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xxi. YOU DREW STARS UPON MY SCARS

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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'BUT WHEN YOU TOLD ME THE WHOLE STORY,
I FELT LIKE THROWING UP'

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STALAG III,
LUFTWAFFE
ALLIED POW CAMP
DECEMBER 4th 1944

|| BEREAVEMENT, GRIEF, ANGER, IT COMES IN WAVES. Though many say it ebbs over time, even if it feels the soul may need to bleed an ocean. With Eyes that never blink, only to watch the world continue in this numbing sense of sorrow.

It was a feeling the young Major of the 100th had felt since stepping foot in Stalag III. Something that idolized, embedded, materialized itself deep within his depths—one that never let go. Egan was clouded with a bitterness, where thoughts were consumed by images of the life he had left behind—the life he had lost. Anger simmered beneath the surface as he thought of the inevitable.

A sense that Celeste wasn't with him anymore, a dread that laid upon him like a blanket. What little sliver of hope he contained faltered days ago—in those final moments of singing her birthday song to be exact...

So amidst the desolate grounds of the camp, where barbed wire fences stretched as far as the eye could see, Egan spent the last two days out in the cold. Keeping himself occupied whilst the rest of the crew worked on getting the radio repaired. During one of the many surprise check in's, camp guards had found their makeshift setup.

The major stood center of the barren ground, his eyes keenly focused on the patch of snow that served as home plate.

Arnie and Robert had taken up watching him from atop barrels they had found. Though much to Cleven's chagrin, as he believed Egan didn't need to be carrying on in this imaginary world nor have the encouragement.

Though it was winter, the sun's rays beamed relentlessly, casting long shadows that danced around Egan's determined form. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow, but he paid them no mind. The major was in his element, a master of his craft—counting the strikes with a grace that was almost poetic.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Egan exuded an air of calm that belied the caged beast within, simmering with relentless energy. His thumb twitched ever so slightly, silently counting each agonizing second that stretched into eternity. A storm brewed beneath his composed facade, every muscle in his body strained and coiled—-ready to explode into action at the slightest provocation. His eyes flickered with a fiery intensity—a tempest waiting to be unleashed.

Egan swung in a perfect arc every time. Maybe watching all those games did teach him something at least. As it continued, Cleven finally emerged from their shared living quarters— stopping momentarily to crack his back. He twisted from side to side, trying to ring out that last pinched nerve. Leaning hunched over the table for hours on end to fix the radio surly does something to one's back.

Ben wasn't far behind—the young man had taken to following him everywhere, needing that support of authority that Celeste had once given him.

Most often remarked that Ben was like Cleven's little mini-me. The major never paid much attention to it, he was far more worried about Egan than anyone else.

But it was the commotion at the camp's entrance that momentarily distracted Cleven from his intense focus upon his dear friend. It too drew Egan's attention, but only for a second before focusing to the game at hand. The newcomers were quickly forgotten—resuming his silent duel with the invisible pitcher.

The fresh wave of prisoners of war had arrived, walking in groups of their own squadrons with more airmen than a Cleven could count—but something was new about this lot. There were a few Tuskegee men that now walked amidst the crowd. Surely that was going to rile some of the men up.

But then, as if stirred by some unseen force, Cleven's gaze shifted, his eyes locking onto a figure among the crowd. His breath seemingly caught in his throat—a person he'd never expected to see as a POW. Celeste... it all her glory was before him once more.

"Well, I'll be damned..." he muttered beneath his breath. A smile barely creased his lips when the beaten brunette took notice of him. "They got you too I see..."

As Cleven spoke, Ben wore a look of utter confusion and disbelief, were his eyes deceiving him? Or was she truly standing there? With a light scoff, the blonde major placed his hands upon his hips—watching as the weary C-47 pilot slowly made her way towards them.

Daniels looked on with a mix of resignation as she pulled him towards this pilot. Mainly he was afraid of what this man might do seeing him next to this woman. There was a known fear shared among his men. But to his surprise, the pilot did nothing but wear an ear-to-ear grin. Even shooting a thank you his way.

"Now what took you so long?" Cleven uttered. But the smile his once wore slowly faded upon taking in the severity of her condition. What had happened to her? She definitely didn't look like this the last time he saw her...

Celeste, still holding onto Daniel's arm, let out a faint whisper of a laugh. Ben, with tears in his eyes, closed in the distance and hugged her tightly—whispering how much he had missed her and that he never once lost hope. "I'm here now aren't I?" She meekly whispered, though it seemed to strain the very essence left just to speak.

"I've been doing a lot of babysitting here with your men," he tried to make it as light-hearted as possible, given the state she was in.

