the consequences of deserved hate than spend the time he had to himself contemplating whatever fresh horrors the next day would bring.
It was impossible for him to know how long he had been here. His best guess was at least three weeks, though it could have been longer than a month from the number of times they had come and taken him—taken him apart—and put him back. While he was on the table and they were cutting into him Konrad hid in those safe places he had carved out in his mind, and when that happened he lost all track of time. There were times when he had been tempted to stay there, remove himself from the present completely, living in memory and dream until they finally had what they wanted. That temptation grew stronger with each passing day. The only thing that stopped him was the fear that, if he surrendered his grip on reality, he might never find his way back.
Sleep was the only safe escape—safe, for while sometimes their knives would follow him into his dreams, at least there he was sure to wake up.
It was dark when something woke him suddenly. He lay still, waiting, listening. They had never come for him at night before, and for a moment Konrad was terrified that it was happening now. Then there was an echo to the sound that had disturbed his sleep, a sound he only identified hearing it a second time.
A gunshot. It didn't sound far away.
The door swung open a few moments later. Whatever Konrad might have expected to see, it definitely wasn't Friedrich Stahl. Fritz held a pistol in one hand and carried a bag tucked under his arm. As he barged in he quickly hauled Konrad to his feet, shoving the latter into his arms.
"Get dressed, make it quick," Fritz said, an alert eye on the doorway. "And I'd start with the boots, Kunz—because we're going to have to run."
In spite of the desperate urgency of his words, it didn't escape Konrad that Fritz had dropped his American accent entirely.
The bag held clothes, as well as a few of his personal effects, Konrad was happy to realize. It also held a gun. His hand shook a little as he checked the clip, slinging the bag over his shoulder. As they exited the building, Konrad saw the bodies of two guards lying in the mud. One man had had his throat slit, a wave of darkness spread over his chest that looked black in the moonlight. The other had been shot twice, once in the stomach, once in the head. The sight inspired a stab of sick surprise, but it wasn't something he was able to think about for long.
The gunshots had brought the attention of the camp down on top of them, and it wasn't long before they were spotted. Konrad was hesitant to open fire on the guards, mindful of the fact that less than a month ago they had been on the same side. These men weren't the enemy—or at least they hadn't been until now. Fritz, however, clearly didn't have the same problem, aiming each shot with a slow, deliberate care that in their present circumstances bordered on recklessness. It wasn't until Fritz stumbled, taking a hit high on his chest that Konrad finally managed to get over his reluctance and return fire.
Konrad took hold of Fritz's jacket and dragged them behind the shelter of a nearby building. In the poor light he could barely make out the outline of the hole against the lighter fabric. Swearing, he pulled the buttons open, peeling the coat back carefully to get a better look. As he exposed the skin beneath his friend's clothes, Konrad's fingers froze in sudden shock.
"Later, Kunz," Fritz admonished playfully, flashing a grin that stood out sharply in the thick shadows, "I'm flattered, but I don't share your proclivities, and now is hardly the time..."
Konrad didn't appreciate the joke, but Fritz was right about one thing. They simply didn't have the time to discuss the matter.
It was hours later when Konrad finally got to address it. Hours of running and hiding like animals in whatever hole they could find. Hours of listening for the sounds of soldiers and dogs in the darkness. Hours more of sitting on a damp log, arms curled around him as he waited for the adrenaline jangling through his limbs to ebb before Konrad finally found the words to confront him.
"You healed."
Fritz had turned at the sound of his voice, rough and quiet and confused, among other things. Turned to him with a simple raising of his eyebrow as though waiting for the rest. Konrad was more than ready to give it to him. Angry, he surged up from his seat.
"Hundesohn!" He shoved Fritz—hard—sending the other man toppling over into the mud, exhausted momentum almost carrying him over after. "You healed. Why didn't you say anything?"
And he didn't simply mean tonight. All those confused, terrified hours Konrad had lost questioning and fearing the nameless thing that had changed inside him—the idea that Fritz might have given him an answer—that was the real fuel behind his outrage.
"When, Kunz?" Fritz asked, standing up with an irritated expression. "When should I have spoken up? In front of the squad when it first happened? In front of the officers? Maybe you wanted me to step up and volunteer myself when they dragged you off to be carved up like a piece of meat?"
The brutality of that last statement was enough to make Konrad flinch.
"If I'd done any of those things, Konrad, I would never have gotten the chance to rescue you at all, and you know it."
