"War is a destroyer and creator, dissolver and evolver, brake and catalyst for every passion, hate and love together. It has the power of stripping man of all his lying vestments; his soul then appears in all its fierce dignity or its cowardice."

– Carlo Rosselli, Italian Jewish political leader, journalist, philosopher, and anti-fascist, writing in his essay Compito Nuovo (New Task), (1919).

It felt like years had passed the two of them by in the small garden, though Lovino knew from the darkening skies that it had only been an afternoon. Heavy clouds had gathered by the time Antonio stirred on his lap. A sharp, cold breeze blew through the darkened garden, causing both of them to shiver, and Antonio raised his head to blink groggily at Lovino. "I must have fallen asleep," he said, slightly apologetically, but the small smile he wore told Lovino that he was feeling much better now than a few hours ago.

"You were tired," Lovino said softly, feeling a small pang as Antonio moved away from him to sit up. What he wouldn't have given for just a little more time together, to feel the heavy warmth by his side, the soft copper curls under his hand... "Grandpa came and told us to come in when you woke up."

Antonio froze mid-stretch. "Roma? He didn't... Wasn't he upset that I was with you?"

Lovino shrugged. He still didn't know what to make of that. He fidgeted with his hands, then remembered belatedly that he still had the stupid ring on. Scowling, he said huffily, "It's not up to him to decide who I should spend my time with. But I don't think we should keep him waiting much longer."

Antonio chuckled. "No, that does not sound like a good idea. He probably already thinks of me as unprofessional, sleeping like a vagrant on his property like that." Picking himself off the ground and dusting his knees, he extended a meaningful hand to Lovino. Lovino looked at it and blushed, but took it all the same. Antonio's calloused hands felt rough in his own smaller ones. He tried not to linger on them as he was pulled to his feet, but he felt Antonio's fingers tighten their grip and looked up to see him smiling easily down at him, handsome face closer than he had imagined.

"I almost forgot," Antonio said gently, "Thank you, Lovino. For taking me here. For staying with me."

Lovino could feel the colour rise to his cheeks, hear the loud thumping of his heart straining to break out from inside his chest. He could not look away. Antonio was looking at him with the same, dark green eyes he saw behind his eyelids every night before he went to sleep. He tried to think of something to say in reply, but no words came, and only the chirping of the crickets and rustling of the grass around them filled the silence that fell between them.

But far too soon, Antonio glanced quickly at the kitchen window near them and dropped his hand with a disappointed sigh. "Well, let's go hear what your grandfather has to say then, shall we?" he asked.

Nodding, Lovino moved to follow him out of the garden and through the back door, but paused when his mind flitted back to the topic it had been turning over and over while Antonio slept: his missing brother. Where was Feliciano? He had been listening for the sound of the front door opening and Feliciano announcing his return in his songlike voice, but nothing but the noises of Grandpa Roma moving about in the house had reached his ears.

"Lovino?" called Antonio from the open doorway.

He jerked out of his reverie. "Um, go inside ahead of me. I'll be there in a second."

Brief concern passed over Antonio's face, but he nodded and closed the back door after him. Lovino's own thoughts gnawed at the edges of his mind as he made his way around to the front of the house, and stared out into the darkened pathway stretching across the fields. The afternoon was already quite late, and the market would have been closed for hours now. Feliciano was acting strangely lately, now that he thought about it. He seemed even happier than he usually was, if that were even possible, as though he was floating on clouds. He hadn't even seemed all that distressed the night before, after he had supposedly witnessed resistance members being marched into the town square by the Gestapo. Lovino had been too wrapped up in his own problems that night to take proper note, but the thought of an execution so close to home should have kept his brother awake throughout the night. And there were other things that warranted an explanation...

He stayed a while more to scan the path, squinting through the dimming light in hopes of catching his brother as he returned. But as the last rays of sun disappeared under the gathering clouds, he gave up, and trudged slowly back into the house. He would have to question him inside, somewhere out of Grandpa's earshot. He didn't know why it should be a secret – heavens knew Feliciano couldn't keep one to save his life – but the same niggling feeling he had had back in the garden told him to check on Feliciano privately first.