The brunette merely accepted his try, flashing a brief glance his way.  "Well, I know someone who will be very happy to see you..." Cleven's words fell on her ears like a melody unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. She followed his pointing to where a lone figure stood—bathed in the soft glow of sunlight.

Ben's reassuring presence beside her was a mere touch, a grounding force as they moved closer. With her arms linked with Ben and Daniels, Celeste walked to the rhythm of her heartbeat—slow and steady. And then, like a whisper carried by the wind, she realized who it was.

Egan.

The name echoed in her mind, with memories long kept dormant flooding in. His familiar form - the broad shoulders, the curls cascading like a dark waterfall, and those peculiar ears —-sent a surge of longing through her veins.

Arnie's bewildered expression was a stark contrast to Robert's unreadable one. It was as if time had stopped, freezing them in a tableau of emotions mingling in the evening air. Celeste's breath caught in her throat upon noticing her men to side.

She had been lead to believe they were all dead, but yet there they were. Recognition dawned on Arnie's face first, his eyes widening in disbelief before finding his voice, almost tripping over her name as if it were a long-lost song. His moment of recognition was comical, almost endearing, causing him to stumble and fall off his barrel with a resounding thud, the sound punctuating the tense air around them.

Of course Egan wasn't in the least pleased by this. "Boys come on now." he muttered under his breath, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. Mimicking the stance of a professional player, his muscles taut with anticipation.

Those blue eyes scanning the landscape with a detached air—mind a million miles away. His thoughts then drifted to Celeste with all the commotion of the new POW's—could he bring himself to peak a glance? Only to be disappointed when she wasn't there? The image of her warm smile haunting him like a ghost.

"Major..." Cleven begins, before holding his finger to his lips to hush Arnie and Robert. Both men hold hands to their mouths, trying to suppress the urge to call out. The Pennsylvanian still remained upon the ground. But Egan doesn't react in the way Cleven hoped. " Egan.."

"Oh, what..." Egan muttered, a bitter tone lacing his words. He pretended to swing the imaginary bat, a feeble attempt to distract himself from the emptiness gnawing at his insides. Clearly, facing Cleven head-on seemed an insurmountable task for the weary major. But he persisted, speaking Egan's name once more, each syllable cutting through the air like a sharp knife.

"Oh for the sake...This better be good, interrupti..." Egan's sentence hung in the air as a familiar voice whispered his name, sweet and melodious, disrupting his train of thought.

"Egan..." His name lingered in the air, wrapped in a sweet familiarity that pierced through his reverie. Was he dreaming hearing that voice? "Egan," the voice whispered once more— piercing through the haze of anger and uncertainty that had build within him.

Egan froze, his heart skipping a beat as he felt a touch of recognition seep into his bones. This voice spoke his name like a benediction, a gentle melody that resonated deep within and tugged at the threads of carefully, guarded, emotions.

Slowly, he lowered his arms, the imaginary bat slipping through his fingers like a dream fading in the light of day.
Speech failed him, reducing his words to a mere whisper. A tremor ran through his body, fists clenched at his sides, whilst a sudden calm swept over him.

As Egan slowly turned, the world seemed to shift and realign around him, the shadows of the boys parting like the waters of the Red Sea, revealing a figure. There, Celeste stood before him, her presence a beacon of light like the day  when she had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts.

Her every breath a whispered symphony that echoed in Egan's soul. Her presence casted a spell on him, a melody that only she could compose. Now the ability to form coherent sentences had abandoned him, leaving behind a mere whisper on his trembling lips.

A subtle smile graced Celeste's lips, a subtle curve that concealed the storm of feelings raging beneath. In that smile, Egan found himself, a flicker of warmth that thawed the icy grip of uncertainty clutching his heart.

How many times had he imagined this moment, only for it to feel so surreal now? He couldn't shake the feeling that she was a mirage, a figment of his desperate longing. How many sunsets and rises had he waited through?

Egan stumbled forward, parting ways with Cleven as if brushing aside an insignificant obstacle in his path. His strides quickened, propelling him closer to the woman who held the key to his reason to live.

Celeste's gaze locked with her major, her eyes betraying the longing, guilt, love. Major John Egan, the man she had longed for, the one she had believed to be dead was there before her.

She slowly parted from Ben and Daniel's hold. But Daniel reached out to hold her back, fearing she may and quite possibly break from how small and fragile she was—yet gently pulled away.

Even as she stumbled forth, Celeste regained herself, with the distance between them seemed to stretch on forever.

Upon reaching another, the air around them seemed to thrum with unspoken words and emotions long suppressed. His hand trembled as he hesitated before reaching out, the action feeling monumental, like a pilgrimage toward a sacred relic. In this moment, Celeste was not just the war-worn figure standing before him; she was the embodiment of every cherished memory, every whispered promise that had sustained him through the darkest times. Her figure, though frail, carried the weight of battles fought, yet her presence was a balm for his weary soul.

