A/N: After another crazy long hiatus I doubt anyone's actually going to read this story but after all the work I've put into this I feel I need to get this done.

So here you go. I'm all but done, just editing as I go so hopefully there won't be anymore insanely long breaks.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and favourited the story. You're stars x

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sturzelberg, Germany

March, 1945

Dear Grace,

56 days since we last saw each other and it'll probably be more by the time this letter gets to you. Missing you like crazy and can't wait until the next time I see you though I don't know when that'll be. There are rumours that will be moving out of Mourmelon soon but it probably won't come to anything. How's Germany? I can't believe after all of this you girls got there first. We've got a whole bunch of new replacements, eighteen year olds just off the troop ship from. They're all shooting their mouths off about what they're going to do when we jump on Berlin. What they don't know is that this war is coming to an end and if history has taught us anything it's that wars generally end very quietly. When both sides have got tired of all the death and are starting looking for excuses to bring the thing to a quick finish. I'm looking forward to the quiet. I don't know how I feel about the finish.

Hope to catch up with you soon.

Yours, Lewis

Grace folded the letter carefully. She had waited over a week for it and the words were so precious that she had barely made it out of the Post Office before tearing through the envelope and devouring the short note.

The letter was dated in early March but they were now creeping into April. It had been four weeks since they had moved on from Alsace and six since Grace had seen Lewis Nixon. Since then a lot had happened. Ally, with much prompting from Grace had come clean about her pregnancy to the American Red Cross and within hours had been sent home in disgrace without even being given the opportunity to say goodbye. Soon after that, the hospital had been packed up once more and moved a few miles down the line into Germany itself, a true sign that the war was ending, though Grace's feelings about this latest development were just as complicated as Lewis'. He had that nasty habit of complicating simple things even when he wasn't around.

As promised he had written but the wartime postal service being what it was, the receipt of those letters had been sporadic at best and she had found herself responding to letters in the wrong order or long after they were written. It was hardly a meaningful form of communication and while they did touch on his true feelings it was no substitute for the face to face contact she desperately missed.

She couldn't say that she stopped by the Post Office everyday to ask after letters, she had more self-respect than that but every other day Grace would make the time to pop around to make casual enquiries. Maggie had been generous enough to accompany her on this trip but she was now getting bored and fidgety.

'Can you not save that for later?' Maggie whined. 'Are you so hungry for his words of affection that you just can't wait until we get back?' She flicked her cigarette butt on the pristine German pavement. The cleanliness of the place affronted her apparently. 'What does he write anyway? Does he tell you all the things he's going to do to you once he sees you again?'

'Yes. It's all very risqué. I'm blushing right now.' Grace folded the letter into her pocket, without finishing it.

'Liar. If it was anything sexy you would have shown me.'

They walked a little further down the quaint little cobbled streets lined with equally quaint businesses; a butchers, an ironmongers, a shop selling antique furniture and other oddities. It was like a brighter, cleaner German version of a pre-war Aldbourne.

'Does he say anything about when they're going to get to Germany?' Maggie continued.

'Soon, he says vaguely. I'm just waiting for something to break up the monotony of treating in growing toenails.'

'Careful. They might hear you complaining and send us to Japan and then where would you and Captain Nixon be?'

Grace shrugged. 'Probably no worse off than we are now.'

A loud crash like something heavy being hurled across the street by an elephant caused both Maggie and Grace to both whip around in the direction of the sound. It came from around the sharp corner of a small street they were passing, an unexpected sound in the quaint quiet of the little town.

Grace turned to Maggie. 'Do you want to go take a look?'

She shrugged. 'Alright.'

The street was full of khaki. The Americans were in town and making their presence felt in typical fashion. They swarmed like nats, burrowing inroads into the townhouses that lined the street and without care or sensitivity or even much more than five minutes warning before casting out the unsuspecting German occupants. It was happening all over the town and in many other towns in Germany. Grace never usually felt much sympathy for the ousted Germans, they after all would eventually have their homes returned to them in a shabby state but still standing none the less, unlike so many in Europe. However, what made Grace and Maggie stop was the cause of the sound that had drawn them there. A solid looking armoire was wreckage on the cobbled paving. It had been thrown from at least the first storey, out of one of the large French windows. It had knocked down potted plants decorating the window sills on its descent and the remains of these were strewn over the street too, trampled beneath the heavy jump boots of paratroopers.

