The Embers Never Fade in Your City by the Lake

Prinz Eugen had always thought the Germans were among the toughest people out there—until that stop in Chicago proved her wrong. In a way, Chicagoans were tougher, she begrudgingly acknowledged, if only because of that thing the Commander offered—or maybe challenged—her to try. And since she, liqueur connoisseur extraordinaire, had the reputation as someone who could outdrink anyone at the port, she readily accepted despite finding the piss-like color somewhat off-putting. She soon knew why the Commander's smile looked so sly as she brought that shot glass to her lips.

"Welcome to Chicago," the Commander laughed, and Eugen had no doubt it was from that stupid grimace she couldn't help but make, a stark contrast to how confident she was just minutes before. That one shot of Jeppson's Malört was enough to fill her with regret. And that was probably the mildest way to describe the distinctively potent, jolting bitterness. Compared to it, absinthe and fernet tasted like harmless orange juice, and she had to fight the overwhelming urge to puke her guts out and force the liquid past her throat. It tasted so rotten that she felt tainted to her very soul, the vilest thing that she ever had the displeasure to have—and not even that damned Bacardi 151 and its propensity to burst into flames that once had nearly singed her hair came close. 

"P-Permission to speak out of line, Kommandant," she managed amid the searing feeling in her throat and nostrils.

"Granted, Eugen."

"I hate you."

Only a laugh, muffled and suppressed, was the answer. It wasn't a taunt, but she still found it grating.

"No, you don't. Here, I'll give you this, so forgive me, alright?" The Commander placed a bottle of beer on the table.

"Oh, I don't know. If you give me something...better, maybe I would," Eugen took the bottle anyway despite knowing it wasn't the best kind, and very commonplace—she felt like welcoming anything that could help wash the sensation down. "I mean, stuff you cannot easily get at the port. Or...you could let me into your room so I could have my way with you."

"Fine, I'll give you that Pappy van Winkle later," the Commander shrugged, ignoring—or rather trying to push out from his mind—her last suggestion. The way she spoke gave him the shivers.

"I was hoping you would say that, Kommandant. Now I can forgive you."

"My room is still off-limits, though."

"Damn. I was hoping you would say otherwise, too. Guess for now I'll have to settle for this beer, then," she took a big gulp, sighing, feeling content, and not just because of the drink. "Well, this is absolutely better than...whatever evil was in that bottle."

"Well, some say it's similar to embalming fluid. Some others say it's motor oil or cesspool water. Either way, the descriptions are colorful. In any case, you should hear what the people say about it. You'll like it."

"Heh. Maybe. To me, they tasted like regret. A big one."

"That's what they say, too. That, and betrayal."

Eugen thought the latter was appropriate. That was probably why she had the itch to slap the man earlier. But now she could only smile.

"If it's of any consolation, it's also a rite of passage. And congratulations, you managed not to spit it out all over the table. And I meant it. You're truly one of us now."

"You can be cruel sometimes, Kommandant."

"And I could be worse than that, but I wouldn't. For example, I could've given you rat poison, but I didn't. After all, I'm a gentleman, and I'm very well-bred," the Commander grinned.

"Oh? So if I ask for a kiss, will you grant my wish, o good gentleman, sir?"

"Ha, a gentleman doesn't kiss so easily. Only after the second date."

"Then how about that third date?"

"Depends on the second, naturally."

"What a tease, Kommandant," Eugen smirked. "Then we really should go on the first, shouldn't we?"

"I'm not against it," he shrugged. "But maybe some other time. We have a mission, after all. And don't call me a tease. That's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"Touché," she chuckled. "Though I still believe we're more alike than we know."

"Really? I don't see it."

"That's because I'm prettier."

"Okay, I'll admit that you're stunningly, head-turningly pretty. Still not the prettiest, though."

Eugen's brow rose, and her forehead wrinkled.

"And who would you say is prettier than me?"

"My ma."

Eugen didn't know if she should be tickled or offended. She finally decided on both.

"Is that so, Oedipus?" She chuckled.

"Hey, it's not like that, else Pa would've killed me. Ma's gorgeous, sure, but I'm not a pervert."

"Oh, what a relief. For a second there, I thought I had competition."

"Well, she couldn't hold her liquor, at least, so you win in that regard. But she did bake a mean pie."

"I bet I could beat her."

"With a pie? I don't think so."

"Oh, I have a pie you can't refuse, you know?"

The Commander blinked, groaned, and guffawed.

"Really, now? Of all the things that could be said, you went with that? So it's true that Germans have no sense of humor."

"That's true, Kommandant—because I'm not joking," Eugen purred and leaned closer, her eyes half-lidded and languid, lips slightly parted. "Aren't you curious? Interested?"

"...No, unless it's apple pie. Mmm, I could use some right now."

"Kommandant."

"Yeah?"

"You dork."

"And you don't seem to mind."

"Do I?

"You tell me. Anyway, we should be going. We'll depart tomorrow and need all the rest we can get."

"Aww, I'm not done yet. Where's my wine?" she pouted, toying with her empty bottle, twirling and cradling it.

"Wines are for celebrations. And now it's not the time, Eugen."

"Look at you, turning all serious. That got me feeling some kinda way. But I get what you mean. This is the time for bitter drinks," she set the bottle down and laughed, and if the taste of Jeppson's Malört could be embodied, then her voice would be it. If only they could hug right now. Just a hug will be enough.