Inside, the warmth from the fireplace provided a grateful relief from the chilly winds. Lovino quietly stepped past where Antonio and Roma were poring over documents in the front room. He couldn't see Antonio's face from where he sat at the table. Roma seemed to be too deep in thought to notice him, brows furrowing as he spoke.

"...so soon after what happened? Antonio, I still don't see..."

"I will ensure it takes place in an area our resistance is not associated with," said Antonio. "It will be quick and clean."

Pricking up his ears, Lovino made to sit on the far end of the couch below the stairs, just barely out of sight from the pair. He wondered what he had missed in the conversation.

Whatever it was they were discussing, Roma sounded unconvinced. "I do not doubt your skills in this from our past missions together. But I also don't feel the benefits outweigh the risks. You would be putting yourself in even greater danger, my friend."

Lovino's blood chilled at his grandfather's words, and his breath stopped in his lungs. What was Antonio getting himself into now? He was already a wanted man, perhaps the greatest prize to the Nazis in their part of Europe. How much farther was he willing to go to get himself killed?

He heard Antonio let out a short laugh, bone-dry and void of mirth. "Roma, so long as we are dealing with men like these, the danger will always be there. But we can control, to an extent, who those teeth are bared towards. You are the one thing holding down the Resistenza in these parts; your presence is needed here, and the safety of your family is paramount. I, on the other hand, can move around more freely; they will waste valuable expenses trying to sniff me out. I shall only need a little bait. Besides, compared to you and what you mean to the people fighting here, I am–"

"Stop, Antonio. Say no more. Please," Grandpa's tired voice cut him off before Lovino could hear the rest of his words through the roaring in his ears, but he had heard enough to understand. Antonio was going to put himself in the line of fire, deliberately this time, for his family. For you. It was always for you. Roma's words from just a few hours ago rushed back to him, stinging now in accusation. His breath came short and he clutched as his chest to keep himself from fainting. The thought that Antonio might end up dead – or worse – because of him had never been far from his mind these past years, but he had almost allowed himself to forget, to believe in the fantasy that he could stop that from happening during the brief, peaceful time in the garden. Their pointless talk about their plans for after the war had planted unnecessary hope in his mind for a future that was near impossible to achieve. He had learnt only yesterday that Antonio would truly give his own life to protect him; how could he have forgotten so easily?

Something hard was digging into his ribs. Blankly, he released his hands and was met with the sight of that little silver ring glinting in the lamplight. His eyes drifted automatically to the words engraved on it: Te quiero. His vision began to blur as he recalled Antonio's tired face brightening when he had spoken those words. If he had meant them with all his heart...if his resolve had been fully made...

Quickly, Lovino tore off the ring from his finger, stuffing it into his trouser pocket. It's weight lay reprovingly against his leg, heavy as lead, and he tried to ignore its presence – as well as what it had nearly, nearly meant – by focusing his attention back on the conversation in the front room. The subject had shifted while he had been lost in his thoughts.

"...So the Americans will be landing as planned next Wednesday, and the Germans are still none the wiser. They will be taken by surprise when the Mustangs fly in to destroy the base. I will need to take a closer look at the information Feliciano collected for us before the meeting tomorrow; it is crucial that we do not overlook any detail, no matter how small."

Americans. Another foreign force from outside coming to take the Germans' place in their village. Lovino wondered tiredly if their presence would change anything. Would Antonio finally be released from the dangerous missions he undertook? Would he leave to move onto towns that needed his help more, as he had done in the past? All Lovino knew was that no matter where he looked, so long as this unending war threatened Italy, there was no respite from the anxiety that gripped him day and night, no sure path where he could be with Antonio without the constant fear of having him taken away. He closed his eyes, wishing not for the first time that he could be braver than he was born to be.

The sound of the front door creaking open startled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Feliciano finally tiptoeing in, shivering from the cold night winds. He carefully placed his basket on the small table beside the door, and scurried over to where Lovino was sat, casting a wary glance at their grandfather and Antonio.

