Summary: Through the nightmares of WWII a half-breed belittled solider found someone so precious. A mix-blooded damaged, dainty, detainee locked away in a horrid frozen hellhole that only he saved her from, earning her endless gratitude. Mature content. No lemons

Rating: M because this is a mature story in a lot of senses, there will be hints to 'mature' situations, some strong language, and other things of that nature but there will not be any lemons.

|x{: Je t'aime, Merci:}x|
[.1.]

Summer fell, freeing them for the smoldering, cruel rays that it brought, the milder season they had hoped for did not last, though, and quickly gave way to a particularly frigid winter. So quickly, too quickly, what little clothes they were given could not warm their chilled bodies so they often piled together to try and generate warmth. Yet, if one was not careful when they awoke they'd find their socks missing and would have to go through the day with barefoot upon the solid, slick, dirt floor.

What was the point of all they were forced to do?

How were the meant to live on such little food?

They wasn't really any, and they weren't. There was no denying that, those who had arrived at the hellhole first did not know that, but those that were pooled in after the horror stories began to be whispered about knew what it meant when they were shuttled onto the carts full of smelly bodies and dead carcass to stand, squashed together, for such a long ride to who-know's-where.

None of them ever knew, the children… it was hardest to hear their innocent cries.

That was how the lovely blue-eyed maiden with loose curls of onyx had ended up in such a mess, for the sake of the poor, poor children. It was wrong what the Germans were doing, what the Nazis were, it would be worse—you'd be no better than them—to just ignore it when you knew what was going on, when you knew where your neighbors where vanishing to. Yes, she could have clung onto the false ideals that were spread about that they were just fine, that they'd return, that they were just in an area filled with others like them, no harm would come to them… but those were lies and only seemed true for a year or so, then the truth leaked out but so many refused to let heir happy worlds of delusion fade.

Fear, it's too powerful of a weapon.

All her life she was told she was 'fearless', rather, that she was foolish—always doing this and that when someone with sense would not, her mother always said, climbing a tree too high only to fall and break an arm, talking back to teachers when she was certain they were wrong, bullying the bullies of her school when they picked on others only so they'd turn their attention onto her and she'd return with a scrape or two. Her father would often sigh and say 'one would think you were a boy, darling' with the reckless way she acted, but she'd just smile and say she had to. He was proud of her, he'd say so often, and showered her with affections for her attitude.

There was no doubt, he didn't try to hide it, she was his beloved, his little angel that her cherished eternally.

She loved him, too, endlessly and just as he favored her to her brother, she preferred him to her mother—strange, non? It wasn't grand, she adored her mother; too, it was just if she was in trouble she'd always go running to daddy, he could always make it better. Always…

When the war started though, being the good Frenchman he was, he left to fight in it, kissing his prized wife from a land for east goodbye, his half-and-half daughter, and young son. If only she knew then he'd never be coming back, she would have held him all the tighter and longer while telling him a thousand times more how much she loved him.

His fair daughter, the exotic beauty she was, was lucky to be blessed with a trait from his side, his eyes. They were unique at that, too, they had a haze of gray to the blue, seemingly swirling around, and the more one stared at them the more one was charmed by her. That's why she could get away with her 'recklessness' for so long.

That's why when the German occupation started in her homeland, the only place she had ever been able to call her home, they were equally enchanted by her. Yes, her hair was the wrong color, her skin was an odd mix of oriental and fair, but her eyes were spot on. She used it to her advantage, she no longer lived with her mother or brother, she had her own place in the countryside—it was left to her by her father, a place they spent so many joy rich summers at. Now, Kagome Fortescue could not, would not, stand by and do nothing as those who she had known since childhood disappeared. Not when she finally found out what really happened, at least, what was rumored to have happened to them. Rumors or not, she could not in good conscious turn a blind eye.

Her father was a staunch catholic, what hell her mother had to raise to give her precious children names from her country's origin, and her mother had converted for her love's sake, which meant her children were the same. Had she not learned in all the sermons her father took her to, to 'love thy neighbor'? Was she truly the only one to take that to heart? No, the thrill she received by learning that others were out there doing the same as she regained faith in humanity.

She hid some, children, precious, innocent children in the farm outside her home. Her friends begged her to take them, in case they were to disappear, days later they did… but their children where safe, all three of them, and she swore to keep it that way.

A season passed and it seemed that all would be fine, another faded and no one was the wiser, but with one more alteration their luck was lost.

