I'm not even sure if this chapter makes complete sense, but I had tried to give some background on Marguerite, so the whole chapter spans from when she's about 8 until her time in Bastogne, so that's about 12 years give or take. Anyways I'm terribly sorry if it doesn't make complete sense and I'm terribly sorry that it took so long to update, but I tried to write a long chapter to make up for that. So please review and tell me what you think, oh and I promise the next chapter will be much easier to follow.
The first time Marguerite leaves France she's eight years old. Her mother tells her and her brothers that they're going to visit their father, whose in England visiting people. Marguerite and Alain are overjoyed at the prospect of riding both a train and a ship, while Georges and Luc are more resigned about the trip. Georges, being the eldest and the most disgruntled, explodes in a fit of anger telling their mother that he won't go, and that he never wants to see their father again. And for the first time in her life, Marguerite sees her mother get visibly upset, and yells at Georges telling him he will go, and the house is quiet for the rest of the day.
When they get to England they ride another train until they reach the country side, which looks vastly different yet oddly similar to the young girl. They then catch a taxi, and Marguerite can't help but wonder if their trip will ever end, as they've been traveling for two day's now. But eventually the taxi ride ends and the reach the nicest and largest house they ever seen. Even Georges and Luc manage to be awestruck, something that rarely happens to them.
Their mother inspects their clothes meticulously, checking for dirt or wrinkles, or anything that she says "they won't like." She doesn't know who "they" are and when she asks Luc he shrugs, and Georges snaps at her telling her not to ask stupid baby questions, so she doesn't ask anymore questions.
Soon enough she finds out who "they" are. When they get to the door their ushered in by a tall official looking old man, who simply asks their names, and then ushers them into a room.
The room he leads them to is a large room, filled with uncomfortable looking velvet sofas, and paintings of regal looking men and women. Some of whom look somewhat similar to her father. After a minute or two the door opens, and reveals an older looking woman. She doesn't look happy to see them, yet she doesn't exactly seem angry either. She stares at them all for a long moment, before turning to their mother.
"And what exactly has brought you here, Cecile?" she says in a very cold way, the woman looks back at all of the children, her eyes resting on Alain and Marguerite.
"We came here to see David," their mother replies timidly.
"He's out hunting right now," the woman says looking annoyed, "this isn't the best time you know."
"I know," their mother says sounding almost distressed though Marguerite can't figure out why, "but I don't know what else to do. I thought that perhaps if we came here he'd calm down and cime back."
"So these are the children?" the woman says ignoring their mother's comment.
"Oh yes," their mother replies, "this is Georges, he's fourteen now, Luc is eleven, and Alain and Marguerite are eight."
"Well,they must be hungry," the old woman says smiling at them. It's strange to see her austere face break into a kind smile, that somehow seems fitting for her face. "I'll have some tea and sandwiches made for you. If you would follow me."
She leads them to what would be a sun room, if there were actually any sun in England. The furniture is fancy, and when Marguerite sits down she's afraid she'll break something, so she sits on her hands the entire time.
After a few minutes the same butler comes back around, this time he has a whole platter full of sandwiches and he presents them before the children. Alain, Marguerite, and Luc all look at the food with skepticism while Georges, in his stubborn way, refuses to even spare a glance towards the food. The older woman leads her mother out, leaving the children alone in the room. They eat in silence, and when they're finished eating they all sit in a stony silence. They're all too scared to talk, except for Georges who stands in the furthest corner staring angrily at the windows.
Marguerite isn't sure where her mother is, and she isn't sure why Georges is angry, and she isn't quite sure why they had to go to England to see her father, but she's too nervous to vocalize her questions so she remains silent, staring at the gardens.
They sit for eternity, or what feels like it at least, until the children see a couple walking around outside. Georges perks up like this, and gets so close to the window that his nose nearly touches it. If Marguerite had thought he was angry before she was dearly mistaken, because now Georges is livid. He clenches his hands into fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His face pales and he's shaking, and in that moment Marguerite can't tell if he's violently angry or if he's going to be violently ill, either way she doesn't go near him for fear of his reaction. Luc too looks out of the window, though he looks more confused and sad than angry. When Alain goes to get up and see what's happening Georges screams at him to sit down, because as he puts it "you won't understand now, but you'll know soon enough."
A few minutes pass and soon enough the couple is at the door before the children. Through the glass Marguerite can see her father and a woman she's never seen before in her life, though at the moment she could careless about the woman because she's overjoyed to see her father.
"Papa!" she calls before her brain can tell her to remain silent, and as if he hears her her father looks up and into the room full of children. Carefully he opens the door looking apprehensive about the sight before him, but Marguerite doesn't take much notice nor does she care. She clings onto his torso, joy is the only distinguishable emotion she has, an she can feel her father patting her head softly.