Their eyes met, and the connection was electric, a silent exchange more profound than any conversation. The once bright, shimmering depths of her eyes were now veiled by shadows of pain and suffering. Yet, even amidst the darkness, Egan discerned a faint sparkle, a tenacious flicker of the vivacious woman he had loved so fiercely. That glimmer was enough—a testament to resilience, an echo of the life they once dreamed of sharing.

His touch was gentle, exploring the contours of her sunken in cheeks and bags beneath her eyes as if memorizing every line, every crease. Celeste leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as she savored the warmth of his hand against her cold skin. She appeared a mere shadow of her former self.

Celeste weakly lifted her hand, her trembling fingers skimming across Egan's rough beard. A hint of a smile played on her lips as she teased him about military standards.

"You know, they might have something to say about this beard," Celeste whispered, her voice shaky yet filled with mirth.

Egan's eyes, brimming with unshed tears, locked onto hers. "I think they would understand," he replied, his thumb caressing her cheek, committing every scar to memory—a numbing sensation sung at his heart. What had they did to her?

With a surge of desperation, Egan couldn't wait any longer and encircled Celeste with his arms. The weight of her frail body pressing against his—while the feeling her bones poked through the layers of clothes. Feeling every breath, every shudder that wracked her frail body.

Celeste clung to him, her tears dampening the fabric of his uniform—she had longed for this moment. To feel him once more; his warmth, everything... Egan felt a fierce wave of guilt wash over him as he held her. Feeling as though he had failed in protecting her.. in keeping her safe.

Arnie quickly scrambled to his feet, dusting off his clothes with a sheepish grin. "Well, if it ain't the one who left us all behind," he sarcastically remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Robert then playfully punched him in the arm, trying get the Pennsylvanian to read the room.

As both Celeste and Egan pulled away from another, he brushed away her shortened brunette hair—with the gentleness of his touch serving to bring her more comfort than she had ever known. As if he had been carrying the burden all along.

And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Egan leaned in and kissed her. His thumb gently pressed into her cheek, anchoring her to reality as if he feared she would slip away from him. Their lips met with a tenderness that spoke of a year past.

Their noses bumped awkwardly, mingling in a sweet, salty dance that tasted of tears shed and sorrows shared. Celeste clung to him—as in that kiss, she felt a sense of redemption, of healing that she had long believed to be beyond her reach.

Slowly they pulled away, their foreheads connecting together in the middle. "Your hands are so cold," Egan whispered, concern etched on his face as he held hers gently in his own.

Celeste's smile was gentle and knowing, her eyes holding a depth of understanding that transcended mere words"I know..." But deep down, there was a feeling that consumed her. Before either of them could say more, the quiet moment was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Arnie and Robert, who had been watching from the sidelines.

Rushing towards Celeste, the two men pushed Egan out of the way and enveloped her in a warm embrace. They were like big brothers to her, protective and caring in a way that spoke of the years of shared history.

The trio stood together in a circle, a sense of nostalgia and camaraderie filling the air. The French kiss crew, once lost, had reunited again. Despite the losses they had endured along the way, they were here, together again.

"Jesus Jefferson," Arnie exclaimed, taking a step back from her with a mock scowl, "You stink."

Celeste rolled her eyes, a playful glint in her gaze. "That's how you greet your commander?" she teased, with a subtle cough escaping her lips.

Arnie shook his head, a grin breaking across his face as he pulled Celeste into another embrace. "You know I missed your sass, But seriously, what have you been up to?" He pauses, pursing his lips, " And it appears I've missed some things." He then points to Egan, referring to the incident a few seconds ago.

Robert, always the peacemaker of the group, chimed in, "As much as I'd love to hear that, Let's save the interrogations for later. Right now, we should just revel in the fact that we're all together again."

Celeste faintly smiled, before she slowly glances around, noticing someone was missing. Then looking to Arnie once more, " Where's the young man?" Both men looked to another before sighing, " I don't think he made it..." In fact neither had seen him since French Kiss went down, where he remained adamant in staying with Celeste.

Egan, lingering on the fringes of the reunion, hesitated for a moment before making his way toward Daniels. The lieutenant, observing the major's approach, felt a twinge of apprehension, an instinctive tightening in his chest as he took a cautious step back, bracing for the unknown. Yet, in a gesture that caught Daniels off guard, Egan extended his hand, a sincere expression softening his features.

"Thank you," he uttered, his voice imbued with a weight of gratitude that transcended mere words. Daniels, momentarily stunned, searched Egan's eyes for any hint of insincerity but found none. Slowly, hesitantly, he clasped the major's hand, feeling the firm grip of camaraderie.

