He was safe. He was safe in her arms. His head resting on Mieke's lap. Her hands stroking his face and running through his hair. Her lips deliciously trailing kisses along his swollen face, soothing his pain. Telling so much "I love you it felt like in Heaven.
No more pain.

"Wake up!" She whispered in his ear.

He hummed. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay here, wrapped in her arms, forever.

"Come on! Wake up!" The voice was more insistent.

Let me sleep Mieke, please I'm exhausted. Keep nursing me. Keep rocking me against your chest. I love your voice. I need your touch. Your scent is marvelous. Mieke I love you, let me rest on your thighs for a while.

"Wake up bastard!" The voice barked.

A fist crashed on his jaw, the taste of blood invaded his mouth. Again.
He opened his eyes, at least he tried. His swollen eyelids barely allowed him to see anything. Whatever, his sight is so blurry.
He grunted. The shadow in front of him was not Mieke. Obviously.
He spit some blood out, the coppery taste didn't leave his mouth.

"Speak asshole!" The man ordered, sending another punch in his temple.

The way the man was destroying his face taught him he was not the same who knocked him down. And hit Mieke and frightened their baby daughter.

Bree!

He clenched his teeth, not from pain, he didn't feel anything anymore. His face and body were wrecked, smashed in pieces after being beaten up for hours.
He clenched his broken jaw from rage.

Anderson.
That's how he had introduced himself
before accusing him, crossing the threshold of his fucking house to trample his life and ruin all his hopes for happiness.
He swore he would kill him. As soon as he would have his hands freed from those handcuffs which tied his wrists behind his back.

"Mieke..." he mumbled, worried to death about the fate for his family.
His wife and baby.
He only could remember the awful sound of their cries.

FUCK!

"Speak louder! What's your name!"

Stefan's head tumbled and jerked under the relentless punches of the other man in black.

Schmidt. Or something like that. Sounded more German that Australian.

"My name is Stephen Courtney. My wife name's Mieke and our daughter's is Brittany. We left London two months ago."

The man dug his fingers into the scar that ran along his abdomen.
"Where this scar comes from?"

"I had surgery when I was 12 and the scar became infected. Surgeons had to operate again before I died from blood-poisoning." He repeated for the hundredth time.

"You'll better have died then. It'd have save me those bruises on my knuckles." Schmidt rubbed the back of his hands.

He silently asked what he had to do next, glancing at his supervisor who waved his hand in disbelief.

"Get rid of him. He's useless. He won't speak today."

Schmidt drew a devilish smirk on his face and slammed his feet on the edge of the chair where Stefan was tied; the tip of his shoe threatened his crotch.

"We'll see if he'll be more eloquent when his pretty woman and baby girl will receive the same treatment."
He bent down to stare deeply into Stefan's widened eyes.
"We always get what we're looking for."

Mieke! Bree! NO!

Before Stefan could utter the slightest word, Schmidt hit him one more time in the face, then pushed the chair backward, knocking it over.
Stefan fell on his back, the back of his head crushing hard on the ground.

Knock out.

*

"Stefan!"

He thought he had heard his name in the distance.
Mieke was calling his name. His real name. Her voice sweet and clear in his mind.

Her lips.

He was floating in limbo, church bells echoing in his skull, hurting like hell.

"Stefan!"
Her eyes. Her sparkling dark brown eyes.

He slowly opened his eyes, fluttering under the bright lights of the ceiling, adding more flashes and pain under his eyelids.
Godammit! His head!

He managed to lift his hand -the one which had not been broken by Anderson's heel- and pressed it on the side of his head, where some vicious monkey was playing drums.

"Stefan!" The voice was full of hope and relief.
Bree. His baby. His doll. Her fatty hands gripping his stubble.

He kept his forearm crossed before his eyes, so he eventually could see something. Or block another punch.
The last time he let his brain lure him with some bittersweet memories of his wife and the promise of her hands on him, he had a hard time.

