A/N: Very long one-shot. I'm sure my French is totally wrong...but since I haven't had to use it in any capacity in almost 20 years (Oy! That makes me feel old to realize!) it's understandable.
July, 1918 Paris, France
One day. That was all that was left before the 105th Infantry Division shipped out to the Belgian lines. Company A had been given a day of leave, and some of the men headed into Paris for one last fling.
Private 1st Class Richard Harrow was among the soldiers spending that last bit of freedom in the City of Lights. He had promised to get his twin sister something nice if he got the chance, and it was likely that this would be his last chance for a while. So while the other members of his company made a beeline for the bars and brothels, Richard instead headed for the shopping district. He took his time, taking in the sights. Up until a year or so before, Richard had never been farther than twenty-five miles from the Wisconsin farm he had grown up on. But since he had enlisted in the Army the previous April, he'd been to New York, then South Carolina, now Paris.
He wished Emma was here to share this with him. They had shared nearly everything together, growing up, and it felt strange to Richard to not have her with him. It would be nice to have her there to talk to, discuss all the new things he was seeing. He decided to write her a letter before he left the city. He had sent her one before they boarded the transport ship out of South Carolina, and had received her reply last week. He wasn't sure if he'd have much opportunity to write her once they reached the lines, and chances were good it would take forever to get a response back from her. But, he would still write to her, try to relay some of the beauty he was seeing as he walked through the city.
Richard sighed and tried to brush aside thoughts of his sister and home. He was growing homesick again. It was a feeling he'd experienced quite a bit, and he sure he would experience it more as the war wore on. He would have to deal with it as best he could, and right now, a good way to do so would be to enjoy this new city he found himself in.
He'd spent a good two hours wandering and window shopping when he stumbled upon a bustling little café. The outdoor tables were nearly full, although there were a few open. He thought about sitting down, perhaps enjoying some coffee and one of the pastries Paris had a reputation for, but seeing Sgt. Joe Ford sitting at one of the tables changed his mind.
Now, Richard wasn't the kind of man who hated a lot of people. He understood that there were some people in the world that he wouldn't get along with, that he could find no common ground on which to base a relationship of any sort, but that wasn't a reason to hate.
Joe Ford however, was an entirely different story.
Ford was the kind of man who seemed to delight in wreaking havoc. From the derisive nicknames he pinned on everyone (he had dubbed Richard 'Private Farm-Fuck' right off the bat, not that it bothered Richard much) he would spread rumors about the company members, instigate fights, take credit for things he did not do, but quickly lay blame elsewhere for the things he did do. He was verbally abusive to the soldiers under him, tended towards being lazy, and just irritated Richard in general. Richard tried hard to avoid him whenever possible, but when he did have to deal with the man, he usually came out of the encounter with a very sore tongue from biting down so hard to keep his thoughts to himself.
Richard was just going to walk past and go about the rest of his day. He didn't want to deal with Ford any more than he had to, and he knew he'd have to deal with him a lot once they deployed. But as he walked, he watched Ford grab a young lady by the wrist, stopping her from walking by. Richard was too far away to hear the words they exchanged but it was clear from the shake of her head and the way she tried to free her arm that she wasn't interested in whatever Ford was saying. Ford, being the class ass that he was, refused to let go of her arm. She tried to pull away again, nearly knocking over a waiter in the process. Richard clenched his jaw and approached them.
"I believe the lady is saying no. Sargent," he added, knowing Ford was the kind of man who would make a fuss if Richard didn't address his rank.
"I believe it's none of your business, Harrow" Ford replied. "Run along, or I'll have you written up for insubordination." He turned his attention back to the woman and said "Now baby, as I was saying before Private Farm-fuck interrupted us, I'll show you a real good time..." She struggled a moment more, then much to Richards surprise, and even more so to Ford's, she smacked the Sargent as hard as she could across the face. Stunned, Ford let her arm go and she stumbled away. Ford shot to his feet and took one step toward her. Richard stepped between them.
"Do you really want to make an issue of this, Private?" Ford asked threateningly.
"Only if you insist on it, sir." Richard replied calmly. His right hand rested on his service revolver. Ford looked at him, mouth tight with anger. The problem with these fucking yokels like Harrow was that they didn't understand how things worked. They didn't know when to keep their nose out of other peoples business.