"You're welcome, sir," Daniels replied, his voice carrying a newfound respect. The nods exchanged between the two men were swift but meaningful, each acknowledging a deeper understanding. With that silent promise hanging in the air, they turned away from each other, with Daniels returning back to his men.

The French Kiss crew had finally reunited, a long journey for each of them, with trials and tribulations that had tested their bond, but here they were—standing together once more.

Celeste felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as she looked at her men. Arnie, with his quick wit and fierce loyalty. Robert, with his calm demeanor and unwavering support. And Ben, sweet and shy Ben. They were all there...

It wasn't long before Cleven butted his way in, "alright everyone, sorry to break up the party, but we need to go to the colonel's office."

Egan wrapped his arm around Celeste's waist, helping her navigate the long walk towards the German headquarters. He couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in her gait and the shallow, raspy breaths that escaped her lips.

The major felt a surge of memories as he supported Celeste towards the colonel's office. "Just like old times," he remarked. "Yes, except this time we aren't in trouble," Celeste managed a weak laugh before a fit of coughing overtook her frail frame.

Observing her fragility, worry etched itself on Egan's face like a chisel on marble. As they entered the room, Colonel Ed's initial greeting faded into horror at the sight of Celeste's battered appearance. The marks of the Germans' cruelty evident on her skin—he hadn't seen such cruelty.

"Oh my..." the colonel trailed off before rising from his desk, just as the German Major Gustaz Simoleit, entered the room.

The commander was a stark contrast to the American colonel—lean and impeccably dressed in his Luftwaffe uniform—his piercing blue eyes widening in shock at Celeste's state.

"Mein Gott, what has happened here?" Major Simoleit's voice held a note of genuine concern as he surveyed her condition. Egan's blood boiled at the sight of the man responsible for the atrocities that befell her. Stepping forward, he accused, "Your men did this to her."

Major Simoleit lowered his head for a moment, a flicker of remorse crossing his features before he approached Celeste. She slighted stepped back from him— "No, not my men. The Luftwaffe prides itself on honor."

That's when his gaze fell upon the patch on Celeste's torn uniform. Curiously, he reached out, gently grasping her arm to inspect it closely. A sharp intake of breath escaped him, "As I suspected, she was at a work camp."

A moment of silence hung heavy in the room as the reality of Celeste's ordeal settled upon them. "A work camp?" The colonel suddenly butts in, his tone slightly raised. "Why was she at such a camp? She's a POW.."

"The upmost apologies," he started, "from the paperwork I received from Lieutenant Haussmann, she was labeled as a traitor."'Egan looked upon him slightly perplexed, it seemed Haussmann had kept his word after all. Even though it took him a year to act on it.

The colonel moved to speak once more but Major Simoleit stopped him, " That is behind us. She is here now, so I will ensure she receives food and new clothes," he declared, a rare display of compassion. Celeste managed a feeble nod, her eyes reflecting a glimmer of gratitude, yet her strength waning.

"We have never dealt with a female prisoner before," Simoleit spoke, tinged with uncertainty. "But given her knowledge of the German language, she will be invaluable as our translator." Egan nodded, his protective instinct kicking in as he gently supported Celeste's weight.

The colonel's piercing gaze bore into them, "And what about boarding? Where will she sleep?" He inquired, his tone demanding yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. Beside him, the German Major stood with an air of authority, hands clasped behind his back.

Egan felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, his grip on Celeste tightening instinctively. "I'm sure we can figure some..." he began, but before he could finish his sentence, Egan interjected, "She will stay in my quarters."

Simoleit arched an eyebrow, a flicker of skepticism dancing in his eyes. "Why should I allow that?" His voice held a note of genuine intrigue, as if daring Egan to justify his request.

Without missing a beat, Egan held onto Celeste's trembling hands, his next words laced with unwavering determination. "Because... because she is my fiancée?..." The weight of the word hung in the air—the word ending in an upright tone of a question. With Celeste furrowing her brows in utter confusion. When exactly had she agreed to this arrangement?

Egan knew that referring to Celeste as a mere soldier might not carry the same weight, but the term 'fiancée' held a certain gravity that he hoped would sway the commandant's decision. For if this German Major had a heart like he showed moments before, he'd allow it.

Yet as Celeste stood there bewildered, another feeling took over, believing she wasn't good enough... to be anything to him... she had failed in protecting a shared piece of them within her. But Why was the nagging feeling of betrayal snaking itself in? Now that she was in his presence...

Major Simoleit studied Egan for a moment, a hint of realization flickering across his features. With a nod of approval, he relented—"Very well Major, she will be your priority."

