She.

She stood before his eyes when Dieter first visited the Police headquarters in France. Her porcelain skin glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights, and her delicate features were framed by an aura of fragile grace. Dieter didn't like it.

All the red, black, and white tapestries hanging on the walls of the building simply faded against her. She was moving with quiet urgency, hurriedly sorting through a folder of personal documents. It was standard procedure if she had nothing to hide, but the tension in her movements spoke of deep anxiety. He couldn't hold back; he just couldn't, so he looked into the case thoroughly. A kindergarten teacher? It seemed odd, but it clicked. Some officers sent their kids to day care, so they checked everyone who watched over their children carefully.

She had no political or family ties to the resistance. Her life looked straightforward. He knew it was risky to feel like this, letting himself get caught up with someone so delicate and innocent. After all, he had no right to dream of another life; he was bogged down in decay.

Was she scared of him? Clearly, yes, because her tense shoulders and tightly pressed lips showed it when she saw someone from the officer corps in front of her. But her patience, her kindness—they were obvious in every gesture. She would have been an ideal wife and mother. If-

If only she were German.

Ist es Liebe? Nein—es ist… Unmöglich. Oh, really? Impossible.

Dieter's hands, warm and tender, gently wrap around her waist, pulling her close as he buries his face into her shoulder, seeking solace. With a noisy exhale, he whispers, "Oh, schatzi." She tilts her head slightly, her soft breath tickling his ear, allowing him to nuzzle closer as she wraps her arms around him in return, offering comfort in her embrace.

"I missed you."

He breaks all his rules just to be in her gentle hug, enjoying the warmth of her body, a feeling that gives him a nice shiver. As he holds her tight, he takes a deep breath, enjoying the lovely smell of her perfume.