Juliana vanishes, leaving the Reichsmarschall alone in the darkness, standing on the side of the back country road. It takes him a few breaths before he can collect himself and act. Adrenaline pumping, he grabs the film off the road and gets in his car.

Smith knows he needs to watch the film, but he also has other matters to attend to before it is too late. He wants to curse himself for admitting to the leader of the Resistance that he had Himmler shot. He knows she affects him, always has. Before, he had Helen, they were a team. Now, he feels alone in all of this.

Smith drives through the night, eyes clear and focused despite his exhaustion. He can sleep when he's dead, and if what he just confessed catches up to him, that will be much sooner than he had hoped.

As the sun begins to rise, he spots the small shed near the edge of the property, and a few acres in is the old white wooden farm, just as he remembers it. Smith finds himself wandering through memories of his previous life, before the Reich, before the war, when he was just a lad who found odd jobs to support himself and his mom.

Back then, Jack Bradley had been his best friend.

His car pulls up and a man emerges from the house, broad chested and sun tanned. He wears a ball cap, worn out jeans and a white t-shirt. Even after the years that have passed he recognizes John immediately. Jack grins at Smith and waves for him to park the car near the apple tree.

"John!" Jack calls, walking over and giving the man a bear hug. Smith, usually uninterested in this sort of physical affection outside of his family, embraces the hardened farmer.

"Hi Jack." His voice is smooth.

The man pulls back, holding Smith's shoulders. "Funny, you don't look like a Reichsmarschall."

Smith grins. "Incognito, my friend."

"Want a cup of coffee?" The man leads the way back into the house before Smith can respond. He glances around, noting how this farm house is completely isolated, before going inside.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of the leader of the no longer free world?" Jack sets down a mug and turns back to grab the coffee pot.

"You know why, Jack." Smith's low voice is tinged with regret.

Jack turns back with a frown, pouring Smith a cup. "I know," he says, setting the pot down and pulls out his seat.

The two drink in silence a moment. Smith is on full alert but trying to appear calm in the presence of his old friend.

Jack downs his mug. "For that, I'll need something stronger."

He gets up and pulls a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet, pulling two shot glasses with him.

"Drink." Jack sets down the glasses and pours them, some whiskey sloshing onto the table, but he doesn't care. Smith normally would be bothered by the near command, but today, he will make an exception.

Smith just watches every movement as if trying to imprint this image of drinking with his friend into his memories forever.

"You're still too quiet." Jack teases, pouring himself another shot. Smith doesn't drink this one right away. He wishes he could indulge and let all the stressors of the world leave him. Unlike Juliana, he cannot just pop away when things are challenging or painful.

"Why didn't you run?" Smith's composure cracks as he pleads to his friend. "With Nancy and Marie? Why didn't you just go with them?"

At the thought of his wife and daughter, Jack skips the glass this time and guzzles from the bottle. He slams it on the table, a little too hard. Smith doesn't flinch. Jack glares at him, pointing a finger in judgment.

"I… I know better than to run from you. Lieutenant Smith always gets 'em." Jack begins to laugh, and that unsettles Smith more than the anger a moment before.

In response, Smith cracks a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Bet you haven't heard that in a long time." Jack takes another swig.

"More recently than you'd think." Smith takes a deep breath, remembering Abe Hawkes discovery of who he really is.

He doesn't know what he expected to see Jack again, his childhood friend and war buddy, after years in the SS. Smith has spied, killed, and betrayed his way to his current position as Reichsmarschall. What did Jack really think of him? Should Smith even care?

"Alright, Smithy, spill. What's going on?" Jack's bottle is now about halfway gone.

Now Smith does smile. He raises an eyebrow, looking at Jack sideways. "Even now, you're worried about me when I'm here to kill you?" Smith shakes his head. "You were always too good, Jack."

"Yeah, refreshing isn't it? Remembering what the world was like when people cared about each other instead of pretending to give a damn about the Fuhrer." Jack leans back and folds his hands on his chest. "So come on… you can tell me. I'll be dead soon, right?"

Smith frowns as the Reichsmarschall mask keeps cracking. "It wasn't supposed to be this way." He finally downs the shot in front of him. "Helen… she's gone."

"Oh, shit…." Jack looks concerned.

"She's alive. She just...left me. After I became Oberstgruppenführer." Smith sighs. "I should have seen it coming, really. I got in too deep. Everything, everything I did was to protect them. And then Tom…" Smith lets his head fall. If there is a moment for Jack to take advantage, to fight back or run, it is right now.

Jack doesn't move.

"I know. I'm really sorry." Jack looks at him empathetically before taking a big gulp. "How can you keep this up then?" Jack slides the bottle across the table.

Smith can't be both. He can't be the man from long ago and the Reichsmarschall. Somewhere is a premature thought in the back of his mind telling him he will have to choose.

"I always thought if I worked towards the top, but…" It's Smith's turn to take a swig.

"D'ya think Himmler will pull through?" Jack's words slur a little. The nearly half a bottle is beginning to take effect.

Smith stands, checking that he isn't impacted by the whiskey. "Unfortunately, it seems likely." He pulls the gun from his holster.

"Still time to let me run, eh?" Jack gives a smile, but his eyes seem full of sorrow and betrayal.

"You were right. I can't have any loose ends." Smith's eyes go cold. "I can't."

Smith raises his gun and Jack stands. "I'd'a be happy ter do it all again… only if'n those Resistance guys got a fatal shot of the bastard."

"Things might have turned out differently." Smith finishes for him. Jack gives a nod, then salutes.

"It was a pleasure servin' wit' you, Lieutenant Smith."

"And you, Captain Bradley." Smith shoots him square in the forehead and Jack's body drops instantly.

Smith replaces his gun and wipes his eyes.

For a moment he thinks he will drown in regret and sorrow, but the pieces of the Reichsmarschall mask are slowly falling back into place, and he forces the defeating emotions down. Smith clenches his jaw and turns on his heel. He has a film to watch, soldiers to train, and half the world to run.

And for now he knows his secret is safe.