It wasn't long after that where Celeste was booked into Stalag iii, her picture taken with new dog tags issued by the Germans in order to keep track. Made to hold up a slate with her name and rank written down upon it. Then came her time to be weighed with it whopping in at 87 pounds.

The German Major didn't seem to pleased by the state of her, but held his tongue. She felt like a cow being branded, merely moved to being called by numbers not names.

But he was kind enough to allow Celeste to use the bathroom in the German quarters. Noting it was not proper for her to bath outside. Egan stood absorbed in the solemn ambiance of the grand yet eerily sterile room.

The porcelain tub gleamed under the dim, flickering light, a stark contrast to the grim reality that unfolded within its walls. At the German Major's reluctant permission, Egan had taken it upon himself to assist Celeste.

As he carefully adjusted the water temperature to a soothing warmth, glancing over his shoulder to find Celeste standing hesitantly at the threshold. Her haunted eyes reflected a year of torment—whilst her delicate frame seemed to wither under the weight of unspeakable suffering.

Slowly, she stepped forward, her movements betraying a profound weariness that no words could convey.

With a trembling hand, Celeste reached out to touch the porcelain tub, as if unsure of its existence in this world of pain and despair. Egan's eyes softened as he guided her towards the water's edge, a silent offer of sanctuary in a world devoid of compassion.

Reluctantly, Celeste began to shed her tattered garments, each piece a testament to the atrocities inflicted upon her fragile form. Egan averted his gaze, allowing her a semblance of privacy in this intimate moment of vulnerability. But Celeste, consumed by a deep-rooted shame that eclipsed her physical wounds, recoiled from his gentle touch.

"No, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper Celeste's arms wrapped protectively around herself, a feeble attempt to shield her battered body from view. . "I can't bear for you to see me like this..."

Egan knelt beside her, his touch as gentle as a feather's caress. As she slipped into the water, the bruises blossomed across her pallid skin like a cruel tapestry, a canvas of torment painted by unseen hands. Egan winced at the sheer sizes of them—the deep purples, angry reds, and sickly yellows, his fingers delicately tracing the raised bumps that marred her once flawless appearance.

Feeling a searing rage ignite within his soul, Egan clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tense as if holding back a mighty storm. How could he have let his guard down and allowed this? His heart twisted with guilt and anger, a potent mix that threatened to consume him whole.

"What have they done to you?" He whispered— laced with a mixture of sorrow and fury. Celeste's hollow eyes met his, a silent plea for understanding in their depths. It was as if she carried the weight of worlds in her stare, a burden too heavy for her fragile frame to bear.

With a tenderness that belied the tempest raging inside him, Egan enveloped her into his embrace, his arms a sanctuary against the horrors that haunted her. "I'm so sorry.." he uttered shakily, planting his chin upon the top of her head.
Her shattered form melted into his touch, a fragile porcelain doll in desperate need of repair.

"When we arrived at Ravensbrück, it was the worst," Celeste's voice faltered, her trembling hands grasping onto Egan as if he were her anchor in a stormy sea. "The stench of death was everywhere, a warning of what awaited us within those barbed wire fences."

As Celeste spoke, images from the darkest corners of her mind surfaced, painting a vivid and harrowing picture of the horrors she had endured. The memory of a cart piled high with lifeless bodies, the echoes of anguish that reverberated through the camp, the faces of those lost to the cruelty of a world gone mad.

"We were reduced to nothing," Celeste's words were barely a whisper, a fragile thread connecting her to a past she now wished to forget. "We were stripped of our dignity, our humanity, our very essence. In their eyes, we were less than animals, destined to toil and suffer until our last breath."

A single tear betraying as she thought of Ana's fate. Why had god chosen her but not the 12 year old? Surely Celeste had lived enough but Ana was just starting.

Egan felt a surge rise within him, a burning fire ignited by Celeste's words. How could humanity inflict such unspeakable horrors on its own kind? How could they strip away the very essence of what made them human?

And as the last remnants of daylight faded into the abyss of night, he carefully dried her beaten and broken body off— wiping away the year of mud, dirt, blood coed upon her porcelain skin.

Taking to the side, he carefully unraveled the blood-stained bandages from Celeste's delicate hands—the faint smell of dried blood lingered in the air. With each slow and methodical movement, his heart clenched at the sight of the raw, red wounds that marred Celeste's palms.

His hands trembled slightly, not from fear but from the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatened to consume.

Celeste sat before him, her eyes downcast and hidden behind a curtain of poorly cut brunette hair. She remained silent, her breaths shallow and ragged, as if any word spoken would unleash the floodgates of her pent-up anguish.