Waiting for his sight to become less blurry, he noticed he was lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position.

Bree. Her wiggles and giggles when he attacked her belly buton with kisses.

"Daddy!"

He leaned up on his elbow, scanning the room where he had obviously been thrown roughly. His shirt was laying next to him, torn in pieces and covered by -his- blood.
That was it. His brain was fucking with him again, spreading salt on his wounds.
Except from having slept for years, there was no chance he could have heard his daughter calling him.

He was losing his mind, alone, the bars of his filthy cell for unique company.

He gathered the pieces of his limbs together and sat down, his arms crossed around his knees, his head between them, rocking back and forth.

Half past bunny time,
'Possums by the moon;
Tea and bread-and-honey time,
Sleep-time soon.

Things that poets pant to see,
The beautiful, the true,
Are nothing to the phantasy
The closed eyes view.

The poem Cora taught him worked so well to have the little girl asleep within the minute, his deep and low voice singing the lullaby again and again, his stare savouring the slightest whimper, sight, suckle of the bun of love sleeping like a stone in the home-made crib, her tiny hands fisted each side of her cutie face.

The song told the truth, he closed his eyes and let his brain roll up the memories of his short, too short happy life.

Noises and ruckus suddenly came from the other side of the door which separated the cells from the offices.

"Let me see him!" A voice loudly barked.

Muffled voices tried to calm down the hysterical screams.

"I won't calm down until you let me see my husband!"
The tone was beyond hysterical and he could hear stationery flying through the room and crushing down the ground. Or the wall.

The door slammed open and Mieke rushed inside.

"Mieke! "

He jumped to his feet and stumbled to the bars he grabbed for balance. His injured body was screaming out loud but he barely noticed.
Reaching his hands out, he caught both sides of her head and crashed her to his lips. Tears soaked his palms and he couldn't tell if they were hers or his.
Mieke hooked his wrists, still red marked from the cuffs. But nothing mattered. She was there.

She was there.

Pulling back, she roamed her eyes all over his face and upper body, before locking her stare into his.

Never leave me again. Never look anywhere but into my eyes.

"What have they done to you?"
Her fingertips running lightly over his bruises and cuts, instantly healing his wounds.

"What have you done to him?" She yelled at the cop standing in the door frame, not bothering to even glance back.

Brushing the pad of his thumb across her swollen lower lip and the purple bruise on her cheek, he whispered, pulling her closer, forehead touching between bars.

"What has he done to you..."
Rage ran through his veins and he unwillingly tightened his grip on her neck.

"Mieke how are you? Where's Bree?"
He inquired, praying whatever God who was listening they were safe.

"Cora's looking after her. She's fine. She missesyou. I've been tracking you for days! Lizzy helped and found out you were thrown in jail yesterday. I've moved Heaven and earth to find you..."
She swallowed back a sob.
"I thought you were dead. Stefan, I thought I'd lost you."
She buried her face in his bare chest and stopped breathing, preventing from burst into unstoppable tears.

"I didn't know what to do. " she hugged him tighter. "What should I do?"

"Mieke" he couldn't help but kissing her one more time.
"They said I am an alien enemy. They don't believe in our story. They said they'll send me to an internment camp, outside Sydney. In Hay or Cowra I don't know."

"No!" Her voice broke. She couldn't holding back her tears and affliction.

"Ma'am, you have to leave now." The cop behind them anxiously said.

"No!" Stefan gasped, his lungs suddenly empty with air.

He wrapped his wife, the reason he was still alive, the voice which kept him from giving up, melting their bodies together despite the cold bars that crashed his chest.

She cupped his face, sealed her lips on his, terrified to be separated from him again.

"I swear, I swear I'll do everything I can to have you back home."

"Ma'am, please, don't force me to..." the man was losing patience, glancing
constantly through the door. Schmidt, or worse, Anderson popping up in the police dept. office will have him without job and likely without life for letting the woman in.