"You picked the wrong fight, farm-fuck." Ford snarled.
"But I picked it," Richard said in a quiet even tone. "She didn't. Sir"
Ford glared past Richard to the woman in question. Stupid bitch. He just wanted to have a good time. She would've enjoyed it, and if she didn't that was her own fault. She looked back at him from behind Richard. Ford turned his glare back to Richard, weighing his options.
Ford had to admit, for a fucking farm boy, Harrow had taken to marksmanship like a duck to water. Harrow was also fast on the draw, a lot faster than Ford himself would ever be.
"Fuck you then, you stupid French cunt," Ford said to the woman. "As for you, Farm-fuck," he said as he turned to Richard, "be assured, I will make your life a living hell."
"Yes, sir. I'm sure you will, sir," Richard replied evenly. Ford narrowed his eyes, but couldn't come up with any sort of reply, witty, scathing, or otherwise. He turned on his heel and stormed off. Richard and the woman watched until he was out of sight, then Richard turned back to the woman. Before he could ask if she was alright, she had thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely.
"Oh, merci, monsieur, ah...Comment tu t'appelles?"
Richard knew right then that he should have paid more attention to that crash course in French that the company was forced to sit through.
"Uh, je m'appelle Richard Harrow?" He said uncertainly. He could tell from the way her lips were quirking up at the corners that he completely butchered the pronunciation. At least, he hoped that was it, and that he didn't say something like "I enjoy flying pigs like kites"
"Well, merci, Monsieur Harrow." Richard felt a shudder move down his spine at the way she pronounced his last name. It came out like Air-roh with just the slightest hint of 'h' at the beginning. It was amazing that his rather plain last name could sound so exotic.
"Glad to be of assistance, ma'am," he replied formally, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. "Oh, erm...je suis...joyeux..." He cut off his stammering French when he notice she was trying so very hard not to laugh.
"Je m'excuse," she said, covering her mouth with her hand. "I apologize. I do speak English, although it is sometimes, ah...not making ze sense..."
Richard chuckled and said "You speak English much better than I speak French." He glanced down at his feet, then peered back at her through his eyelashes.
"Well, Monsieur Harrow, again, merci. Is zere anyzing I can do to return ze favour?"
"Oh, no, ma'am!" Richard replied quickly. "Doing something like that is the right thing to do, and it's own reward." And as soon as those words were out of his mouth he started to blush. Could he sound any more like a do-gooding yokel? Of course, how could he sound anything but when he was talking to this sophisticated, foreign woman? "Ah, well, good day, ma'am," he stammered. He gave a quick bob of his head and rushed off before he could end up making a bigger fool of himself.
He continued to walk, paying no attention to where he was going. He eventually found himself thoroughly lost, but he didn't mind, he was so enchanted with everything. He turned a corner and found himself staring at the most ornate, magnificent structure he had ever seen.
Arches, pillars, intricate details carved into the facade. What truly caught him was the golden angels on each corner. He had no idea what he was looking at, but he had certainly never seen anything more remarkable in his life.
"C'est incroyable, oui?"
Richard pulled himself out of his reverie and looked around for the source of the voice. The woman from earlier was standing in front of him. He'd been so entranced by the building he hadn't even seen her walk up.
"What is it?" he asked in breathless wonder.
"It is ze Opéra," she informed him with a note of pride. "Some people call it ze most beautiful building in ze world. Have you read 'Ze Phantom of Ze Opera' by Gaston Leroux?"
"No, I haven't," Richard admitted. "I've been meaning to, but...well, I've been a little busy lately. I've heard wonderful things about it. This is where it takes place?"
"Oui. Monsieur Leroux really captured ze beauty and ze...ze...ah, I do not zink I can describe it to you. You would have to see it. And read ze book, of course."
"Of course," Richard said, finally tearing his eyes away from the building and looking at the woman. She was looking at him with a slightly amused smile on her face, and Richard could feel the color creeping into his cheeks once again.
"You are enjoying Paris?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am," he replied. "It's...it's unlike anything I've ever seen. There is nothing remotely like this," he waved his hands in the direction of the opera house, and then in a broader more encompassing sweep around to indicate the rest of the city, "In Wisconsin."
