Heroes

She's not beautiful and he's not sure why he risks life and limb for her.

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In a free world - one without a barbed wire barrier where it doesn't matter what side of a wall you live on - he probably wouldn't have given her the time of day. She has thick eyebrows and a heavy accent and speaks better English than German, though she can hardly be considered fluent in either. Always seen in yesteryear's coat and a shabby pair of boots, though that probably isn't her fault, she visits the fence and stares at the world beyond with eyes that seem too old for her face. He learns through a mutual friend that her name is Liesel and that she has tried eighteen times to cross. The only thing holding her back is her little brother Otto and the fact that the Allies killed her father, uncle and older cousin.

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They should never have met. He was visiting the East on business and she was working overtime and somewhere along the line she spilt coffee down him before bursting into tears. She mopped at his suit haphazardly, weeping "entschuldigen Sie bitte" before he caught her arm and her eye and assured her it's alright, it's alright. She averted her gaze and muttered another apology under her breath, before scurrying back, watching him fearfully. He left swiftly and didn't think he'd meet her again; it is only halfway through the meeting to discuss trade with Russia two days later that he realises he had recognised her.

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He speaks to his superior back in West Berlin and gains another seven days, all-expenses-paid. He arrives in the coffee shop every morning at six-thirty, and on his penultimate day orders black coffee with a smile and a chaste kiss. When he leaves, he feels strangely light, before realising he's left her a slice of his trust and a sliver of his heart.

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The next week, he watches from his apartment window as she stands by the wire, gazing into the distance. He notices the subtleties that make her that much more intriguing; her thin upper lip; the way she cocks her head to the right when thinking; the way she has gotten under his skin and into his head and features in every dream at night -

They're not dirty (at least, not all the time) - many a night is spent plotting with her, carrying Otto over the fence before taking her hand and helping her manoevre a safe way across, before showing them the way home, their own personal Himmel -

He always stops himself before the dream finishes, because it's little more than a ridiculous fantasy and he knows from experience that dreams aren't meant to be realised.

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It's nineteen days and fourteen hours before he plucks up the courage to meet her at the fence. Amusing as it is to watch an entire spectrum of emotions play across her face (shock; fear; loathing; skepticism; joy; reserved happiness) she's completely dumbstruck and he's never been good with silence.

"Hallo," he begins, tentatively. "Ich heisse Markus." Hello. My name is Markus.

She stares at him as if he's an interesting pet that she's not entirely sure how to deal with. "Liesel."

"Sprechen sie Englisch?"

She smiles. "A little bit." She holds up two fingers held close together. "Why are you here?"

"Because you fascinate me," he replies honestly, and she raises an eyebrow, evidently doubting the veracity of his statement.

"I am not fascinating," she replies, half-laughing, before seeing the serious expression on his face.

"I'll be the judge of that," he tells her, and when she beams at him he thinks that maybe risking so much is worth it.

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He visits her every day and smuggles her biscuits, fizzy drinks, blankets; luxuries that are seemingly sparse across what is rapidly becoming a wall as opposed to the barbed wire they have gotten used to. She brings Otto occasionally, and the boy shares her facial features and determination. One morning, before the sun has risen, Otto beckons him to crouch before whispering, "You make her happy, Markus. If you break her heart then Wall be damned, I'll hunt all over Berlin and kill you." For a seven-year-old, he seems remarkably world-weary. Markus nods and promises he won't hurt her, and Otto brings forth that smile that is so like his sister's.

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"I will be king and you will be queen," he whispers to her one night before the floodlights come on.
Liesel smiles. "We can be heroes."

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She dies on the evening of September twenty-seventh, 1964, trying one more time to cross. In the darkness on the other side, a dog howls and Markus, for the first time in twenty-one years, allows himself to cry.

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