"No!" Stefan yelled at him. "She's leaving."
The last thing he wanted was his wife
mauled before his eyes. NOT again.

"Mieke, please, go."

"No!" She clung to him desperately.

"Mieke..." He roughly slammed his mouth over hers then pulled back.
"Go... Now ."

"NO!" She was drowning in her own tears, gripping his hands.

"Mieke, please..." he forced her intertwined fingers off of his, but she clawed them back.

"Mieke..." he begged her.

The police officer walked behind her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back with all the force he could.

"NO! Stephen!" Her cry was heartbreaking, Stefan wished he was dead instead of watching his wife being snatched away from him.

"I'll never stop! I'll never stop looking for you!" She struggled to reach out a hand towards him.

"I know" he mouthed, snapping her eyes and face as she was dragged back by the policeman.

Their fingertips touching a last time before the man violently yanked at Mieke's body, throwing her out of the room.

"I LOVE YOU!" she howled before the door slammed shut.

"I know..." Stefan's grip loosened around the bars, allowing his blood to finally reach his white knuckles. He slowly crouched down, his head sliding down the bars and sat heavily on the ground.

"I know." He whispered once more before cracking in tears, his palms crashed on his face as he screamed and cried his soul out.

*
Mieke knew exactly what she had to do. Leave no stone unturned, shake every bell she'd find, doing the impossible to have her husband back.

She already lost a husband, she wouldn't let Bree grow up without her father. And beyond that, he was her love, her husband. Him.

She ran, days and nights, in every place in Sydney and beyond. She talked to every single personStefan met. From the worst suspicious fella who dabbled in the black market, smuggling or Chinese mafia for sure, Stefan met while doing deliveries, to the sexiest whore walking the streets around the docks, where he had his habits hanging out with Marvin.
Every single soul.
Mobsters offered their help, planning an abduction or whatever could have Stefan out from his jail. Too dangerous, Mieke didn't want to have him free but dead. Or her family forced to be on the lam forever.

The prostitutes were united as one, saying Stefan was the most respectful and honest man they'd ever met.

"Don't worry darlin'. He was only here to have a drink or two with Marvin. Marvin had some fun with Marla but your hubby, ma chérie... Gosh he was such a treasure. He chatted with all of us, called each girl by her nickname, listened to our stories. He always treated us like human beings, which is not very common in our job. But he never had a look at one girl anywhere but in the eyes. Never touched or desired anyone of us. It's a shame, you know... such an handsome man. But Stephen had only one woman in mind, you lucky girl. He's crazy in love with you, it's written on his face. You got his heart, and I can easily understand why." Judith, a Jew who left France when things were turning into shit, told her, wiping the tears from Mieke's cheeks.

She apologized for not being more helpful, but gave Mieke good tips about Detective Anderson's bad, filthy habits when he paid them a visit. Enough to ruin his reputation and name for the next decade, and maybe make him think twice before sending Stefan in one of those awful internment camps.

Mieke was beyond exhaustion and anxiety and accepted the shot of whiskey Judith had offered.
She was trying to gather all the pieces she had in her brain but every lead came to a deadlock.

She said no to the bootleggers.
The lawyer Lizzy sent her to, said she had to prove her husband was not a Nazi nor a SS. An average German citizen would have worked, but a Captain from the SS army would be difficult to defend before the Immigration court.
She planned to call or send a message to the Kaiser, the only one who knew the truth and whom words could count, if he was still alive. But all the communication means to Europe like Phone calls or telegrams were reserved to the military needs and a message by mail was too risky, the Kaiser would likely never receive her request, or his answer would never arrive to her.
She couldn't even consider going back to the Kaiser's house, she never would put her baby into such a trouble. She -they- left London purposely to bring their daughter away from the war, no way she going back.

Bree. She had entrusted the little girl to Cora for too long, her painful and swollen breast screamed to go back home and breastfeed her baby.