They didn't, but he did help her up even though she wasn't tipsy, a gesture she immensely appreciated—she wouldn't tell, though. Not now.

"...I assure you that will be the last bitter drink you'll have," he said as he did, almost whispering.

"Oooh, a promise? How nice. In that case, I could hold you to that. Or I could hold you."

"I feel safer already."

And he meant it, too. He wasn't merely responding to her teasing, nor was he flirting back or just being nice and polite. If he did feel otherwise, he would've brought somebody else along. Perhaps someone quieter and less...dangerous.

But he trusted her the most, despite everything.

"Ah, good to know. I'm glad," Eugen's smile turned tender, and her eyes softened. She was still smiling when she closed her eyes.

She could hold onto this man for a long, long time and have no complaints about it because she would feel the same.

***

As it turned out, neither of them could get a wink of sleep. Perhaps the weight of the situation had finally caught up with them, or maybe the bed just felt uncomfortable. Maybe it was the drinks.

He saw her walking out of her room at the same time he left his own when the clock was barely past midnight. They shared a confused stare and then a laugh over that.

"Huh. I guess I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep."

"I couldn't either," she yawned.

"Hm. Maybe a little walk down the lakefront will help. It's nearby."

"The lake?"

"Lake Michigan, Eugen. It's Chicago, after all."

She smiled like a cat. "It's not the Mediterranean, though."

"Of course not, but it's nice anyway."

"Heh. Anything's better than the Denmark Strait, I suppose. Very well. Take me there, Kommandant."

"With pleasure."

***

The moon shining overhead was like a silver lantern. The scattered stars were like luminous grains. But those paled in comparison to the Chicago skyline reflected on the lake—all its lights still twinkling, shimmering, glowing, like a city formed of millions of gently dancing fireflies.

Even Eugen was moved, left breathless as she marveled at the scene—of a timeless city, sleepless, just like them.

"This...this is something, Kommandant. I thought the Mediterranean was impressive, but this...is a sight to behold. It's beautiful."

"I know. This is the place where I was born and raised, after all. I used to come here a lot to get some peace of mind—until I graduated from high school. After that, being a cadet and then an officer gave me little chance to come home."

A distant gaze and a distant pain. She had seen that before. One too many times, in fact—and not just in him.

"And here you are, yet again," she whispered.

"That detour was worth it, else I would miss this. For what could be the last time."

She turned to him as the cold seemed to bite harder.

The Commander seemed like a different man, a weary, troubled, and burdened soul. He had never looked so small before, even without the thick jacket on.

Yet his zeal, his fire—they had yet to burn out completely. She could still see the embers within, reflected in his eyes. It was a small measure of comfort for her.

She wanted nothing else but to give him that, too. Perhaps to ignite them once more.

"Kommandant..."

"Hey, don't speak like that. It doesn't suit you at all. Being all gloomy, I mean. It's not...something I could get used to at all."

"...You say that, yet here you are, brooding yourself. Ah, we're so hopeless. It feels good to know I'm not the only one."

"Misery loves company, indeed. Well, I'm glad that it's you."

"Aww, really? You're too kind, Kommandant. Now, come here, you."

The tranquil warmth of her arms was as comforting to him as her rhythmic heartbeat. It reminded him that the fight was far from over. Nobody knows when—but he was damn sure of one thing.

That she will always be there, even if the world ends, in flames or ice.

It was unfair.

He wanted her to see more of this. To see a future. To be part of it.

But all he could offer now was returning the embrace. And as he did, hers grew tighter.

"...I'm glad we couldn't sleep," she breathed into his ear.

"Uh-huh. Feeling's mutual."

"And had you allowed me into your room for real, we wouldn't have come here."

"And miss this? Yeah, nope."

"Then why not make this moment count?"

"Are you asking for a kiss?"

"Well, if you could do it, I won't refuse. And if you could give me more than that, even better."

"I could offer you a dance. Right here, by the lake, under the moon."

Eugen stared at the Commander, wondering if her ears had played a trick on her or if she, somehow, was hallucinating. Then she realized she wasn't, and she laughed, if only because of the incredulity.

"Ah, so you're the romantic type, after all! Hah, how unexpected! You will lead, won't you?"

"As a gentleman should. And I'll try not to step on your toes."

"Oh, how cute."

The Commander simply laughed when Eugen pulled him closer first, even though he said he'd take the lead. It was fine.

The thrumming of the winds, slow waves hitting the shore, and hearts beating as one—that was the music. The lights were aplenty, and nobody was around but them.

Eugen wouldn't deny she was now having the time of her life in the city she came to see as her own, even though she'd always been hard to impress.

The world can end anytime, but if she could spend the last of her days with him, she wouldn't mind.

The second date be damned, she decided. The first and the third, too. If this would be their last, then it would be worth it. Tonight, she will be greedy. She will be needy. So when he leaned closer, she took the chance to claim his lips, as they continued moving in unison.

They didn't miss a beat.

Not a single step.

Not a single second.

In the distance, the lights shined on.

In the distance, a city lived on.

For years, decades, centuries to come, like how it was meant to be.

And so should they, she vowed. The embers should never fade but continue to burn brighter.

For that was how she had always known him—pushing, fighting, forging ahead.

And she will follow to the bitter end.

For she knew that was how he had always known her.