"Wiz-con-seen?" she repeated, her accent giving the word a certain flare the state could never truly live up to. "Zat is zis state?" She held up her left hand with her palm facing her. Richard laughed, took her hand and gently flipped it so the thumb was pointing right.
"It goes that way," he said gently. "And that's Michigan. You have the lake over here," he ran his finger down the pinky side of her hand, "and Wisconsin is right over here." He wiggled his finger in the general area of where Wisconsin would be. Belatedly, he realized he was being rather brazen, quickly removed his hands from hers, and stammered an apology for being so forward.
She laughed.
"Oh, Monsieur Harrow! Ze French...we do not look at somezing like zat as forward. Zere is no need for you to apologize."
"Well, ma'am...it's just that I...um, I don't want you think that I'm like, well, like that guy back at the café."
"But you are not like him at all! You! You are a gentleman. Him, zough, he is... un morceau de merde!" Richard didn't know what that meant, but judging from her tone of voice, it wasn't a good thing. He felt himself blushing when she called him a gentleman, although since that was what he strove very hard to be, he didn't know why he was blushing.
"You are shy!" she said, as if the possibility had just dawned on her.
"Um, well, yes ma'am, somewhat," he said, looking down at his shoes.
"Ah, mon chér! Non! A shy man, he can not enjoy Paris on his own." She abruptly looped her arm through his and began leading him down the street. "I will show you Paris, you will not be shy with me, and all will be très magnifique."
"Really, ma'am, that's not..."
"Ze first step in ze not being shy is zat you must stop calling me 'ma'am'. My name is Simonne Delacroix. You will call me Simonne, I will call you Richard." Richard felt one of those strange flutters when his first name came past her lips as Ree-shard.
"But, ma'am, that's rather forward of me..."
"It is not, if I am giving you the permission, oui?"
"Well, I guess not, ma...um, Miss Simonne."
"Bien!" she said delightedly. "Now, Monsieur Richard, what would you like to see of Paris?"
"All of it," he admitted with a small laugh. "But, since I only have one day...I don't really know."
"One day? Such a shame! Well, what have you already seen?"
"Not much," Richard replied, unconsciously adjusting her grip on his arm to make it just a little more comfortable. "I've been aimlessly wandering around, not paying any attention to where I've been going."
"So you are lost?"
"Oh yes. Very much so," he admitted with a self depreciating laugh.
"Hmm. Zere are so many zings you should see." She tapped her lips with the forefinger of her free hand. "Is there anyzing specific you need or want to do?"
"I did promise Emma I would buy her something."
"Emma? She is your...you would say, girlfriend?"
"No, Emma is my twin sister," he said. He pulled his out pocket watch and opened it, showing Simonne the small portrait he kept in the inside cover.
"She is très jolie!" Simonne exclaimed. "It is obvious, dans les yeux, ah...in ze eyes...zat your are related."
"That's what everyone tells us," Richard said as he tucked his watch away. Not that there were a whole lot of people in that 'everyone'. Their farm was secluded, and the Harrow family hadn't often gone anywhere, but on those occasions where they did interact with others, people always commented about how Emma and Richard had the same eyes.
"So, what kind of gift are you looking for?"
"I have no idea," Richard admitted.
"Zat is not helpful."
"I know. But, I guess I'm looking for that...just, that perfect gift that you don't know you're looking for, but it's just so perfect that it catches your eye."
"Ah, oui. I understand. I have often searched for zis gift, myself. I zink I know where it might be."
She led him through the city, pointing things out to him as they walked, answering any questions he had. He did eventually find himself relaxing around her, although not completely. He was affected by the nervousness that any healthy young man felt near a beautiful young woman, but he did his best to ignore that, since she did not seem interested him in that way. She chattered along, sometimes lapsing into French without realizing it. Richard just enjoyed listening to her even if he didn't understand her. Eventually they ended up in the artisan district. They slowly meandered through the narrow streets, pausing to watch an artist sketch or peruse the displays of handmade jewelry. Simonne managed to strike up a conversation with nearly everyone they encountered. She was kind enough to translate for Richard when needed, although many of the merchants knew enough English to communicate with their customers.