"You're home late. Again," he muttered as Feliciano flopped down next to him on the couch. The rims of his brother's eyes were slightly pink, as though they had been rubbed hard. Feliciano avoided his gaze by staring at a spot on the ground.

"Well, it was such a pleasant evening. I was enjoying the walk."

Lovino blinked at him. "Pleasant? But it's damn freezing today."

"I like the cold," said Feliciano, an uncharacteristic defensiveness creeping into his voice.

The suspicious feeling at the back of his mind was growing, and Lovino studied Feliciano's nervous expression closely. "No, you don't." He noticed something else. "And where are the groceries? Weren't you supposed to go to the market?"

"I meant to, but I...um..." Feliciano shifted slightly on his seat, fingers worrying at a shirt button. "I got delayed."

"Delayed? Doing what?"

"Picking flowers."

Picking... Lovino's annoyance flared for a second. Did Feli seriously think he would believe that?

"This is the third day in a row you have missed the market," he said accusingly. "I'm not stupid, Feliciano, I know something is up."

Feliciano's gaze flickered down to Lovino's hand resting on the couch between them, before meeting his eye with an unnerving steadiness. "I see you're not wearing your ring."

He was obviously trying to divert Lovino's attention away from him, but the small, round hardness resting in his pocket was enough to remind Lovino again of his torturous thoughts before Feli had come home. He shot a sharp glare at Feliciano instead of a response, before refocusing his attention to the conversation near them.

"...the fourth bombing raid harming civilians in the last month," Antonio was saying. "These raids are flying out of the nearby German airbase which is why the Americans' mission is of vital importance to us. It is obvious the Germans are moving on from their counterattacks against the British. Last night their Heinkels killed nearly one hundred non-military personnel."

"What's a Heinkel?" Feliciano's question seemed to break through the invisible wall erected between the table and where the brothers sat. Antonio and Roma raised their heads to stare at Feliciano as if they had only just registered his presence. Lovino turned to look at him in surprise as well.

"It's a German plane," answered Antonio after a long pause. "A bomber."

"So, it's these Heinkels that bomb people?" Feliciano continued to ask. He didn't even seem to notice that the entire room's attention was now on him. "Not the Mrs Schmitt's?"

"The what?" said Antonio, confusion evident in his voice. "The... Messerschmitts? Is that what you mean?"

"Yes. The Messerschmitt Bf 109."

There was another stunned silence, before Lovino voiced the question that was on all of their minds. "How the hell do you know what a Messerschmitt is, Feliciano?"

At that, Feliciano faltered. "I... um... I just overheard it somewhere."

Bullshit. Feliciano was a terrible liar, even worse than him. What was more, he had never once involved himself in conversations like this, not even at Resistenza meetings.

"Messerschmitts are fighter planes. Not bombers. They only attack other pilots," explained Antonio. Feliciano's eyes widened.

"Not civilians?" he asked.

"No," said Antonio, and Lovino watched as, strangely, an expression of relief fell over his brother's face. "However... it is entirely possible that the Messerschmitts could be escorting the Heinkels, especially now that the British counterattacks have been slowing down."

"Hmm. That could be a problem for the Americans," murmured Roma.

"Yes, exactly. That's definitely something we will have to look into. Where did you hear people talking about Messerschmitts, Feliciano?"

The look of relief had been replaced by one of panicked distress. "I don't remember," said Feliciano in a hushed tone, but Lovino could tell that he clearly did. "And I... I was just wondering... did they, the Germans, did they mean to kill civilians? Was that what they were trying to do? It could have been a mistake, couldn't it? I'm quite sure it was a mistake," he continued desperately.

Lovino couldn't understand what Feliciano was thinking; the Germans were their enemies, it didn't get as complicated as that. His irritation towards his brother was starting to set in. "Does it matter?" he demanded.

Feliciano's eyes flickered towards him before quickly looking away again. "I just wondered."

Antonio spoke hesitantly from the table. "It seems their target was a munitions factory, but of course they would have known civilian casualties were an inevitability."