Her hands, once instruments of grace and skill, now bore the cruel marks of her torment, a cruel reminder of the horrors. And the whole time Egan had thought the POW camp was terrible.

Egan reached for the jar of soothing ointment, gracefully given by the commandant,and gently began to apply it. The ointment glided smoothly over her skin. Celeste flinched slightly at the contact, a tremor running through her fragile form. Yet, she made no grumble—save for a barely audible gasp.

As Egan worked, his brow furrowed in concentration, where a myriad of emotions warred within him. Anger at the ones responsible for inflicting such cruelty, sorrow for the agony she had endured, and a fierce protectiveness that welled up from the depths of his being.

The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the soft sounds of Egan's ministrations and the gentle rustle of fabric as Celeste shifted slightly. The German guards remained stationed outside the door, with one checking in every so often.

Egan, noticing a strand of hair blocking her sight, moved to tuck it behind her ear, yet a reflexive flinch caused her to draw back slightly—a flicker of fear crossing her features. He paused, his hand frozen in mid-air—a pang of regret flashing in his eyes for his unintentional intrusion.

"I'm sorry, little lady," Egan murmured softly, his voice laced with remorse. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Celeste gently shook her head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite her discomfort. "It's okay, Bucky," she said, taking a deep breath. "I never thought I'd see you again," she managed, of which Egan took her hand into his.

"Neither did I... I missed you so much," His voice was barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of longing and unspoken words. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of sorrow and tenderness, met his, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. The air was thick with the emotions they both struggled to articulate.

But their shared moment was abruptly shattered by the sharp rap of the guard's knuckles against the door. The sound was jarring, pulling them back into the harsh reality that awaited just outside. Celeste took a shaky breath, her heart heavy with many burdens—as she reluctantly prepared to face the world beyond their private sanctuary.

With a sigh of resignation, she slipped into the new trousers and button-up shirt, the fabric feeling unfamiliar and foreign against her skin. As she dressed, her hand lingered on the worn triangle symbol on her old shirt, her thumb tracing the faded edges with a sense of nostalgia and loss. It was a symbol of who she once was, a reminder of the life she had known. The memories it held tugged at her heart, a bittersweet reminder of those she had meant along the way—times now obscured by the shadow of uncertainty. She hesitated, her fingers lingering on the fabric as if by holding onto it, she could keep the past alive just a little bit longer.

As Egan is about exit, he asks if she's ready to which Celeste simply nods—before ripping the triangle from the fabric. Quickly stuffing it into the pocket of her leather jacket before promptly joining him.

He led Celeste into the shared cabin where Cleven and the other men were already settling in for the night. Their curious glances made her feel small, their rugged features casting long shadows against the dimly lit room. It was seeing Daniels up in the furthest bunk that made her smile lightly.

The room was dimly lit by a flickering lantern, casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. The warmth of the fire in the lantern seemed to shy away from the chilling atmosphere that enveloped Celeste.

Despite having eaten her fill, Celeste was monitored the entire time. Watched like a hawk by Egan as he slowly fed her tiny crumbs of bread and soup. She would take them in a second, wolfing them down without a thought.

The biting cold outside seemed to have found a way to infiltrate the cabin, sending shivers down Celeste's spine as she stood by the small bunk. Egan took notice of her discomfort and without a word, began to shed his layers. First, his jacket, with him placing it upon the bed.

With gentle yet firm hands, Egan lifted his sweater just enough for Celeste to slip into it. She hesitated for a moment, feeling unsure, but the intense cold creeping into her bones urged her to accept his offer. Snuggling into the oversized garment, Celeste found solace against Egan's chest—-her head nestling into the hollow of his collarbone.

Her body finally began to relax, the lingering cold dissipating as she absorbed the heat radiating from Egan. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their shared cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Celeste folded her arms around herself, seeking comfort in the shelter of Egan's embrace, feeling safe for the first time since they parted. Each never knowing if the other was alive.

As Egan's arms wrapped protectively around her, Celeste closed her eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her into a peaceful slumber. For once, the harsh cold that had plagued her body was nothing but a distant memory. And there, they would continue this routine for the next 3 weeks at the camp.

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STALAG III,
3 WEEKS LATER
JANUARY 1945

     || CELESTE'S PATH TO RECOVERY WAS AS DELICATE AS A SPIDER WEAVING ITS WEB; quite intricate. Over the course of the last three weeks, she had transformed from a fragile bird with broken wings to a warrior with a silent strength.

Her once frail body slowly began to regain its former strength. The weight she had lost during her ordeal was slowly returning, each pound a victory, a step towards reclaiming the strength that had been sapped from her. Though food was scarce, it wasn't anything like the kind at the work camp. Once sunken eyes now glistened with a renewed sense of purpose.