Konrad took a slow breath, letting the anger cool before he turned to ask the question that had haunted his nightmares for more than a month—and of which he still almost feared to learn the answer.
"What— What is happening to me, Fritz? What—what are we?"
"I don't know," Fritz offered regretfully, "not for certain, but I do know there are others like us. Not the same, not like we two are, but with great potential. Great power."
Fritz put a reassuring hand on Konrad's shoulder, and for a moment it was in him to shrink away. It must have shown. Fritz took the hand away carefully, backing off to take a seat on the log.
"Ah, but I remember my terror when I stood in your place..." Fritz told him, eyes distant, "and my anger at the man who explained my fate to me."
Fritz snorted bitterly, shaking his head.
"Man. A child, more like. A foolish child with the power of a god."
And despite his anger, Konrad listened. He listened as Fritz spoke of his birth in England in the mid-17th century, and of his time spent abroad, seeking his fortune. He spoke of his period as a mercenary in feudal Japan, and how his life was changed forever. Fritz told him of his encounter with a man named Hiro Nakamura, and the painful death which soon followed, and Hiro's frightening power over time itself. Fritz spoke bitterly of how Hiro had guided his destiny, only to betray him and steal the woman he loved.
Fritz spoke of the many lives he had led, and of his travels and of the others, strangely endowed with power beyond understanding, whom he had met. Of his fascination with the concept of evolution, once it was eventually conceived, and understanding at last the idea that Hiro had tried to explain to him nearly two centuries ahead of its time. And Konrad felt he now understood the interest in Dr. Mengele's research, and when he ventured the observation, Fritz had beamed at him.
"Perhaps there is your answer, Kunz," Fritz said, with a smirk. "Perhaps Mengele found the superman at last. It must sting that he couldn't keep him."
PREV: Interlude 3 //MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Six
Translations:
"Hundeson" - "son of a bitch"
Series: Zeitgeist
Follows: One Giant Leap
Wordcount: 1,400
Summary: Three days after Claire Bennet's televised leap from the Ferris wheel, Javier needs help coming to terms with what this new world of specials means for him...
Details: Minimal details due to inflation. Full details and warnings in main post.
PREV: Interlude 3 // MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Six
Konrad & Fritz—Konzentrationslager Auschwitz-Birkenau, Poland; January 1945
They had kept him apart from the other prisoners. Konrad wasn't sure how he felt about that.
It was certain in his mind they could only fear him for the aberration of nature that he was, or else detest him for who he had been. Still, whatever abuses he could conceivably have suffered at their hands paled in comparison to what he had already experienced. Given the choice, he thought he would much rather suffer the consequences of deserved hate than spend the time he had to himself contemplating whatever fresh horrors the next day would bring.
It was impossible for him to know how long he had been here. His best guess was at least three weeks, though it could have been longer than a month from the number of times they had come and taken him—taken him apart—and put him back. While he was on the table and they were cutting into him Konrad hid in those safe places he had carved out in his mind, and when that happened he lost all track of time. There were times when he had been tempted to stay there, remove himself from the present completely, living in memory and dream until they finally had what they wanted. That temptation grew stronger with each passing day. The only thing that stopped him was the fear that, if he surrendered his grip on reality, he might never find his way back.
Sleep was the only safe escape—safe, for while sometimes their knives would follow him into his dreams, at least there he was sure to wake up.
It was dark when something woke him suddenly. He lay still, waiting, listening. They had never come for him at night before, and for a moment Konrad was terrified that it was happening now. Then there was an echo to the sound that had disturbed his sleep, a sound he only identified hearing it a second time.
A gunshot. It didn't sound far away.
The door swung open a few moments later. Whatever Konrad might have expected to see, it definitely wasn't Friedrich Stahl. Fritz held a pistol in one hand and carried a bag tucked under his arm. As he barged in he quickly hauled Konrad to his feet, shoving the latter into his arms.
"Get dressed, make it quick," Fritz said, an alert eye on the doorway. "And I'd start with the boots, Kunz—because we're going to have to run."
In spite of the desperate urgency of his words, it didn't escape Konrad that Fritz had dropped his American accent entirely.
The bag held clothes, as well as a few of his personal effects, Konrad was happy to realize. It also held a gun. His hand shook a little as he checked the clip, slinging the bag over his shoulder. As they exited the building, Konrad saw the bodies of two guards lying in the mud. One man had had his throat slit, a wave of darkness spread over his chest that looked black in the moonlight. The other had been shot twice, once in the stomach, once in the head. The sight inspired a stab of sick surprise, but it wasn't something he was able to think about for long.
