Title: King For A Day, 2/?
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Shosanna/Fredrick, mentions of Fredrick's sisters
Rating: PG-13, violence and mentions of death
Word count: 1756
Summary: Continuing with King For A Day, Shosanna and Fredrick both make decisions that will change the course of their lives.
Warnings: It'd be best to start with King For A Day, of course. The script references linked in part 1 carry over into part 2 (and into the overall story). I'd also like to thank bourbonights for their feedback and encouraging me to continue this story.

The story so far: | information/cast post | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 |





Is this how it is for Sergeant York?
Fredrick Zoller was a war hero. Fredrick Zoller was a film star. Fredrick Zoller was only nineteen years old and alone in Paris. He was amongst fellow countrymen as they, he, were the opposing forces and occupying France. They all loved and admired him, but Fredrick, ever the fast learner, soon came to find that it was lonely at the top. Sure, he was frequently stopped wherever he went, but it was only for autographs and near endless flattery; it seemed as though none of them sought to befriend Fredrick or to even engage him in mundane conversation. All they wanted to ask of him was what it was like to be secluded in the bell tower, where the only option was to kill, and what it was like to be lauded for it. He knew how to fake a brilliant smile and restrain himself from answering,

"It was hell."

Fredrick sighed. The lonely beauty of the city at night was once his only consolation; but now he had something more to live for.

~

Fredrick was free to wander the city in return for all of the publicity he had done for Goebbels on behalf of the Reichsminister's forthcoming masterpiece, Stolz der Nation. His destination that night shone like a beacon, bright and blinding: Le Gamaar theater. Out of all of the sights in Paris, Fredrick found the little theater to be the most striking of all; as he stood before it, he could feel its reverence for film, and it was hypnotizing.

Immediately, Fredrick was reminded of home, of being tucked away in the projection booth of Das Kino Haus, marveling at that night's feature, be it a Conrad Veidt or Bridget von Hammersmark film; films were Fredrick's escape, and he had come to know and love their entire collection of 400 film prints, even being able to recite the majority of them by heart. Just as Das Kino Haus would be his sanctuary in Munich, so would Le Gamaar be for him in Paris.

And what luck! That night's feature was the Leni Riefenstahl film, Die weiße Hölle vom Piz Palü. Noting that it was to start within ten minutes, Fredrick anxiously made his way inside to the lobby to purchase a ticket. Once inside, Fredrick was halted in his tracks, taken aback by the young woman working there. She looked every bit the gamine, dressed in slacks and a brown cardigan worn over a button-up shirt. She appeared to be a little older than he; petite and delicately built, with pale skin, large green eyes, and golden, wheat-colored hair pulled back and up messily from her face, which accented her gorgeously defined facial structure. Underneath the soft lighting of the lobby, she positively glowed.

Their exchange was brief and she was professionally polite as she handed him his ticket; her fingertips brushed against his, igniting something in Fredrick, something he had not ever felt before. He did not even get a chance to ask her for her name as the woman excused herself, leaving Fredrick to watch, awe-stricken, as she ascended the staircase and headed for the projection booth. Hurriedly, he took his seat in the auditorium in the front, near the screen.

And there Fredrick sat for the duration of the film, smiling stupidly and hardly believing his fantastic luck. An hour after the feature ended, Fredrick would emerge from the shadows and approach her, perched on a ladder; it was almost Shakespearean in its magnitude, and it would be the inadvertent start of a series of events which would change both of their lives.

~

Bodies, contorting unnaturally; there was no grace, no beauty in their deaths. Broken, bloody, faces twisted in agony. With brutal precision, he picked each one of them off. He was not a cold-blooded killer, not even a man ravaged by years of service to his country. He was a boy, trapped and cornered like a frightened animal in a nearly unwinnable situation with only one objective: survive. He wanted to live to see his sisters; he wanted to live to return to the projection booth to show the newest Humphrey Bogart film, and most of all, he wanted to out-live this war. Driven by fear and determination, Fredrick Zoller was the single survivor in a sea of corpses.

Shosanna had witnessed this spectacle three times now; each time, her stomach knotted a little harder, she gripped the arm rests a little tighter, and she sank a little lower in her seat. But each time, her heart ached with the same excruciating intensity. Stolz der Nation was Goebbels' newest, lavish production, an embellished re-telling of the heroics of the lone German soldier beating back the Allied forces.

Yet within the young man's eyes, Shosanna recognized something within their depths, a flicker of something that tore into her. She knew well enough just how fragile humans could be.