In the middle of it all was an old woman, her grey eyes clouded by cataracts, clawing what she could from the broken furniture. The cupboard had been storing old photographs and papers and she collected these in her pooled apron to save them from going the way of the potted ferns. The men around paid her no attention and she appeared like an actress centre stage, struggling on with a performance her audience were ignoring.

Grace didn't recognise any of the soldiers around as while they wore the Screaming Eagle badge of the 101st Airborne, they also wore the freshly scrubbed youthful look of boys just off the troop ship. But in amongst all the exuberance of the young boys was one figure set apart; David Webster louchely watching the scene with his reporter's eye.

Without thinking, Grace jumped forward and grabbed him by the shoulder pulling him back. 'What the hell are you doing?'

Webster gaped at her speechless. Obviously he hadn't expected to see her and the fact that she was here and standing in front of him without so much as a "hello" threw him for a loop.

'He's doing his damn job is what he's doing,' said a voice behind her. It was Joe Liebgott pushing through the platoon of replacements. 'Hey, Grace. Maggie. What are you all fired up about today?'

Maggie answered before Grace could. 'I don't know, maybe it's the rampant vandalism your men are indulging in.'

'We're the invading force, isn't that what we're supposed to do?' said Joe carelessly though he did cast a careful eye to the old woman scrabbling on the floor.

'Well, you're all looking distastefully comfortable with the pillage and plunder role.' Maggie's criticism dripped with disdain. 'And what about those boys in there? Have they even seen any action, or is this what they think war is? Smashing up an old woman's home?'

'Hey, Web asked this woman to leave. He asked her real nice. You think the krauts were that polite with the French?'

'I agree,' said David. 'Have you seen this place? It's like a fucking fairy tale town. You can't even tell there's been a war. A broken dresser doesn't really compare with all the shit they rained down on London.'

In principal Grace could see his and Liebgott's point. In actuality she was finding it very difficult to reconcile the people who had ground cities like London, Coventry and Newcastle almost to dust, the people who had shot down her brother's plane, with this very harmless, ordinary looking woman. They weren't the same.

'Oh, yes? But what has that got to do with this?' She gestured to the old woman now scrambling in the street to rescue her old photographs from the callous feet of the paratroopers.

'Ask them if she's got anywhere to go,' Maggie instructed Liebgott.

Joe looked as if he were about to refuse, but the woman let out a muffled sob before them. With surprising gentleness, Liebgott stepped forward and knelt before the woman. She flinched from him as he put a hand on her shoulder but calmed as he spoke to her slowly and careful. The others watched his brief conversation with her before he turned back and translated. 'Her sister lives on the other side of town. Here, Web, help me collect up this stuff.'

They picked up the woman's few meagre possessions, the patched suitcase she managed to throw together in the unsympathetic five minutes the soldiers had given her and escorted her across the town.

As their pace was set by the old woman who, now cheered by their assistance was babbling away to Liebgott in a German dialect so fast even Webster was having difficulty keeping up. Surprisingly, Liebgott listened patiently. He was good with old people and the way that he offered the woman his arm to lean on as they approach a steep incline in the road was both unexpected and strangely heart-warming. After all the burning rage he had been harbouring since Bastogne, this brief reappearance of pre-war Joseph Liebgott, the one who was kind and funny and respectful, was a welcome sight.

'She likes his accent,' said Webster, who had fallen into step with Grace. 'It reminds her of home.'

'His accent?'

'Apparently he sounds like an Austrian.'

'And what do you sound like?'

'An uneducated American.'

Grace linked her arm companionably through his. 'Oh, David, you're anything but that.'

They were flirting again but with David Webster it always came too naturally to feel guilty about.

The group were met outside a nice farm house a little way off from the town by an old man digging in the charmingly utilitarian front garden – the woman's brother-in-law, David explained to Grace, translating the woman's wild gestures and the man's curious glances. Clearly he didn't speak English either but after some explanation about what had happened he invited the four young people into his home and allowed them to finally set down the old woman's belongings in the doorway.