His name was Colonel Wilfred Gottschalk—she had no idea how ironic that name was until she learned German during her imprisonment, God's servant; she would laugh at the idiocy of it if it was not so sad. Colonel Gottschalk was a 'Jew hunter' in search of a few throughout France, in Lyon, that were unaccounted for… he had told her they could do it easily, that she could admit she housed the rats, or they could do it difficulty and the entire place could be torn apart in search of them. If done easily, she'd be spared. If done with force, she would receive the same fate as those that were surely to be found.

Needless to say, she could not taint her soul by complying, how angry he was—a slap across the face was the last thing she remembered before she heard the cry of the children being dragged out of the haystacks they hid in.

They were torn from her upon arrival at their destination and led to the chambers, she didn't know until later what happened there… was it peaceful? Was it painless? She hoped so, she prayed so, she yearned for that solace…

Oh, she was blessed, so many had told her that God had given her the great gift of beauty, natural, faultless, features that made her endearing. That beauty was just that, but it was a curse as well. Upon arrival, after being deemed 'worthy to live' she caught the eye of a certain General Jaeger—his name was not ironic, it was fitting. It was her eyes—he often told her in his drunken German late in the evening—that had caught his fancy.

Though it was hard to be, she was thankful to be deemed 'worthy' of his attention, and of his favorite Colonel Kaiser's, too. Life for her was easier than those around her, she did not get much more food than them, nor clothing, but she did not have to do the same label as them and was often in their abode's—their warm, fire filled homes. It sheltered her from the harsh weather of all the seasons.

True, she was forced to do certain activities she would never do—at first, she protested, at first, she thought death would be better, but getting beaten so often tended to break one's will. Even hers, was her father disappointed?

Her life was better than her friends there because of those terrible deeds she submitted to—not too often, but often enough.

Of course, she had another talent that they enjoyed seemingly endlessly, too. She had a pretty voice and knew many songs, she'd sing for the General, the Colonel, and the soldiers for their amusement. It was not so bad, though she hated it when she was forced to learn songs from their culture. She distasted the way German tasted upon her tongue; it was their language, not hers.

They were interested in hearing their comrade's songs, though they thought little of their Japanese allies, they were enthralled to hear her sing some of their folklores. She learned them from her mother, honestly, she was sure that was another saving grace. She looked different than those around her, she looked exotic, and that was why her beauty was enthralling. That's what the Colonel liked best about her, and he said so often.

That didn't stop them from constantly addressing her by 'hure' and little else. It didn't matter… none of it did. She wasn't sure how long she had been there but so many seasons seemed to have faded, what would become of her?

Would there ever be a life outside the hell she was lost in?

No… when the glacial winter came, she stopped her useless hoping—did that mean she stopped caring?

{~x—x~}

All his life he had been ridiculed because he looked different, because he was different. He was a half-breed, part 'Jap' and part American. He was fair skinned enough to pass off as pure Anglo-Saxon, anyone could have as jet-black hair as he, but his eyes were just off and so dark, almost black. He was teased on the playground because of them, they said the eyes were the window to the soul and the fact that his were so bleak meant he was soulless.

His mother, the stunning foreign woman, just smiled and hushed his worries away. She'd tell him tales of her country to make him proud of his heritage… and then she died and with her any chance that he'd be happy to be half of what she was full of. His father was a prestigious businessman and was away almost always, they barely had any relationship… he didn't know his son was bullied, he didn't care.

Finally, a saving-grace came to him, her. Hayashi Kikyou, a Japanese beauty who was made fun of because of her looks, too. That, and she was intimating, her cool attitude, her… everything, they found each other, they stuck together. They needed each other and no one else, of course. It was a love formed to fill the void they both felt, they needed just one person to accept them, and when they discovered that brilliant feeling they didn't care about anything else—perhaps it was love formed from need, but it was true thru and thru.

Pearl Harbor happened… and their lives were worse, he was half-enemy, she was pure enemy but they were lucky enough to be on the East coast and his father had enough connections that there was no chance that either would ever be shuttled away to those little camps filled with Japanese that America liked to pretend did not exist. They only had to wait a little while and they finally both reached the right age, they married without hesitation. First, though, he changed his name. The one his mother gave him was such a bother.

Forevermore, he'd be John Renoir. Kikyou didn't mind, she frowned upon it, but she shrugged all the same.

They were intimate once, their wedding night; it was the happiest either had been in ages.

It was the last bit of joy they'd share, he enlisted, that she hated but he didn't pay any heed to her screams. He had to, he had to prove he was American first and foremost, that his wife and him were Americans—she was born and raised for most her life in California, he was born and raised in Maryland. He. Was. American.

So, he'd go fight for his country, he'd prove that.