He realized she'd been right. He hadn't really been enjoying the city as much on his own as he was with her. Her constant chatter was amusing and she managed to get him to open up about himself. He couldn't imagine that she would care much about what life on a farm was like, but she asked constant questions, wanting more details about his life before the army.
"Zere are no buildings? No people?"
"Well, we do have a house. And there's the barn for the cows, a chicken coop, the silo..."
"But zere is..." she waved her hand around, at a loss for the words she was looking for. "Sometimes," she said quietly "zere are alleys were you can not see ze sky. And always, zere are people around. Zere is no peace. No silence. You can not find ze...how do you say it? Where zere is only you and your zoughts?"
"Solitude," Richard said. He knew about solitude.
"Oui...solitude. Sometimes when I can not hear myself zink, I wish...ah but zat is futile."
"If wishes were fishes, then no man would starve, right?"
"Oui," she replied with a sigh. She gave a small shake to clear her body of the melancholia that was threatening to settle. It was a lovely day and she was supposed to be showing this handsome young soldier the good things about her home city.
They kept walking, her arm still looped through his. Richard abruptly stopped, but Simonne didn't realize it until his lack of momentum pulled her off balance. She stumbled back half a step, bumped into Richard, and would have fallen over had he not been quick thinking enough to put his arm out to catch her.
"Sorry," he said, once he was sure she had her feet firmly under her. "I should have said something about stopping. But something caught my eye." He pointed to a shop window.
"Ah, ze gift for your sister! I had forgotten all about it!"
Hanging in the window were stained glass sun catchers. Two had caught Richard's eye: one, in shades of red and yellow, was shaped like the sun. The other was in the shape of a fleur de lis in shades of blue and green.
"You zink she will like zese?" Simonne asked as Richard contemplated the sun catchers.
"I think so, yes," he replied. "The kitchen window gets a lot of sun in the morning, and I think these would look nice there."
"Ze merchant, he will give you a price zat is too much. He will expect you to...argue with him, on ze price. Mais, mon chér, I am zinking you are too nice for zis." Richard couldn't argue with her on that point, so she offered to do the haggling for him. They went inside and spoke with the shop owner. He and Simonne spent fifteen minutes trading what Richard was sure were insults interspersed with numbers. It was an interesting exchange to watch. Both Simonne and the owner were emphatically waving their hands, and their voices increased in volume. Richard would have been concerned had they both not been grinning. Finally, the merchant turned to Richard and said in quite clear English, "Mademoiselle Delacroix, she drives a hard bargain for you, mon ami! But she tells me you leave tomorrow for ze front, and zat you are sending zese to your family. She also has promised me two tickets to ze Bastille Day performance," the last was said with a pointed look at Simonne.
"Oui!," she said, sounding miffed "Zey will be zere when you arrive."
"Très bien!" the shop owner said with a broad grin. He carefully wrapped and boxed the sun catchers for Richard, took his money, and reminded Simonne one last time about those tickets.
Simonne led Richard out of the shop and back onto the street.
"Thank you for you help," Richard said, tucking the box under his arm. "What was that about tickets?"
"Oh, ze Bastille Day performance at ze opera house. It is a big event, and ze tickets are hard to come by. I am able to get some, and so I promised him two. If you were not leaving tomorrow, I would offer one to you, as well. "
"It's almost tempting to be shot as a deserter, for the chance to attend something like that with you." Richard felt himself blush immediately. That was the boldest thing he'd ever said to a woman.
"I would not want you to be shot, mon chér! Especially since I do not actually see ze performance."
Richard raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I am in ze ballet," she explained, dancing ahead a little bit and doing a pirouette. She concluded with a low bow, one leg outstretched and her body nearly bent double over it.
"Impressive," Richard said.
"Merci," she said as she looped her arm through his once again. "I enjoy it. And I am hoping zat ze ballet will take me out of Paris. Zere are so many zings I would like to see."
Richard nodded, completely understanding how she felt.
"Would you like for me to put your package in my bag?" Simonne asked. "Zat way, you will not need to fear it dropping."
"Thank you," Richard said as he handed the box over. "I appreciate that." She tucked it securely away, looped her arm in his once again, and continued with the tour of the city.
Simonne took him to a cozy little restaurant for an early dinner, where she bartered her other two tickets to the Bastille Day performance for their meal.