Grace hardly knew what was happening before Joe had accepted an invitation to stay to lunch on their behalf and they were ushered into the dining room with a lot of wide smiles and nods of encouragement.

They were introduced to the woman's sister, a plump, smiling old thing like an illustration of Red Riding Hood's grandmother come to life and on the snow white linen table cloth she set before them a tray piled high with food. Thick slices of white bread, cucumber, tomato, rustic hews of ham and salami, and in the centre of it all a silver salver of lush red strawberries.

Their eyes lit up. Not a single one of them had seen this much food on one tray in a very long time, especially the girls. After five years of rationing, Grace at least had thought she had forgotten what real butter tasted like or white bread.

'Jesus,' exclaimed Joe. 'The last time we had it this good, we were thrown out of a plane the next day.'

'And strawberries,' Maggie breathed in awe.

The brother-in-law spoke at some length before pushing the bowl of strawberries at Maggie. Joe translated, 'He grows them in the back yard. They shouldn't be in season until summer but this year he's got a bush which ripened early.'

Maggie took one with a muttered, 'Danke shoen' and ate it as daintily as she could, though a small line of red juice slid down the corner of her mouth. The old couple looked inordinately pleased and Grace followed suit.

By the time they managed to extricate themselves from the elderly triumvate's grasp they were better fed than they had been in a long while.

'If that's what Germany's like I think I'm gonna like it here,' said Joe. He was grinning from ear to ear as they began their walk back into the centre of town.

'Yeah.' David was looking thoughtful. Grace could almost see the sentences forming in his head ready to be jotted down on paper in the next spare moment.

'What?' asked Maggie. 'Were you expecting the place to be full of dead-eyed SS psychopaths? It's not like that here. It's just a town.'

'It seems anticlimactic is all,' said David. 'And pointless.'

A morbid, philosophical conversation was looming so Grace decided to change the subject. 'So, you all get to pick and choose the houses you live in now.'

'Speirs does,' answered Joe. 'But not until he's gone over the place first and taken all the good loot for himself.'

'Officers,' snorted David contemptuously.

'And where are the officers billeted?' She tried to make the question sound casual but she must have let some eagerness on because Joe chuckled dirtily.

'And what might you be lookin' for there?' he said. 'Or should that be who? I forgot you had a think for officers.'

'Like all the girls,' agreed David.

Grace flushed burning hot but she was determined to try and retain some dignity.

Maggie had other plans. 'Oh no,' she laughed. 'I can't think of anyone there she might be desperate to see. No one at all.'

'Give it a rest, please,' Grace snapped.

Interruption thankfully came in the form of Captain Speirs rounding the corner. The boys snapped to attention as he strode over.

'Liebgott,' he called without so much of an indication that he had seen Grace let alone a greeting. 'I thought I told you to oversee the clearing of those houses. You too, Webster. How they supposed to do that with two translators gone AWOL?'

'Yes, sir,' they muttered in military unison before scarpering off. Speirs still knew how to put the fear of God in his men.

He turned his cold eye on Maggie who didn't flinch. 'And don't you have somewhere to be as well?'

'Aren't you the charmer?' she said. 'You could've just said you wanted her to yourself. No need to be rude.'

Grace gave her friend and apologetic look before she too left Grace alone with her brother-in-law. 'She was right. You could at least try to act like a normal human being.'

He grinned wolfishly. 'I could try but where's the fun in that?'

'How were Lillian and the baby?' Grace knew that Ron had had a two week furlough to England where he had spent precious time getting acquainted with his new-born son.

A ghost of a smile fluttered across his face. 'Good. They're well.'

'You are not just going to leave it at that,' Grace pressed. 'This is my first born nephew we're talking about, I need details. What does he look like?'

'A baby.' He said it as if the answer were obvious. 'About 25 inches long. He's got hair now. It's blonde. We call him Robert, not Robbie in case…'

'To avoid confusion?'

'Lillian thought you might mind, about the name.'

'He was her brother too,' Grace insisted with genuine feeling. 'I thought it was a lovely idea.'