The hell he was certain would cease didn't, once his fellow fighters found out he was half-Japanese he got ridiculed over and over again. He wanted to go to the Pacific; he wanted to fight against them to prove it, to prove he wasn't one of them, but he was sent to Europe instead. The only solace he got were the letters he received from his wife, his joy, his love. The words that warmed his heart, the news that gave new meaning to his life—he'd be a father. Shock was the first feeling to cascaded through him, they had only ever been together once yet they'd produced a child all the same?

He would be a dad and never see the birth of his child, when would he get to meet him? Would he…? Yes, he found a new resolve to make it out of the damp, muddy, ditches. He wouldn't be hit by any of the bullets; he'd endure the grotesque conditions they lived in.

A year passed, he had a daughter, a lovely little girl he was certain and—almost as great—he earned the respect of all those around him. He became 'Johnny', their pal, the guy that had their back, the boy that was no different than them.

Seasons shifted, they moved from field to field, stalemate to stalemate. Three passed, three long years—he'd received pictures of his little girl and that was good enough. She was adorable; it was thanks to her mother, he was positive.

Then a particularly harsh winter came just as the worst letter he'd ever receive came.

His wife, his life… she died. She was dead. Dead. Dead. An illness swept through her, she was gone. Gone, he'd never see her again. His father, too, but he had a feeling it was his failing liver that did him in. His sister-in-law had moved to Maryland after he was shipped out, she'd take care of his daughter while he was away.

For some time he flirted with the idea of letting a bullet take him, to stop the pain he didn't know could exist but he couldn't, his little girl was waiting for him, a little girl he did not know…

Then they got orders to free a camp, the Germans were surrendering. How could humans do such things to each other? When they trekked through the snow they were welcomed by withering figures by barbwire fences and a pile of shriveled, dead, bodies frozen together, snow gradually covering the heaps and heaps… the soldiers that ran the place admitted defeat without a single gunshot, they waved white flags, they held their hands up in the air as they were pushed into a line.

These disgusting men… they were responsible for the hell that they were witnessing, why did they deserve mercy? Most of them were thinking that, perhaps all of them, and they were all freezing, shacking, and ready to leave. Ready for the war to end, ready to go home. A thud of snow fell from the roofs of one of the buildings, it made such a loud echo, someone pulled a trigger then another, then a symphony sounded off… was it murder? Slaughter? He wasn't sure, but he took part in it all the same.

No guilt came to him when he glanced to the fence to see the nearly lifeless bodies that had watched… no, could you really murder murders?

They were ordered to search the place before they left, to make sure that they had everyone, that no Nazi was trying to hide from them, so he did just that and him and the two he was with found two man—a General and his Colonel, they were startled and they had guns, just not drawn.

It didn't matter; their blood stained the white snow.

He turned the corner and found a girl that was barely anything more than bones, kneeling in the pure powder, staring aimlessly ahead. Even though she looked like death, she still had a certain appeal; he still took pause before walking over to kneel down beside her, "hello?"

That earned him her loose attention but she said nothing in return.

"Do you speak any English?" He asked and waited just a while, she didn't say anything, he couldn't take it. He pulled off his coat and placed it over her shoulders and slammed the bag he carried, removing his spare pair of boots from it and putting them on her feet that were so cold. She let him treat her like a doll without protesting, without responding at all. It was like she was a ghost, her eyes were piercing, and they won her attention when she caught them.

"You are free," he slowly stated, it wouldn't help if she didn't understand his words, but he tried all the same. "We've taken the camp… you will get to go home."

Her eyes widened some, just enough that he knew she understood his words enough, maybe not fully, "the… Nazis," would she like to hear it? Yeah, anyone would, "they are dead. All of 'em."

The first noticeable breath left her lips in a puff before she lunged forward to wrap her frail arms around his neck and dug her head into his shoulder to cry, "merci beaucoup, merci! Merci!"

It shocked him but… he didn't care, he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. She was a stranger but… it still meant something to know that everything he did meant something. That moment gave him a reason for the hell he endured for leaving his wife, to know that he'd never see her again, to miss his child's birth.

It was for the girl he held, for all the barely warm bodies just out of sight. There was a reason…

For that, he had to whisper back, "thank you."

A/N: I know this was rather bleak and a little angsty. I think I'm going to contiune this... or I may just change and leave it as a one-shot. I don't know. (A random rant follows, you may disregard it)
Putting that aside, I feel like a bit of a hypocrite right now. I usually disapprove of Kagome's eyes being protrayed as blue since they are brown (even though some artwork done by Rumiko Takahashi have them as purple/blue at times, they are still brown, I assume she just does that stuff for fun). But it was necessary for this one so... oh well.

Thank you for reading and pretty please review?