Title: Tomorrow
Author: Romana (romana03@yahoo.com )
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
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
"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
"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,
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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