A/N: Just a short (very short) bit of fluff to shake off the heaviness of the last one. I was overwhelmed by the kind response by so many to the M story and want to send a big hug to Kate for her touching review. Sorry I can't tell you privately, but it meant a lot.

And we're back in Paris, which I have to confess is starting to be my favorite place to be. I don't own, not mine, blah blah blah...

N is for Nostalgia: one character shares a memory with the other

A week and a half into their honeymoon, Georg and Maria discovered that they had a mutual dislike for shopping. She preferred being outside, walking around the beautiful city experiencing the culture in ways one never could by reading a book. For him, it was a tedious and boring chore and it expended energy that, if he had to be cooped up indoors, could be spent in much more pleasant ways.

Still, they could hardly return home without presents and souvenirs so they stopped at windows during their strolls to and from the hotel, taking note of which shops might be worth another visit during business hours. Georg noticed that Maria was twice as likely to stop at the windows that displayed treasures for children and barely spared a glance at those displaying ladies finery. It was something that frustrated him and endeared her to him at the same time.

"How can I spoil you when you won't even slow down when we pass the jeweler's, Maria?" Georg teased as they leisurely made their way back to the hotel after a late dinner.

"You want me to pick out my own presents?" she laughed, tugging him away from a large store front. "Where is the romance in that? Besides, you spoil me plenty." It wasn't long before she did stop. Maria pointed to a doll dressed in pink satin and lacy petticoats, her blonde curls gathered in ribbons.

"Look! Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes, very lovely," her husband agreed. "I think it would make Gretl very happy." Maria nodded, but never took her eyes away from the doll. He observed her reflection in the glass, her mouth turned in a soft smile, her eyes distant but not lost. Wherever her mind was taking her right then, Georg thought, it seemed to be somewhere pleasant. Finally, she sighed and turned to continue their walk. They only made it a few feet when she started to speak.

"I had a doll when I was a little girl," she recalled fondly. "She wasn't as fine as the one we just saw. In fact, she was quite plain." She laughed softly at the memory. "I made her clothes from old rags. And a very wicked three year old me got a hold of my mother's scissors..." Her eyes shadowed as she mentioned her mother, but then she shook her head and smiled. "I gave her the most unfortunate haircut. She was a pitiful thing, but she was mine and I loved her." Georg waited for her to go on, but Maria simply wrapped her arm tighter around his and rested her head against his shoulder as they strolled along.

"What is it?" he asked when it was clear she wasn't going to say anything else.

"What? Oh, I just... thinking about my doll made me think about my mother," she explained. "I only have a few clear memories of her."

"Will you tell me about her?" He wasn't sure the request would be welcome. She had learned a fair share about his past during their honeymoon, peppering him with questions about the navy, Agathe, the children... everything and anything about his life was a topic of interest to her. It was vastly disproportionate to what she volunteered about herself. Before he could dismiss the question, however, she gave him a loving smile and nodded.

"Mama, are you very angry?" Four year old Maria had been found in the neighbor's barn after a couple hours of frantic searching. She wanted to play with the new kittens and lost track of the time and was stricken by the look on her mother's face when she finally came home. It had been decided that she should spend the rest of the day in the kitchen where a her mother could keep a weary eye on her.

"I'm not angry. I'm not pleased, but I'm not angry," Augusta said from her place at the kitchen table, her hands working some dough in a steady rhythm. "I was so worried, Maria. Papa is too busy to look for you when you keep running away."

"Yes, Mama," she answered contritely. "If I promise to be good, will you still love me?" Her mother gave a short laugh.

"Oh, my darling, I still love you even when you're naughty."

Reassured by the answer, Maria returned to her paper and pencils while her mother formed the dough into a ball and slipped into a large bowl before covering it with a piece of cloth. It wasn't long before singing accompanied their tasks.

"I love to hear you sing," her mother told her. "God has given you a very special talent."

"What does 'talent' mean?"

"It means you can do something very well," she answered, smiling into her daughter's upturned face. "Maybe better than anyone." Maria lifted her paper into the air.

"I can write my name," Maria said proudly, and her mother paused her work just long enough to be properly impressed.

"Mama? Do you love me because I can sing pretty and can write my name?"

Her mother stopped suddenly and studied her young daughter for a moment. She wiped her hands on her apron, scooped the girl in her arms and held her tight. "Maria, I don't love you because you're a good girl or because you are talented. I love you because you are mine. My very own. I love you because you belong to me."

When she was finished with her story, Maria shrugged and gave him a sad smile. "And then... I didn't belong to anyone for a very long time."

"You belong to me," Georg offered, pulling her hand to his lips.

"We belong to each other," she corrected, her heart feeling full.

"Yes," he agreed. "And it makes me so happy."

"Me, too. Very happy." Maria put her head back on his shoulder and they resumed their walk back to the hotel.

Next: O is for Obvious