Title: Tomorrow
Author: Romana
Series: 'Allo 'Allo! (Series 8ish)
Pairing: Yvette/Helga
Rating: PG (If that :)
Archiving: Please.

I realise I have forgotten practically every bit of French and German I ever learnt.  Please let me know if I got it wrong.  How sad, I can't even remember how to spell good morning :(
Romana x x


by Romana


I hold her while she sleeps, curled around her protectively.  Pressed against her back.  I can smell the heavy sweet musk of her perfume; so familiar.  It's expensive.  She keeps offering to share it with me; perfume's difficult to get.  But I refuse, at least until we are here together.  I don't want to wear it for them, only her.  She wears it all the time.  The General bought it for her and so Herr Flick doesn't like it.  She says that's why she does it; you can't say no to the Gestapo, but you can forget that they don't like your perfume.  I say she shouldn't annoy him and she smiles in that slightly predatory way she has sometimes.  She says he's quite soft really, that she can manage him, but I've seen the bruises.  She had dinner with him this evening.  I served their food.  It was as though she didn't even see me.  She listened attentively as he talked about their wedding, smiling back at him when he caught her eye.  I told her that I don't like sharing her, and she laughed at that, reminded me what I do for a living.

"That's different," I insisted, "I don't say I love them.  I don't talk about marrying them.  There's no 'after the war', there's not even tomorrow."  She looked me in the eye then, all trace of amusement gone.

"I have no choice." she whispered.  "But you, with you there's always someone and when there are no customers, there's René.  With him there's love, and tomorrows."

"No, not really.  I also have no choice." 

We were sitting on the sofa in her room.  She's been staying at the café since she had an argument with a major at the barracks.  She was in one of those fabulous basques she wears, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her legs, sheathed in perfect black silk stockings.  I kissed her then, and she responded.  Her mouth opening against mine, her tounge flickering across my lips.  I undid her hair, pulled her on to the bed.  She immediately rolled on top of me, leaning over me, her face framed by long blonde hair, kinked from the tight plaits she wears.  Then she smiled, properly, with her eyes.  She does that rarely.  Oh, she flashes her perfect teeth around a lot.  Particularly at her superior officers, but she only smiles like that for me.  I think. She mutters something in her sleep, it's in German, and I don't understand. Then she breathes deeply and shudders.

"Yve?" she mumbles.

"Shh.  I'm here." I whisper, stroking her hair.

She struggles and turns over in my arms, eyes opening just a little.  I can see her face now in the ray of early morning light shining through a gap in the shutter.  She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me sleepily.

"Bon matin." she grins.  Her accent is pretty bad, but I've heard worse.

"Guten Morgen." I grin back.  I run my hand up her side, loving the feel of her skin under my hands.  She flinches.  I don't want to know how she got this latest bruise, I don't ask, she doesn't tell me.  I want to stay there, in our warm nest of blankets, with the light, fresh morning shining into the only place and time that's ours.  But I pull away.  Slip down the passage to my own room, not that it feels like mine.  This is not private but a public space that I've shared with so many.  That's why her room is ours.  I dress quickly and head for the kitchen.  Hoping for tomorrow.

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