She cut short the soliloquy Judith was into, catching only few words about Marvin being so gentle despite his appearance.

Marvin. He could have been the key, she could have given him the letter before he sailed off to London, and one of her contacts there could sendthe message to the Kaiser. Safely.
But he was gone. They had celebrated and said their goodbye two days ago.

Bad timing.

"I'm sorry I have to go. Thanks for your help Judith. And for the drink." She sadly said, drawing a line at her last hope. That damn war would end at one point and Stefan would be free then. It was just a matter of years.

*

Stefan had spent the last three months to dream.
Dream of his wife, forcing himself to draw the outlines of her face and curves in his head, practically feeling them under his palms.
Dream of his baby girl, trying to figure out how she could look like, what she was able to do, what her babbling and her laughs could sound like.
Dream of the better days he imagined with Mieke, talking about how much kids they would want, sharing the names they loved, building solid foundations for their family.

Dreaming. There wasn't much to do in the internment camp they sent him to.
And learning foreign languages.
The camp was full of Jewish, German, French and Italian prisoners of war.

Barracks accommodated 12 men, his homed 6 Italians, 3 Germans including himself, 2 Frenchies, and one Aborigine.

Stefan spent days reading the few books available in the camp, mainly the Holy Bible and the Torah. He read again and again the French version of Nietzsche's "Beyond good and evil" his roommateJean gave him.

He talked at length about that disgusting whiff of racism Australia applied to both native or refugees, who weren't "white enough" for this soil.
He couldn't stand those 'white supremacy' theories which reminded him the Führer's so bad.
Why, by all the Gods, why human beings couldn't be considered as such? They all had one heart, two arms and two legs, coloured skins or religions didn't make any difference for him.

Tjupurrurla, an Australian native which skin was black as coal, told him how white people stole the land of his ancestors, banishing them from their own ground. He told him about the British settlers raping native women to father bastards, mixing white and black blood to get rid of the black part. He told him how they forced those children in re-education camps, to teach them the right way to be a good citizen, ignorant of their own mothers, languages and traditional cultures.
Tjupurrurla ended up in this camp for having hidden the children of his two sisters, both raped by white landowners. His sisters were killed, their children sent to the camps. He has never heard from them since.

Stefan found somewhat funny that primal fear of the British colonists to be stolen the land they first stole.

Heinrich Spielman, a German citizen opponent to the Nazi regime, tried his luck in Australia, after all his family and Jewish friends were killed, himself threatened to be sent in a concentration camp. The spelling test all the immigrants have to pass wasn't supposed to be a problem, he spoke fluently 5 languages, including English. But that sneaky Australians didn't want him and the spelling was done in a lost gaelic scottish language. He failed and was sent to this camp.

Damn, Australia was not that fair...

Stefan avoided talking about his story, not knowing if he could trust those guys. Last time he confessed his real identity, he had to pay for it.

He didn't talk about him but he couldn't stop talking about Mieke and Bree. His beloved family.
It hurt so much but helped to keep his feet on the ground and hope. Turning mad was easy here and he witnessed several desperate men make attempt to their own lives.

He held onto a small note Mieke managed to send him. The police officer in charge with his relocation to the internment camp was a regular user of Judith and the girl's services and was promised the moon if he passed the envelope on to him. Which he happily agreed, ignoring the consequences if he was caught.
Mieke joined a picture with the note. One Cora took while their Sunday walk, he loved have a stop on the Harbour Bridge and stare endlessly to the Parramatta river. They decided to take a picture each Sunday, so they could see how Bree would change weeks after weeks.
No wonder why the pic looked so old, Stefan stared at it hours a day, stroking the fragile paper, when not hiding it right on his chest, where his heart beated.
The note said Mieke had a plan and ordered him to keep hope and wait.
Which he did.

