Freya stepped outside the house, entering sunlight that shone through the tree branches, her eyes downcast as she tried to think of what Roger wanted her out here for. Roger followed Freya, closing the door behind him. Freya watched him sit down on the porch, leaving a space beside him. Freya lowered herself next to him, her blue orbs looking into his hazel ones as he stared at the ground, mixed emotions painted across his chiseled face. Freya looked away and toward the ground while Roger sat next to her in silence, staring at an ant as it crawled across the wood.

"Freya. I don't really know how to communicate." He began, voice low and causing Freya to lean a bit closer, her eyes focused on his as he avoided her gaze. "I've been through a lot in my life. I guess...I guess anger is the only thing that came out." He stammered, still avoiding her gaze.

Freya blinked, confused as she thought. She didn't know very much about Roger's personal past. Maybe he had been through something hard...

She slowly reached a hand out and laid it on his shoulder. He looked up. "Roger, you can tell me about this if you want. I'll listen." She spoke honestly, sincere as she removed her hand and waited.

His eyes seemed to warm a little and he looked back down at the ground. "I know...Thanks. I'll start from the beginning if thats okay." He asked quietly. Freya nodded, noticing how much different the tone in his voice had changed. He was almost allowing himself to be vulnerable.

Roger cleared his throat, looking at the ground as he began speaking,

"Ever since I could remember, it had always been me, my mother, father, and little sisters." He paused, Freya listening. "I was the oldest and it was always my responsibility to look after my little sisters. My father loved us all and he always spent time with us, but my mother was gone almost every night. I didn't know where she would go so late at night, but I knew that she didn't love us the same as out father. At...At night we would all hear them yelling and screaming at each other, it was common so we didn't think much about it." He paused to take a breath.

"Well then my father met yours and we met." He chuckled, staring at the ground as he continued, "I hadn't met you yet. Your father was always a good person and i liked him. He was different from mine." He sighed, pausing. Freya stayed quiet as she waited for him to continue.

"Well, I got older, was around seven or eight now. I began understanding why my mother left and then I found out where she had been going every night. She would leave late at night and go meet with another man. My father had found out earlier, after he had signed into the military. He would be leaving soon, but before he did he divorced her. My little sisters didn't understand much. My father made an agreement that she would stay with us until he came home. They both agreed that her boyfriend would never be let into our home." His eyes turned hard and he was silent for a long moment.

"Father left when I had turned eight, my sisters a few years younger than me. Mother mainly walked around and would drink quite often, so it was up to me to provide and care for my sisters. One night, me and my sisters were eating the food I had taken from the market when my mother and a man showed up. He was drunk, just like her, so I didn't know what to do. Mother and him left the room and stayed upstairs while I played and watched my sisters downstairs. I had to go outside to do some farm chores, (The farm was mainly run down by now because I was the only one who tried to keep it going,) and when I came back inside, the man was..."

Roger clenched his jaws and brought his hand up, holding it on his mouth for a minute before sighing and looking the opposite way. Freya lowered her gaze to the ground, shocked as she listened to his story.

"He was doing things to my sisters, my mother was no where to be found. I went over and let him know that he needed to leave them alone and that got him angry...and then he did let them go but he grabbed me, he was way bigger and I was still really small, he dragged me downstairs to our basement and he b-began beating me up, he would just hit me over and over again while I cowered in the corner, begging him to stop. He liked whenever I was scared and it became a, a," Roger's voice cracked as he kept talking, Freya sitting next to him as she listened, her eyes slightly wide and her mouth partly open. How did she not hear about this? What had happened?

Roger shook his head, "It was just a game for him. My mother would pass out from drinking but he always made sure that he didn't drink too much. Almost every other night, he would come and the moment he saw me he would make sure my mother was around before dragging me downstairs. He would punch me, kick me, slap me, yank me around. He..." He clenched his fists, "He even brought a knife down one day and threatened me with it for an hour straight, laughing while I cried and begged him not too. He never ended up cutting me. But one night he left me so beat up and exhausted from it all that I didn't get up. That really scared him because he thought mother would care. He left me in the basement for a night and one of my sisters found me in the morning. I was okay, but then I found out that after he would beat me he would go find them. My sisters." His hands were shaking as Freya's eyes widened. Roger chuckled darkly, shaking his head before continuing. "He had raped one of them. He would beat them and abuse them too. Just not as much as me. I hadn't known for a while, but when they both finally told me that he was hurting them too, I went crazy. I told mother while her boyfriend was there one night and what did she do? She slapped me across my face, calling me names and saying I was a liar. Then they continued drinking."

"My sisters and I didn't know what to do after a few months of it. Whenever he would come over, I would run away. I hid in the woods most of the time, I even made a little fort thing out of wood and cardboard one time. I wanted to bring my sisters but they were always with mother. She would have them cook or clean or something else. She didn't believe that he would hurt them. She didn't believe me when I showed her the bruises and the scars. She thought I was going out and getting into fights. She would beat me too."

He stopped, voice cracking and shaky as he inhaled shakily, continuing, "Things only got worse. They would always be drinking and they didn't care about us anymore. They were so addicted, so selfish, that sometimes they would disappear for days straight. I had to try to feed my sisters and most of the time we didn't get enough to eat. I wanted to tell someone or ask someone for help but I couldn't. I was too scared. he said that he would kill me if I did. And then my sisters. I hated that man more than anything. And then, I hated my mother too. For not being there for us. When they did come back, it was normal at first. Mother would always apologize at first, saying she wouldn't leave again. And the next night, she would drink and stay in her room. Her boyfriend would come over, making sure she was asleep. I would put my sisters to bed and then I would run. One night he figured out where I was and he followed. I went home with a broken arm that night. Mother didn't care. My sisters were worried. They left again and didn't come back for a few weeks. I was okay with that. I got my dads revolver and I would hunt. That was the only thing to feed us because all the other money was spent on Alcohol and beer. We wore the same outfits everyday. It continued for a few years. I was eleven now...I think. They would go and come as they pleased, but thankfully the man had stopped beating me and my sisters as much."