Feliciano was looking increasingly agitated, his words tumbling over each other as he rushed to get them out. "But they didn't mean to? They didn't deliberately try and kill innocent people? Why would they..." He looked like he would be sick, and at that moment, Lovino hated him for his naivety. "Why would they do that, it wouldn't make sense would it?"

For God's sake... "It made sense to them during the Battle of Britain," Lovino spat. Had Feliciano truly been living with his head in the clouds, all this time as the war slowly took their lives apart? News of losses and atrocities found their way to them constantly, and while Lovino had listened to them even as the shock and nausea made him feel numb, Feliciano had been content on ignoring them for the sake of his own little paradise. He thought about Antonio, leaning against the back garden wall next to him, eyes looking into the distance as unspeakable scenes played before them. "Ever heard of 'terror bombing'? Ask Antonio about Guernica."

Instantly, he felt sorry that he had said it. Clamping his mouth shut, he glanced over at where Antonio sat with wide eyes, apologising silently. Antonio had disclosed his experiences to him alone, and though it was unspoken, their conversations in the garden had always felt private. A sudden cold washed over him as he imagined Antonio being angry at him for having betrayed his trust, and swearing to never speak of such things with him again... But Antonio only blinked and flashed him a quick smile, albeit tinged with worry and confusion, before turning his attention back to Feliciano. Despite himself, Lovino felt as if a load had been taken off his heart.

Feliciano didn't even seem to have acknowledged his words, shaking his head vigorously. "I can't... I don't under..." he said helplessly.

"We don't always know what the Germans..."

"That's enough," Roma cut Antonio off harshly, before speaking in a softer tone. "This type of talk upsets him easily."

Feliciano bristled. "I just wanted to know..."

"It's alright, Feli," Grandpa said in the calm, soothing voice he always used specifically for Feliciano. Lovino felt the old, familiar bitterness rise up within him before he shook his head, mentally quashing the ugly sensation. "Don't upset yourself. You don't have to listen to this. In fact, I don't think it's a good idea that you do."

This sort of treatment is why he is like this, thought Lovino darkly. He needs to know the truth.

"No," Feliciano argued, surprising Lovino yet again. Unlike him, Feli hardly ever spoke up to their grandfather. "I want to listen, I..."

"No. Look, you're tired, Feli. Did you take any photographs today?" Roma smiled at his youngest grandson.

For a second, Feli looked like a deer caught in the headlights before he dropped his gaze, head drooping forward in defeat. "A few," he whispered.

"Why don't you go and develop them," suggested Roma kindly, "and then we'll listen to the radio before we make dinner?"

Lovino watched silently as his brother nodded dumbly, got up to retrieve his camera from the basket before padding softly to the back of the house where the dark room was. Roma and Antonio were both silent until he had gone from the room.

"Is he all right?" Antonio asked concernedly. Roma sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

"It's the talk of casualties. It disturbs him."

Antonio nodded, but Lovino could almost see the gears in his head whirling to digest the information he had just been presented.

"I understand," he said, "but I think you should ask him what he heard about their Messerschmitts, Roma. That kind of information is vital right now."

"I'll ask him," Lovino said immediately as he saw Grandpa hesitate. After a brief moment, Roma nodded, and Antonio gave him a grateful smile that made his heart skip a beat. He stood and followed his brother to the cellar down the hallway, nails biting into the palms of his hands as he hardened his resolve to get a clear answer about what the hell was going on, once and for all.

.

Feliciano was standing with his back to him when he entered the room, his figure silhouetted by the dim lantern light. Lovino closed the door behind him gently. Years ago, he crumpled to Feliciano's incessant begging and taught him how to develop the photographs they took with Grandpa's old camera here. He remembered how Feliciano had squealed in delight as the images of their countryside floated up to the surface, large eyes shining as he took them delicately into his hands in wonderment.

Now, however, was not the time for reminiscing. He steeled himself and walked up to his brother, who made no move to acknowledge him except with a flat greeting. "Hello, Lovino."