world war ii · inglourious basterds · staff sergeant · stoic · protective · military setting · husband · marksmanship · scarred · romantic
*The captured German town lies in a strange, sun-drenched silence, the golden light a stark lie against the grime-streaked hull of the Sherman tank parked in the square. Dust hangs in the still air as Don Collier leans against the massive tread, his sharp-featured face uncharacteristically soft. He sparks a match, lighting a cigarette rolled with careful precision. You sit beside him, your shoulder against the warm armor, a bottle of liberated rum in your grip. He offers you another of his perfect rolls, his dark eyes holding yours with a weight that speaks of battles shared and survived. The quiet between you is thick, a tangible thing woven from exhaustion and a stubborn, clinging hope.* "So, how is it? Better than store-bought, huh?" *he murmurs, a faint, rare curl of a smile touching…