Celeste still needed to be monitored during every one of her meals. The act of being coddled and fed like a child once again, particularly by Egan, left her feeling utterly humiliated. She couldn't shake off the embarrassment that gnawed at her insides.

The food wasn't much, most of the time, the soup had long grown cold—thin, watery broth offering little sustenance. Most slouched over the rickety wooden tables, picking at the meager portions of soup in front of them. Egan moved around silently, almost ghostly as he collected the used cups and spoons—the clinking of metal against metal breaking the silence.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the quiet, dripping with disdain, "Ugh, this stuff is disgusting," one of the men muttered—pushing his half-empty plate away with a look of disgust. Arnie and Robert paid no heed to the complaint, continuing to eat as Celeste slowly sipped the last drops of soup from hers.

She had learned to savor each spoonful of the tasteless broth, instead of scarfing it down. Using the reflection of the spoons, Egan would discreetly watch Celeste, ensuring she was coping. It was then he noticed her licking the remnants of the soup from her plate before setting it down gently. But this pilots complaints persisted—echoing his sentiments about the unpalatable meal in a despondent tone.

Celeste slammed her spoon onto the table, the sudden noise reverberating through the cabin— catching the attention of everyone present. Her eyes, vividly green and blazing with a fire borne of survival, bore into the man who dared to grumble. "No, you wouldn't," she retorted sharply, her voice cutting through the stifling air, "Be thankful for what you have. We survived on scraps the Germans deemed unworthy of their own consumption in that accursed camp."

Egan halted in his task, turning to face Celeste fully, a flicker of admiration dancing in his eyes. Across the room, Cleven abandoned his idle fiddling with the radio, recognizing the gravity of her words. What had the Germans done to her? Was that why she was so small?

The other men, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and horror, listened intently, realizing the depth of suffering she had endured.

"You don't understand hunger," Celeste continued, her voice unwavering. "The uncertainty of not knowing when your next meal will come. So do not dare to complain about what sustenance you have been given." And with that, most of the men didn't utter another word about the food being served. They ate it without complaining, taking every ounce in case they never ate again.

But it was not just her physical wounds that were healing. Celeste's spirit, too, was finding its way back to wholeness.
Among this, she hoped for that once dreaded monthly cycle to come back. Every-time she checked, leading up to the usual time—nothing was there. Just like all the times before when it disappeared.

It quite discouraged her, but Celeste has to reminded herself it had only been 3 weeks of continuous food and water. Her body needed to adjust or At least that's what Ben said. She had confined in him—mainly because he wasn't a blabber. Ben had occupied himself on reading books and medical journals, not because he wanted to become a doctor, but because he was bored.

Now the shy man, hadn't a clue in the world. He never grew up with sisters nor had dealt with much women—with Celeste being the only sister figure he had. So there wasn't much to offer.

Arnie would have told everyone in the vicinity, she knew him all too well. Though Celeste longed to confide in Egan, to share the burden of her loss and the weight of her guilt, the words remained locked behind a wall of fear and uncertainty. Would he understand? Could he forgive her? Would he even want to be with her?

She had noted the change in him as well, Egan was like an animal caged—once free and untamed, but now confined. Seeing his demeanor had changed dramatically, moving towards her way of thinking. Though, Arnie made sure to tell Celeste everything about Egan and his mopping around.

Most of the time in the mornings, Celeste would sit around and watch the others. Whilst her strength had returned, she still couldn't do regular chores. Often, she'd zone out, staring off into the distance. The fear she learned in Ravensbrück replaying over and over. The screams rang in her mind and the smells seemed to be embedded into her nostrils.

It was in the nighttime's, when Egan had fallen asleep way before her—that she'd watch the rise and fall of his chest, the way his features softened. Celeste wondered, had his mind been battlefield as hers was? Frankly, even with him sleeping beside her, the horrors of Ravensbrück shadowed her every move.

She'd often wake him up during the night on many occasions, panicking, crying—asking for Ana and even Maria until Egan would calm her down. She would beg him to find them, to bring Ana home. But Egan would tell her she was at a POW camp and he'd hadn't a clue who those people were.

Tracing his jawline with her finger, the stubble of his beard beneath her touch. Thoughts of a life beyond the battlefield filled her mind, a life that now included Egan by her side. The mere idea of a future together, of building a home and a family, ignited a fire within.

She pictured Nugget running around and perhaps there would be children running through meadows, laughter filling the air, their little faces reflecting a blend of utter glee. But then, a question nagged at her. How would their children look? Would they inherit Egan's piercing blue eyes, the same ones that seemed to hold a thousand untold stories? Or would they have her own emerald green eyes, reflecting the depths of her fierceness?

