Series: 'Allo 'Allo! (Series 8ish)
Rating: PG (If that :)
I realise I have forgotten practically every bit of French and German
learnt. Please let me know if I got it wrong. How sad, I can't even
how to spell good morning :(
Romana x x
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
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
"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
"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
"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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