"Zere is one more zing you should see," Simonne said after they had eaten. "It is ze one zing zat says 'Paris'."
And so she led him across the river and to the base of the Eiffel Tower.
Richard grew dizzy standing at the bottom and looking up to the top of the gigantic iron structure.
"It's so...tall!"
"Oui! Come! You must see ze view from ze top!"
One slow, creaky, somewhat nerve-wracking elevator ride later, Richard did see the view from the top. Simonne had timed it perfectly...the sun was setting, and the city was just starting to sparkle as evening-time lamps came on.
Richard stood at the railing and looked out over the city, then turned to Simonne. "This is spectacular," he said. Simonne moved in next to him, her hand resting next to his on the railing. She took note of the look of delight on his face. She had completely ignored some important things today, but that look was worth it.
"You know," she said slowly, "zey say zat Paris is ze most romantic city in ze world."
"They must think so," Richard said, pointing to an elderly couple down the rail who were locked in a kiss. Simonne looked in the direction of the couple
"Zat is so...so..." she turned back to Richard, hoping he could supply the word she was looking for. Her face was very close to his, and she could see the color creeping into his cheeks again. What a delightful man, she thought. Polite, sweet, intelligent, willing to do a chivalrous deed when needed. Unable to resist herself, even though she knew he would likely turn shy on her again, she leaned in and gently brushed her lips against his. He was shocked at first, experienced a small stab of panic because he had no idea what to do. But after a brief moment, it seemed to make sense, and he slowly let himself kiss her back, his arms moving to encircle her in a loose embrace.
It might have gone on for a minute, or an hour. They didn't know, they didn't really care. The kiss slowly, tentatively deepened, but somehow they both knew it would not, could not, go beyond what it was, a small moment in time set aside at the top of the world. Who knew what tomorrow would hold?
The kiss broke after a time, they shared a gaze and then Simonne said "See, mon chér? It is as I said...you will not be shy with me, and all with be très magnifique. Oui?"
"Oui," Richard replied softly.
They said good-bye outside of the small hotel Richard was staying at for the night.
"Thank you," Richard said. "I really enjoyed today. It was, as you said, magnificent."
"It was my pleasure, mon chér. Be safe, in ze war." She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then turned and hurried away from him. Richard thought that was the last he would ever see of her, which was a shame. She seemed like the kind of girl he would enjoy getting to know better. But maybe she was just meant to be a brief moment in his life, a fond memory he would recall years from now with a story about one day when he was in Paris. And because he was young, and had the whole world ahead of him, he was fine with that.
The next morning, he hurried down the platform at the train station, his gear slung over his back. This was it...they were off to the front and there was no turning back.
"Monsieur Harrow! Monsieur Harrow!"
Hearing his name called over the bustle, Richard stopped and turned, standing on his toes to see over the crowd. He finally spotted Simonne weaving her way through the bustle.
"Ah! Mon chér, I zought I would be too late! I forgot to give zis back to you," she said, holding out the gift for Emma.
"Thank you! I had completely forgotten about it!" He took the box, then mentally kicked himself. He should have posted it as soon as he bought it yesterday.
"I can send it for you, if you like," Simonne offered, somehow deciphering his train of thought.
"Thank you. I really appreciate it." He rattled off the address for her, and she repeated it until she was certain it was memorized.
"I have zis, for you, mon chér," she said, pulling a book from her bag. "For ze train ride...and, if you are...not too busy with ze war." She sounded silly, so she cut herself off.
"Thank you," Richard said, running his hand over the title. "I will enjoy this. And the next time I'm in Paris, you can point out the details in the actual opera house."
"Oui," she said softly. She licked her lips, as if she was going to say something more, but nothing came out.
"Don't tell me you're getting shy?" Richard said. Simonne blushed and looked away, although she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Richard took a deep breath to steel himself, then leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back, and they were both oblivious to the calls and whistles coming from the soldiers on the train. It was the conductor calling for all aboard that ended their kiss.
"Adieu," Richard said, readjusting his gear and making sure he had the book she had just given him.
"Non, mon chér," she corrected. "Adieu is so...final. I prefer 'au revoir', until we next see each other."
"Au revoir, then."