Only a Paper Moon [ Band of Brothers ] 3

[1] Histoire d'Amour

[1]

HISTOIRE d'AMOUR

a continuation of the one-shot "Engraved in Stone" by AdamantiumDragonfly on Tumblr. Please see the comments for a link.

August 1940 | Paris, France

"I'm sure you'll try."

He certainly would. Marc couldn't help but watch the redheaded girl hurry off around the lilac bushes. Louise. These days, so few people would meet his gaze on the streets. The old men and women kept their heads down in public, and the youth played out of sight. The students who didn't know them would cast glares his way, hearing Klein and seeing Nazi. But Louise fell into none of those categories. She defied them.

"Marc, you're staring."

He turned back towards his sister. Adélaïde moved over, running her fingers through her expertly curled hair. Had he been staring? Probably. Then he remembered Louise's joke. "Hey there, beautiful."

Adélaïde stopped in her tracks. "What?" She narrowed her eyes a bit, cocking her head.

With a small laugh, he just shook his head. Marc moved the last few feet to meet her. "Nothing. Something Louise said."

"Louise? Who is she?" Adélaïde held his gaze. He swore that her eyes could see through to a person's soul. She sighed. "Marc. Leave her alone. We're busy enough as it is."

"But!" He tried to find the words to express what set her apart. Why the moment he'd sat next to her to gauge her reaction and she'd reacted in a way he'd entirely not expected, he couldn't get the auburn hair and brown eyes out of his thoughts. He'd just thought to see if he could get a bit of a blush or a laugh like the others, or a slap if they needed that. But he'd gotten attitude. "She's... she's different!"

"Different? Marc!" Adélaïde shook her head. As she stepped a bit closer, she lowered her voice. "What if she's different for a reason?"

Marc could feel irritation flooding his senses. His smile dropped. "Don't act like you're the only one worrying about this, Adélaïde. I'm just as involved in this as you!" He shook his head, looking away at the gardens. Then he turned back and looked down at her, leaning in. "I didn't say anything. And I won't."

She didn't respond at first. Marc watched as she sunk a bit lower, seemingly even smaller than her already short stature. Sometimes he worried about her. If officers grabbed her, he wasn't sure she could do much. She'd have to act, play the part of scared, quiet girl. She could do it. He'd seen it in action as kids. It'd gotten her out of more than one scrape, usually ending with himself getting blamed for arguments she had started.

"I know." She sighed. "Come on. Tell me about her."

He brightened up. Adélaïde must've noticed because she broke into a smile. As they moved out of the small garden, Marc dramatically turned around and waved.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

With a smirk, he shrugged and turned around. "Waving at the pigeons."

"I do not understand you."

He couldn't help but laugh under his breath. It was nice, seeing her smile. Too few people in Paris smiled those days. Between the strict curfews and rationing, the unrest, and the fear of every neighbor, frowns and glares made up the majority of expressions. Marc hated it. So he refused to give in. Yet another little layer of resistance against the Nazis who had taken his home.

"That's how I got her name."

"Pigeons?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Pigeons."

Again, she didn't respond. She just looked away, trying desperately to suppress her own laugh. He'd won. Again. Marc chuckled. They reached the street. A few more side streets until the Champs-Élysées. The white, nearly tan buildings on each side were bare except for a few swastikas. Marc's smile fell.

"How's class been?" he asked.

Adélaïde looked at him. They passed out from the last side street and onto the Champs-Élysées. The looming Arc de Triomphe had a massive Nazi flag draped over it where once the Tricolor had flown. It made Marc's blood boil. And he could see in the way Adélaïde stiffened that she felt the same. Of course, she did. Sometimes he wondered if her anger ran deeper than even Robert's. Their older brother's anger came from the place of a displaced German. Hers came from a love of being French.

"Genevieve told me she's meeting with someone," Adélaïde told him. "A new group project."

Group project. Their own little code word for resistance activity. He nodded. But before she could go on, a German patrol came into view. They stepped to the side, allowing them to pass. Adélaïde offered one who looked over a tiny smile.

She always had been good at acting.

"Well, let me know how it goes. Can always use new friends these days," he added.

With the German patrol gone, they moved off to continue their walk home. Mostly they went on in silence. Every so often, Adélaïde would mention little things of unimportance. Juliette had taken in a stray cat. Her cousin, Marie Cosette, had spoken of her hopes of engagement to their mutual friend Jean-Luc.

"Have you heard anything from him?" Adélaïde asked. As they approached the flat she still lived in with their parents and Bernadette, she paused. "Jean-Luc tells you more than me."

Marc broke into a small smile. "No. But I wouldn't be surprised." He followed her up the outdoor stairs, his shows making a bit too much noise against the stone for his liking. He could hear a baby crying in one of the rooms they passed. "I'm sure he'll ask her soon."

A bird startled as they reached a landing. Marc watched it go, forgetting his rambling sister. A pigeon. He owed those silly little birds. They had the best sense of anyone in Paris. Pick up scraps, avoid the Germans, sit around Louise. He broke into a smile. He wanted to see her again.

"I'm sure you'll try."

He certainly would.