He imagined Mieke, all day long, and guessed what she was doing, taking care for Bree, likely finding a job as a teacher or translator for foreigners. He wanted her to move in with Cora, he couldn't stand to know her alone.

She would send letters he would never receive, he wrote letters he could never send.

Until that day of May, a Thursday when he received one.

"Courtney!" The guardian called roughly. "It's time."

Stefan grabbed his bag. Nothing he really cared but a pic of Mieke holding Bree, both wrapped in his arms, the letters he wrote to her, and the one he recently had received.
The ultimate mail that explained everything. And had him freed today.

"Marla will be so sad once Marvin is gone."
Mieke startled. Judith was French, but she knew the tenses.
"He left a couple of days ago, doesn't he?" She inquired.
"Darlin', the boat is been docking for two days now. Something went wrong with the engine, but they finally fixed it. Marvin is upstairs right now, thrusting his goodbye deep inside Marla!" Judith laughed.
A split second later, she rushed in Marla's room, roughly interrupting their 'goodbye' but there was not a second to be lost.
Marvin offered to stay and help in whatever way hecould but Mieke had all planned. She needed him on board and kick the captain and his staff on the boat and off the docks. And waited.

Waited for weeks for the ship to travel back to London. Waited for months the precious letter came from the Kaiser, who was still confined in the house with his wife.

Kaiser Wilhem read the handwritten letter, showed Hermine the pic of the family which was blessed with happiness then, and finally told his wife the truth he had kept secret since, even to her.
The letter the Kaiser wrote wore his recognizable German's style handwriting along with his wax seal.
All he clearly explained clearing Stefan Brandt's name. Their friendship, how he protected and saved Mieke, despite he knew she was Jewish and a spy for the English crown. How Stefan disobeyed direct orders he received from Heinrich Himmler himself. How he shot SS officers to escape the house, saving his life, jeopardizing his plan to drive him to hospital. How he hated the Nazi's theory and what the Führer planned for his own people. How loyal and fiercely patriotic Stefan was to his country, until he realized his country was wrong and mad. How himself was convinced Stefan would be the best citizen Australia could ever dream of, ready to fight if the cause was fair.

The mail traveled to Australia by air, safe in an English military aircraft. A frightened-to-fly Marvin in charge with delivering the precious letter personally to Mieke. The Kaiser made sure it arrived as soon as possible, proud to show he had still some power.

It didn't last long before Mieke and their lawyer had this clue registered before the Immigration court, which ruled in favour of Stefan Brandt. They also blamed head detective Anderson for his obviously non authorized methods and his deviant lifestyle.
Judith insisted to testify in court.

The judge stomped his hammer and stamped the release notice for citizen Stephen Courtney, the only one condition the judge imposed was to keep this name, and ordered Mieke to keep all this waste secret, to save Australia's Immigration department's face from shame.

And this was it. The moment he was waiting for so long.

His sight was blurry as he walked, like through a dark channel, Mieke was waiting for him at the other side, wrapped in the warm sunlight.
He barely realized he was outside, free, nothing really mattered but his wife and daughter, waving at him only few steps ahead.

He stopped in front of Mieke, marveling at her perfect radiating face, glanced only once at Bree, babbling in her arm.
He dropped his bag and hugged the loves of his life, so tight he couldn't breathe nor speak.
He nuzzled his face in the crook of Mieke's neck and cried.
He just cried. Without restraint nor shame. He cried his eyes out, clung to his wife, his strong and brave heroin. His little soldier. He cried like he never had cried before, enough tears to competewith the Parramatta flows, enough to cover Victoria desert in water.
He cried the three months of his daughter's life he would never make up. He cried the time lost with his family, the unfairness of his fate. He cried the tears his wife had cried before him.

Mieke just rocked him, she would have rocked him for eternity if he had needed. After tears came more tears, then the flood dried up.
She cupped his soaked face and gently wiped his cheeks with her palms.

"Let's go home." She whispered.
She was not crying. She was just wearing the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.