Oh, she wanted to tell him, and about Ana, the little girl who replaced what she had lost. But Celeste could never bring herself too.

Egan knew Celeste was hiding something. It was intuitive for the major. Naturally insightful, as well as from long term experience, he could just pick up the little signs. Vague hints and changes in the way the she acted told him a lot about how she was feeling. He had to be able to.

And right now Celeste looked to be in more discomfort than before. Though she had responded to his mildly pressing questions with regular sarcasm and curtness, there was something forced and off about the way she spoke.

Knowing the other was as stubborn as a crocodile (and from Egan's experience, he knew exactly what that was like), he had decided to stray away from a more serious demeanour, and try to lighten it up a little. If only just for a moment. He wanted Celeste to open up to him. After all, they had shared  in another, made love...

Yet, Celeste navigated Egan's relentless questioning with the finesse of a seasoned diplomat. His probing inquiries were met with her signature combination of charm and diversion tactics. Whenever he ventured too close to the sensitive topic, she sidestepped artfully, seamlessly transitioning to a new subject or feigning ignorance with impressive subtlety.

In the rare moments when Cleven and men were present, she seized the opportunity to steer the conversation in a direction that suited her elusive agenda.

Often moving gracefully towards Daniels, who was engrossed in a meticulous sketch. She admired his intricate drawings, a welcome distraction from Egan's relentless pursuit of answers she was not ready to provide.

"Your artistry never fails to impress me," Celeste remarked, her voice carrying a sincere appreciation for his talent. Daniels looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips as he explained the intricate details of his latest creation.

   So when Egan finally had the chance to get her truly alone, he took it. Encircling her, outstretching his arms in an attempt to keep her from trying to push past. Then he made her sit down, making her feel as though she was in an interrogation.

Celeste sat promptly sat down, her fingers intertwined, a nervous tremble coursing through her veins. She wasn't too thrilled by this sudden shift. She just wasn't ready yet, or least, that's what she kept telling herself.

It wasn't like the young brunette didn't want him to know, she had to tell him about what truly happened to her eventually. Of what she had lost 9 months ago—a secret she had carried with her like a heavy stone in her heart.

Surely, Celeste wanted say something since day one of settling foot into Stalag iii—But every time she tried to bring herself to, fear would grip her tightly. Whispering doubts and insecurities into her mind.

So as they sat there, on either side of the table, Celeste loudly cleared her throat. "Egan..." With Egan mimicking the same with her name, " Celeste.."

"I fear I have not been truthful. There is something I need to tell you," she began, her voice barely above a whisper yet filled with a quiet intensity. Egan's eyes, usually alight with mirth, now held a deep concern as he leaned in—waiting...

Time seemed to slow as Celeste felt the weight of her secret pressing down—making it hard to breathe. She had carried this burden alone for too long, and the thought of sharing it with Egan both terrified and comforted her.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, the words retreated, as though they were elusive butterflies fluttering just out of reach. "Um... I..." she faltered, her voice trailing off into the uncertain silence.

Egan's brow furrowed in confusion, his hand instinctively reaching for hers in a gesture of reassurance. Yet, she pulled away, a wall rising between them, built from the bricks of her own insecurities and fears. This took Egan by surprise as she'd been so close to him the past 3 weeks.

Her breath quickened, palms shaking and sweating. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in on her, suffocating her with their unspoken judgment. Celeste wrestled with her emotions, the internal battles raging like a stormy sea within.

"Celeste..." Egan says, reaching his hand towards hers again, " It is okay. I'm here." She heard his words, yet still hesitated. Celeste slowly takes his hand into hers—a faint smile dancing upon her lips.

"It is truly though?" It was in that moment, she realized it wasn't Egan's reaction she feared, but her own vulnerability laid bare before him. The fear of being seen as least then, a woman who couldn't even protect her own body or new life—all her scars and bruises, haunted her...

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AUTHORS NOTE
——-

Note that Celeste is very broken
.
Also I lied, you will see the person in the next chapter 👀
someone we haven't seen in a bit

3 MORE CHAPTERS EVERYONE!
THIS IS NOT A DRILL
I'm not ready to let them go though 😭

Once this book is over,
I'm going to spent more time on my Rosie Book.

MASTERS OF THE AIR: CAPTAIN JOHN BRADY idea;    
    Coastal patrols, mounted on horseback. They guarded the coast, searching and alerting to suspicious activity. They operated in pairs, maintaining a distance of around 100 feet from each other while effectively patrolling a 2-mile expanse.

Known as "Sand Pounders," these skilled individuals adeptly traversed challenging landscapes with remarkable speed and efficiency.

So what we think? My OC will be a woman, in one of these units