Ｒｅｔｒｏｕｖａｉｌｌｅｓ

。⓪❶

Way up on the seventh floor enveloped in a dousing lamp's glow, the female's fingers flick through the hardcover book. She is young, having just brought her last year of youth to a close – stuck trying to navigate through the maze of life alone.

Her narrowed chestnut eyes dart like a jackrabbit across the page scrutinising the multiple choices of words with intensity. Pert lips pucker and a button nose wiggles as she struggles to pronounce the foreign phrases correctly.

"Ra– Ray– Ree– ya– yoon– yyen. Reayoonyin? Reyunyan?" All patience suddenly dissipates as pale skin flushes red and anger consumes the girl's calm countenance.

"Pourquoi!"* She hurls the book out of the window, not regretting her action until she registers a grunt amidst her shrill screaming. She darts to the sill and looks down. Gobsmacked at what she sees she rushes out, running down the flight of steps whilst her espadrilles do their very best to ensure her safe travel without another mishap or slip.

"Oh mon dieu!"** she cries. Quickly she crouches to her knees beside the figure that is splayed on the pavement, his sketches scattered on the damp ground. The girl hastily sets to snatching up the papers before her victim recovers with a groan.

"Are- are you well?" she stutters, self-conscious of her vocal impediment. Despite such she proceeds to apologise profusely.

"I am very sorry... I- I just... I am so sorry."

The small man grimaces as he brings up a hand to his throbbing head but wastes no time in rising to his feet. At 5'4 he stands only one inch taller than her.

"I believe this is yours." he says, handing her the problematic book thats title reads: A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (a favourite of his).

She takes it, the apparent blush shading her subtle freckles that dot the face she now wishes to hide behind her waves of long russet locks.

"Steve." he outstretches his hand for a shake but retracts when he notices its crimson stain.

"You are bleeding!" she exclaims. "Please come up to my appartement, I can stitch you up."

"That won't be necessary." He politely tries to wave her off. "Some think that if you stick me with a needle it will go straight through."

"Oublier- forget what they say, I am a couturière-- a seamstress." She reassures him. "Albeit from a factory but please, it is the least I can do for ruining your night."

"You didn't ruin my night, just, rained on it a little."

Giving him back the pad of sketches she retrieved the young woman beckons Steve to follow her lead up to her rented room. It is simplistic and homely inside, with just enough space to comfortably situate a couple plus perhaps a melancholy cat. Besides such the place is bare, its decor being only a seemly bunk and a single packed luggage case.

Seating him at the table, she sets down her box, pulling up a chair opposite. The time it takes to mend Steve's minor laceration is short, but the length of silence between them seems to last an eternity.

"Gabrielle, my name is Gabrielle." she says, intending to break the taut strain.

Steve nods. "Nice. French Canadian?"

"How does you know?"

Steve's cleansed palm makes abstract motions around his mouth. "Your accent."

"Oh." Gabrielle chuckles with slight embarrassment.

"So whereabouts ya from, exactly?"

"Quebec. My famille emigrated here during the Great Depression."

Steve purses his lips before countering, "Immigrated?"

"Ah yes, désolé."*** Gabrielle's head drops to stare at her shoes, that distinct hue of ruby threatening to arise again. "I can't read. Learning English is so frustrating, but I'm tired of being made fun of for my lack of knowledge in the language."

Steve meets her eyes with care. "Hey I know how that feels, to be looked down on. But it's okay, you're trying and doing a good job at it."

"Thank you, I think... let's not forget I threw my teacher out the door- er- window I mean."

"We all lose it once in awhile. Was there a particular word you were trying to pronounce?"

"Yes, I can't say it though." She admits.

"Try." He coaxes gently.

"It was... um... reyunyan something..."

"Reunion?" Steve offers.

Gabrielle's eyes flash alight. "That is it!"

"It means to unite once again. What word do you French have for it?"

"Retrouvailles." she answers.

After the short procedure is brought to a close, Steve motions to the radio that murmurs the melody of Pennies From Heaven. "You like Crosby?"

Gabrielle flashes a coy grin. "I do actually. He is very soothing and helps me lose sight of what is happening around me."

"Regarding Germany?" questions Steve.

She nods slowly, gaze again dropping to the floor. "This war has taken both my papa and my brother and it was only a month ago that I lost my mother to grippe-- influenza."

"I am sorry to hear that." condoles the young man, aware that his aspirations for joining the army will be best left unsaid.

"My aunt sent me a telegram asking that I go live in Juneau with her. Tomorrow I will be leaving."

A sudden frown etches its way onto Steve's face as he is struck with a sudden pang of slight sadness, realising that already this budding bloom of an acquaintance was withering away to a wilted fancy.

"Well I, wish you the best of luck." he says with a pasted smile. He reminds himself that she is still in theory a stranger, one who's affairs he has no business in meddling with.

Reaching the door to exit (yet again) Steve pivots to address his good Samaritan. "Goodbye Gabrielle."

She sends him another smile though sad in its entirety before stating, "I'd say au revoir, but, I don't like to."

"Till next time then?"

"That is better."

"Till next time Gabrielle."

"Till next time Steve."

Five minutes after his farewell, Steve is crossing over his foyer.

He is happy to be home, though his thoughts are tainted with the inkling that tomorrow Bucky will pull another scheme from his sleeve. Maybe bring him to the grand exhibition and attempt again to get him a girlfriend.

Provided the chance, Steve intends to make a few more enlistment stops of his own, in hopes that one will accept him.

Little did he know that tomorrow's attempt would be his last.

French: *Why **Oh my god ***Sorry