Ron nodded. 'Good.'

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Maybe they had veered to close to talking about things which required actual emotional input.

'Have you seen Nixon yet?'

'Not yet,' she answered.

'He was pining over you,' Ron said eventually, still uncomfortable. 'Nixon. He was… you know…'

'Pining?' The choice of word amused her; it wasn't one she associated with either Speirs or Nixon. 'If you mean sitting around and drinking whisky all day that's not pining, that's his natural state.'

Ron shrugged off the sarcasm and persevered with something he clearly wanted to say no matter how uncomfortable it made him. 'Things are pretty serious there, right?'

'Ron, you're sounding like a sixteen year old girl.'

His ill-ease was clear. In fact the way he was talking sounded like someone else's voice coming out of his lips, and Grace was pretty sure she knew who that someone else was. 'Did you tell Lillian about… what's been going on?'

'I had to. We're married.'

'Ron! You know you are now my least favourite brother-in-law.'

'On last check I'm your only brother-in-law. And I don't give a damn who you're sleeping with but you didn't tell Lillian and that upset her.'

'Then she can bloody well write and tell me that herself rather than sending her messenger boy. That you can tell her.'

'I can't,' he replied. 'We're married. I can't say anything that might upset her.'

'Oh, is that how marriage works,' she said, before smiling an apology at him. She'd enjoyed her hour spent with the German family and that on top of the imminent reunion with Nixon couldn't be so easily soured. 'I'll write to Lily, alright?

'You want to see him, don't you?'

'Yes, please.'

On Ron's recommendation, Grace raced to the building which had until recently been the mayor's home. There was no one there she knew and she felt a pang of disappointment as her imagined reunion with Nixon hit its first stumbling block.

On her way out she ran head first into Dick. Their difference in heights meant she caught him right in the midriff, winding him more than slightly.

'Sorry!' she exclaimed.

He waved away her apology like the gentleman he was. 'No damage. Looking for Lew?' she nodded. 'You could try Regiment. Though it's a long shot as it's exactly where he'd supposed to be. Or the Officer's mess.'

He pointed her in the right direction but she found no luck there only Colonel Sink bellowing at an orderley about mislaid whiskey rations. She tried the Post Office which was currently in the process of being requisitioned, and the shops lining the town square, but still no sign of the elusive man.

Dashing across the street she heard a high pitched wolf-whistle. It came from three teenage boys in shiny new uniforms, lounging by the War Memorial smoking and watching her frantic progress. They probably felt very grown up, the invading force in a small, scared town and that had given them confidence.

She stopped in the middle of the street. What was she doing? Running around town like this wasn't dignified. And after a man who didn't have the decency to stay still for five minutes. When she did eventually find him she would look a state. Already she could feel her hair teasing free of the hairspray, her cheeks were probably flushed and her heart rate was up. When she did finally see Nixon after these painful six weeks apart she wanted to look cool, calm and gorgeous. So that he would know that he missed her too.

Grace decided the best plan was to go back the nurse's billet, brush her hair, dig out her lipstick and wait for him to come to her.

After telling the boys in no uncertain terms what she thought of their cat calls, Grace headed back defeated and deflated.

Of course, he was already there. Grace saw him before he saw her. Nixon was sitting on the doorstep his head in his hands. A wash of affection swept over her. She really had missed him.

Her shadow fell over him and he looked up. Smiled. 'Hi.'

'What are you doing here?' she said. 'I've been looking all over for you.'

'You really think I'd be doing anything else but coming to see you?'

Grace could feel her grin. Her first instinct was to throw herself at him, pull him close and sight, but a small seed of uncertainty held her back.

Luckily, Nixon had no uncertainty. He stood, covered the space between them without hesitation and his arms sliding around her waist were strong. She had been missed, that much was clear and that knowledge burnt out any nervousness. Her own arms snaked up around his neck and she pushed herself up onto tiptoes to better nestle into the warmth of his shoulder.

When they pulled away, he was smiling.

'So, you missed me then?'

'Not really.'

'Barely noticed I was gone, huh?'

'Shut up, Lewis.'

She leant up and kissed him.