~

Fredrick's sisters back home in Munich wrote to him regularly, but they rarely touched upon the subject of that weekend in Italy; their only concern was that he was out of harm's way. His most recent letter came from his third oldest sister, Gerda. She wrote to update Fredrick about the everyday occurrences at home, about Das Kino Haus, about every little detail concerning the books she was reading, and about Annaleisa's latest cooking experiment. Gerda then closed with her usual plea, which grew more and more insistent with their every passing communication,

"Fredrick, please stay safe."

Her handwriting was so careful and elegant that Fredrick must have read her letter over fifty times now and each time, he was on the verge of tears. He shared the same concerns as his sisters did, wondering on those nights that were not plagued by nightmares, those nights where he truly felt insignificant,

"Am I going to be okay?"

~

It wasn't right that he would die that night, now that Shosanna knew the real Fredrick.

What gave him the right to do this to me?

Their fates were now intertwined; the German War Hero and the Jewish Girl were bound together. As Shosanna prepared the final reel, she reasoned with herself; after all, he too, would know the truth.

Fredrick Zoller will know Shosanna Dreyfus. My face will be the last he sees.

It was only fair.

~

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this, no, not like this…

Distracting him with honeyed words gave her the edge she needed, yet within that split-second, Shosanna realized that she could not bring herself to kill Fredrick Zoller. As he turned back around, his beaming face fell into confusion and shock. Though Shosanna stood stiffly, her posture ram-rod straight, her pistol still trained on him, and her face blank, she was losing her composure. Fredrick could see it in her eyes, that same flicker which was ever-present in his own.

He raised his trembling hands up defensively and kept his voice low and calm,

"Emmanuelle?"

Shosanna's jaw clenched and she swallowed hard.

Fredrick tried again, his voice growing shaky and panicked,

"Emmanuelle, please, I - if you are part of the French Resistance - I told you what I did in the strictest of confidence that I…"

She interrupted him, her voice hushed and wavering,

"Shosanna."

Fredrick's brows stitched together, his mouth agape.

Her voice now came out louder, clearer,

"Shosanna. Shosanna Dreyfus. I am Shosanna Dreyfus."

Fredrick's body grew limp and heavy, his voice barely above a whisper,

"Jewish?"

She thought she would be the one to crumble, but whereas Fredrick went slack, Shosanna stood tall and defiant.

"Oui," she replied coolly and firmly, "I am Jewish."

Shosanna then lowered her pistol, determining that he would pose no threat to her. Fredrick opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come; he appeared stricken and ashamed, but not for her. However, Fredrick did not turn away from Shosanna; instead, he steadied himself and met her gaze. A compelling silence fell over them, lasting only seconds, but for what felt like an eternity. It would be his voice that would break through it.

Who wants to send a message to Germany?

Shosanna stood straighter, held her head higher, and regarded Fredrick intently as she answered back,

I have a message for Germany.

Fredrick's eyes widened, as he looked upon her with disbelief.

"Shosanna…?"
That you are all going to die.

Shosanna took in a shuddering breath.

And I want you to look deep into the face of the Jew that is going to do it!

"Please, Fredrick," she simply requested of him, "let me have this."

Steeling his nerves, Fredrick nodded. Words, as always between Shosanna and Fredrick, were insufficient. It was with a succinct response that he gave her his full compliance, as nothing less would do,

"Oui, Shosanna."

With that, an understanding was reached between them.

Marcel... burn it down.

Offering her a quivering hand, Fredrick allowed for Shosanna to lead the way out of the theater, turning their backs on their pasts, leaving it all to burn.

~

My name is Shosanna Dreyfus and this is the face of Jewish vengeance!

He wasn't quite certain how exactly they were able to escape intact. All Fredrick knew was that he trusted Shosanna to save them both; pulling him with urgency through hallways and stairways, the sound of machine-gun fire and screams intermingled with her laughter, the smoke and rising inferno at their backs. They had survived, but just barely. Now here they stood in the street, a safe distance away, watching as Le Gamaar exploded into flames.

The world around them came to a standstill, as everything, the years of suffering, the anguish, was coming to an end, right before their eyes. It was all that they both wanted; but now, with their goals actualized, neither knew what to anticipate next, nor did they know exactly how to react. They could not find it within themselves to laugh or to sob, instead, the German War Hero and the Jewish Girl remained quiet. Where words were lacking previously, they now were unnecessary.

As their adrenaline died down along with the blaze, Fredrick looked over to see that he was still grasping Shosanna's hand; he then raised his head up to see her watching him, a nearly indecipherable expression on her face. Then, ever so slightly, Shosanna gave him an assured nod of her head. In return, Fredrick managed to give her a smile. Whatever was to come next, neither was going to be alone.