Disclaimer: nothing's mine. If I could, I'd steal it, and earn lots of money, but I can't. Sorry.
(Based on the film, not the book)
A/N: edited. Not a great work, but I didn't want to change it that much -it's short and simple, and I don't want to rewrite it all, so it has to be like this.
It wasn't easy for him. Couldn't she understand it? It wasn't easy, or funny; no, it was painful, sore, but so necessary. And Ralf didn't know how to explain it, how to tell Elsa (lovely, magic, little Elsa) that he didn't want it, too, but he had to do it, cause it was necessary, and the Great Germany needed it.
And he only looked at his wife eyes, full of tears and disappointment, and smoked, and contained his breath. Elsa was crying, and Bruno pushed the door, and he felt like he was going down, going… going nowhere. He tried to hug the woman; she shouted (killer, murderer, I hate you!) and hit him. And he only could stay there, in his studio, when she went out, pathetic, surrendered, lost; a funny picture, he would have thought, had he been able to think anything.