"One night I came home to find them back and they were upstairs messing around. I didn't know how long they had been home, I had spent the day hunting. I walked into my sisters room and they were both sobbing. They were older now too and they understood things now. I asked them what was wrong and I found out he had hurt both of them." Roger stopped, fists clenched and knuckles white. "I tried to kill him. He came downstairs and I had the revolver and I threatened him. My mother was with him and she was telling me to stop. I didn't listen, I told her what he had done. My sisters were behind me. He denied everything and my mother listened to him, scolding me and ripping the gun from me. She slapped me a few times and I ran outside. He chased after me, I suppose he offered to come get me. That wasn't his plan." Roger stopped, pulling his pants up to reveal a scar. It was a little long, from his knee to his mid thigh. It was faded and hardly visible as Roger began speaking again, "He caught me. And this time he did use the knife. I think he was trying to kill me but it didn't happen. He pinned me down, punching me repeatedly and then he pulled it out and just began dragging the blade across my leg. I guess I must have screamed pretty loud because a few men found me, one of them shooting him."

"They shot him because he wouldn't stop. They took him to jail while a few others took me away and brought me to the hospital farther North. I woke up, patched up, and saw your father there. He had been one of the men who had found me. I told him everything and he told the police to go to my home to get my mother and sisters. I was scared but I knew I was safe now. But I also knew that I was angry. One of the first things I wanted to know was whether or not the man was dead or alive. Your father told me that he was alive but in prison, and he would be for many years. I was okay with that. But deep down I had hoped that they would've placed a bullet through his head."

"I recovered fairly quickly but I was skinny and underfed, so I went back home. My father had been mailed a letter and he had been the one to take me home, he had come home early. He divorced my mother and she was actually sentenced a few years in prison too. So now it was just me, my sisters, and my father. My father then began spending more time with yours, your father would come over and help out with us and help with the farm. I don't think he wanted us near you yet. We were still pretty shaken up and even after my recovery, I didn't want hugs and I hated being near men. Not your father. I was always okay around him. My sisters were quiet most of the time and they hated being around people too. My father couldn't handle them because they didn't want to be near him either. He took them up to London to be with our grandparents, I told them they would be okay. So once they were gone it was just my father and I. The first time I met you was in the woods when you were hurt. I had seen you before and I knew who you were, I just hadn't talked to you."

Rogers voice was calmer now, his hands had stopped shaking as Freya listened to his story. She kept a normal, sincere expression but on the inside she was totally shocked. She couldn't believe that Roger had kept that to himself all these years. She nodded silently, allowing him to go on.

"Well, I knew that you were your fathers daughter. I brought you into the town and there your father was. You had...hurt yourself. Since then, your father allowed me to come over and I would work on the farm. I would see you on the tire swing he had built sometimes. Sometimes you would come over to my place and one day I think we made a pie. You reminded me of my sisters, so I was glad whenever I saw you." Roger stopped, looking at the ground. He raised his gaze to Freya, who looked up at him.

"R-Roger...I never knew...I'm so-" Roger chuckled, interrupting her as he placed a finger on her lips, causing her to stop talking.

"Freya, there is no need to say sorry, please don't. Life happens. I should be saying thanks for always being there for me." He rolled his shoulders back and turned to face her. "Don't look at me with pity in your eyes. I'm fine." He shrugged, looking out toward his yard. "I visited my sisters recently, after the Blitz. Thats how I met the Pilot."

Freya nodded, turning and looking out toward the yard as well. "T-that makes sense." A question clawed at her. "Roger...?" He turned at her voice, raising an eyebrow as he brushed his chocolate brown hair off his forehead.

"Yes?"

"Why did you want to tell me all of this?"

He inhaled and then sighed, turning to face her. He placed his hand over hers and Freya looked down, nervous and confused, but she didn't move it. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze.

"Because, Freya. I trust you. I needed to tell you. I knew that if anyone could listen, it would probably be you." he paused, flipping her hand over so he could  properly hold it. She stayed quiet. "It would help me explain why I want to protect you so much. I was raised with you almost. I don't want you to get hurt. And..." His eyes held a new look in them as he stared intently into hers.

The door opened and Axel stood in the doorway, leaning against the door as he stared at them.

"Lunch." He said, his German agent running with the word as he nervously smiled at the two. Freya nodded, looking back at Roger to see if there was anything else that he wanted to say but he had backed up. Freya then looked at the space between them and realized how close they had been.

"Okay. Thanks..." she replied, standing up. Axel nodded, green eyes looking curiously at Roger.

Freya asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

Roger was looking at Axel, an unknown expression in his eyes as he stiffly replied, "Yeah, thanks." He headed inside, brushing past Axel as he headed for the kitchen. Freya shrugged, beginning to follow but Axel blocked her.

She stood face to face with him as Axel, a little taller than her and black hair glinting against the sunlight, unique green eyes concerned, asked, "You okay?"

Freya smiled softly, wondering why he had asked. Was she upset? She hadn't cried or anything...

"Yes. Thanks...are you?"

Axel chuckled, looking down and hiding his freckled face, then raised it, dimples on his face as he replied, "Of course. Thanks. Is he?" He tilted his head, letting Freya know that he meant Roger.

"Roger is fine." She replied, ducking under Axel's arm, leaving him staring after her.

Roger was fine, as far as she knew.

Right?