Chapter Text
1960
The sun had not yet risen over the once war-torn city of Berlin.
The shadows of night still cloaked the divided city, its citizens still in bed. The few who were still awake were the guards by the Brandenburg Gate, making sure the borders between East and West were under supervision. Some drunkards who'd spent all night at local bars were stumbling to get home through the city's streets, their pace slowed down by their intoxicated state.
These were the only souls awake at this hour.
Along with Major Ronald C Speirs.
Ron lay awake in bed, flat on his back, his eyes drilling holes into the ceiling. He had slept in fits throughout the night, and now remained awake; his mind occupied by thoughts and memories. He had hoped that in accepting this new position, in moving to this country, he would be able to start fresh, be able to escape the haunting sorrow that encased every part of his old home back in the States. And it seemed he had, at first. His job and the new environment around him had given him enough distraction that it seemed like he would finally be able to move forward from the pain.
From the pain of losing her.
But time does not heal all wounds, as he found out. And neither does moving abroad and becoming the governor of a prison that holds some of the most notorious Nazi war criminals. The nights were the worst. Vivid dreams took hold of his subconscious. Images not just of the war, of the darkness of Normandy, of the white snow mixed with blood and ash in Bastogne, of the emancipated victims of the concentration camps. But also images of soft blonde hair done in curls. Of baby blue eyes that pierced his soul. Of a dimpled smile and a heart-skipping laugh. Of soft, healing hands holding his. Of a woman, equally as determined as she was compassionate, as brave as she was beautiful.
A woman he lost 5 years ago.
How has it gone by so fast, Liz? 5 years without you.
Ron sits up, his brown hair, usually gelled and combed to army standards, now wavy and messy, falling fluffy in front of his tired eyes. He didn’t see the point in trying to go back to sleep. He wasn't on duty today since it was Sunday, one of his few days off.
Ron took a deep sigh as he got out of his bed, and walked out of the room, the wooden floor creaking with each step. As he entered the hallway of his tiny apartment, he stopped momentarily to peak into the room next to his, to check in on the precious occupant inside.
She lay snuggled up in her tiny bed, her blonde hair messy and mangled, her tiny hands clutching a worn and loved stuffed bunny. Though Ron knew he had no reason to worry, he still breathed a sigh of relief.
She’s here. She’s safe. She’s ok.
Ron quietly closed the door, gently walking, almost tiptoeing, away to not wake her. He entered the living room, immediately being drawn towards the little wooden desk in the corner. He sat down on the swivel chair and stared at the contents scattered on top. He never used to be this messy. Ronald Speirs was organized and calculated, always having things in their place.
But lately…that had been more of a challenge.
He let out a breath as he began to shuffle through everything, organizing papers according to their purpose. There were many letters and notices from the army, from superiors and subordinates alike. Men who served with him at Spandau. Documents containing information on prisoners within the fortress, and rhetoric detailing the ongoing rift with communist East Germany. He placed these in a part of the desk meant for work.
Then he found personal letters from family and friends. Letters from Winters and Lipton, both of whom he had been continuing regular correspondence with since the end of the war. They both share updates on their lives. Winters talks about his chicken feed business, his farm in Hershey, and his wife Ethel and their children. He seems very content and at peace with his life. Lord knows he deserved that, maybe more than most people.
Lipton’s life is in much the same situation with his successful business and family life. They both ask Ron how he is doing in his letters. He knows that they both genuinely mean what they write. There are no pretenses about either Dick or Carwood. They worry about their friend, raising a child alone in a foreign land, trying to maintain his duty to his work in the Army, all while carrying around the remains of his broken heart.
Ron only writes back in half-truths. He knows that his friends will be able to read between the lines and figure out that his words carry more weight than they seem.
Putting those letters aside, his attention turns to the letters from his parents and in-laws, the ones that take up the most space on his desk. His parents write family updates and other news from home. They inquire about his health and his well-being. They know how much he has dealt with. His in-laws do much the same. Both of them inquire about their granddaughter’s growth and development. How tall has she gotten? Is she speaking German? Does she have friends? Has she started reading? Ron organizes all these letters, realizing he has fallen behind on updating his family on everything.
I should probably send them a photo of her, it’s been a while since they’ve gotten one.
He writes a note to himself to take an updated photo of his daughter when they go on their weekly Sunday outing later that day, likely to a small village just outside of Berlin.
As he puts the note down, Ron’s eyes fall on a photo, a small frame that sits on his desk. A snapshot of a time of joy.
Lizzie. His beautiful, incredible Lizzie, laughing, smiling back at him. It had been taken on their honeymoon. A brief holiday, down in the Florida Keys before they returned to duty at Ft. Benning. But it had been the happiest time of his life. Those who had known Ron during the war would have likely never imagined him smiling, letting alone laughing as much as he did in those few days.
But Lizzie had changed something in him.
Ron Speirs still remembered the first time he had laid eyes on Elizabeth Jane Crawley.