The gunshots had brought the attention of the camp down on top of them, and it wasn't long before they were spotted. Konrad was hesitant to open fire on the guards, mindful of the fact that less than a month ago they had been on the same side. These men weren't the enemy—or at least they hadn't been until now. Fritz, however, clearly didn't have the same problem, aiming each shot with a slow, deliberate care that in their present circumstances bordered on recklessness. It wasn't until Fritz stumbled, taking a hit high on his chest that Konrad finally managed to get over his reluctance and return fire.
Konrad took hold of Fritz's jacket and dragged them behind the shelter of a nearby building. In the poor light he could barely make out the outline of the hole against the lighter fabric. Swearing, he pulled the buttons open, peeling the coat back carefully to get a better look. As he exposed the skin beneath his friend's clothes, Konrad's fingers froze in sudden shock.
"Later, Kunz," Fritz admonished playfully, flashing a grin that stood out sharply in the thick shadows, "I'm flattered, but I don't share your proclivities, and now is hardly the time..."
Konrad didn't appreciate the joke, but Fritz was right about one thing. They simply didn't have the time to discuss the matter.
It was hours later when Konrad finally got to address it. Hours of running and hiding like animals in whatever hole they could find. Hours of listening for the sounds of soldiers and dogs in the darkness. Hours more of sitting on a damp log, arms curled around him as he waited for the adrenaline jangling through his limbs to ebb before Konrad finally found the words to confront him.
"You healed."
Fritz had turned at the sound of his voice, rough and quiet and confused, among other things. Turned to him with a simple raising of his eyebrow as though waiting for the rest. Konrad was more than ready to give it to him. Angry, he surged up from his seat.
"Hundesohn!" He shoved Fritz—hard—sending the other man toppling over into the mud, exhausted momentum almost carrying him over after. "You healed. Why didn't you say anything?"
And he didn't simply mean tonight. All those confused, terrified hours Konrad had lost questioning and fearing the nameless thing that had changed inside him—the idea that Fritz might have given him an answer—that was the real fuel behind his outrage.
"When, Kunz?" Fritz asked, standing up with an irritated expression. "When should I have spoken up? In front of the squad when it first happened? In front of the officers? Maybe you wanted me to step up and volunteer myself when they dragged you off to be carved up like a piece of meat?"
The brutality of that last statement was enough to make Konrad flinch.
"If I'd done any of those things, Konrad, I would never have gotten the chance to rescue you at all, and you know it."
Konrad took a slow breath, letting the anger cool before he turned to ask the question that had haunted his nightmares for more than a month—and of which he still almost feared to learn the answer.
"What— What is happening to me, Fritz? What—what are we?"
"I don't know," Fritz offered regretfully, "not for certain, but I do know there are others like us. Not the same, not like we two are, but with great potential. Great power."
Fritz put a reassuring hand on Konrad's shoulder, and for a moment it was in him to shrink away. It must have shown. Fritz took the hand away carefully, backing off to take a seat on the log.
"Ah, but I remember my terror when I stood in your place..." Fritz told him, eyes distant, "and my anger at the man who explained my fate to me."
Fritz snorted bitterly, shaking his head.
"Man. A child, more like. A foolish child with the power of a god."
And despite his anger, Konrad listened. He listened as Fritz spoke of his birth in England in the mid-17th century, and of his time spent abroad, seeking his fortune. He spoke of his period as a mercenary in feudal Japan, and how his life was changed forever. Fritz told him of his encounter with a man named Hiro Nakamura, and the painful death which soon followed, and Hiro's frightening power over time itself. Fritz spoke bitterly of how Hiro had guided his destiny, only to betray him and steal the woman he loved.
Fritz spoke of the many lives he had led, and of his travels and of the others, strangely endowed with power beyond understanding, whom he had met. Of his fascination with the concept of evolution, once it was eventually conceived, and understanding at last the idea that Hiro had tried to explain to him nearly two centuries ahead of its time. And Konrad felt he now understood the interest in Dr. Mengele's research, and when he ventured the observation, Fritz had beamed at him.
"Perhaps there is your answer, Kunz," Fritz said, with a smirk. "Perhaps Mengele found the superman at last. It must sting that he couldn't keep him."
PREV: Interlude 3 //MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Six
Translations:
"Hundeson" - "son of a bitch"