"What are you all doing here? How did you get here?" His voice sounds strange, as if he's straining to sound normal, but shock still seeps through in his tone.
While he doesn't say it, all of his words are directed to Georges, but Georges doesn't respond. He remains in his steely silence staring at his father. Marguerite can notice tears welling up in Georges eyes, but can't possibly begin to grasp the gravity of the situation. Everyone seems to freeze in their respective positions holding their breath. Marguerite and Alain stay there, clinging to their father. Luc looks torn between going to father and standing by Georges. Georges clenches his fists so tightly that the skin spreads thinly over the bones in his hands, his posture straight enough to rival a soldier, and his eyes hold some kind of hatred Marguerite has never seen.
"David, do you know these children?" the woman says softly, causing all eyes to fall on her. Looking at her Marguerite can see that she wears for more makeup than her mother does and she seems to not be very pleased with the situation.
Their father doesn't answer immediately instead her stares at the four children in front of him, and then back at the woman. Something about this action insights even more anger from Georges as he suddenly stomps over to their father and removes Alain from where he had been hugging the man.
"Luc, grab Rite and come on!" he snaps fiercely as he drags the younger boy along with him not caring as Alain continues to stumble in his grasp. Quietly Luc obeys their older brother, trying to pull Marguerite away from their father, and she doesn't fight him as much as she feels like she should instead she ambles along with Luc, following the sounds of Georges' angry footsteps that reverberate through the hall.
When they finally reach Georges and Alain they're in the drawing room with the old woman and their mother.
"We have to go back to France!" he yells at their mother. She doesn't look pleased and winces at the volume of his words.
"Georges we just got here, we can't simply leave yet. Besides you haven't even seen your father yet, you need to see him before we can leave." Her voice is tense yet exhausted and for the first time Marguerite can see how tired her mother looks.
"It doesn't matter, he's not worth seeing we need to go!" There are tears streaming down his face and Marguerite knows that Georges hates crying so it must be important matter to him, though she can't quite understand why he didn't tell their mother that he had seen their father if he wanted to leave so badly.
But as it turns out Georges doesn't need to say anything because within seconds their father appears with the woman standing closely behind. No one says anything and their parents exchange hard stares.
"Why don't you introduce us David?" Their mother says her voice tense and sharp, Marguerite has never heard her sound this way before.
Their father clears his throat awkwardly, "Well Cecile this is Ms. Vera Turner, Vera this is Cecile Beauchene and these are her children Georges, Luc, Alain, and Marguerite."
Their mother stiffens as the words come out of his and gives him a cold steady look, one that manages to put Georges to shame. Their father has called their mother by their grandparents last name and Marguerite has the slightest idea why, but doubts her thoughts. Instead she turns to her father who she can see is fidgeting slightly under the gaze.
"Oh what beautiful children you have Mrs. Beauchene," Vera Turner says in a pleasant chirp as if the tension in the room in nonexistent, "I don't think I've seen two children as adorable as your youngest ones."
"Well Lady Blythe, it's been lovely visiting you but considering Georges' urgings I think it's best if we go now." Cecile says quietly moving closer to the children and turning away from their father and Ms. Turner.
The old woman referred to as Lady Blythe frowns and places a hand on Cecile's, "Oh but Cecile, you've had such a long journey, why not stay for one night? The children do look a bit tired."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose or take advantage of your kindness Lady Blythe." Cecile says smiling back at the older woman.
"Well at least let me help you set up your itinerary for the way back?" Lady Blythe places both of her hands on Cecile's as if silently urging her to stay just a while longer.
"Alright then," Cecile says quietly as if she only wants Lady Blythe to here, though the room is so quiet that everyone is able to, "come along children we wouldn't want to disturb Mr. Blythe and Ms. Turner now would we?"
The rest of the stay at the estate is quiet and wrought with tension as they Marguerite and her brothers are more or less told to stay out of the way of their father and Ms. Turner. Instead they are confined to the rooms that are their bedrooms the parlor, and the "playroom" as Lady Blythe had dubbed it. Though the punishment of being trapped in the space wasn't so bad as they were on their way back to France within two days.
It wasn't until they were on the train that Marguerite dares to ask the question that she's been dying to ask ever since she saw her father.
"Mama," she says cautiously gauging her mother's reaction, "is Papa going to come back home?"
Her mother gives her a sad pathetic look and shakes her head, "I don't think so, my love." Her tone is soft and comforting despite the pathetic look about her.
Marguerite screws up hr face, thinking of reasons why her father won't come back. "Why? Does he hate us?"
Her mother doesn't respond, instead she pulls into her lap and begins to hold her. With her head against her mother's chest she can feel mother's body shaking, as she tries her hardest to quietly sob.
Upon her first return to France, Marguerite decides that she'll never fall in love so that she'll never be as sad as her mother is.
The second time Marguerite leaves France it's to go and live with her father. She's 13 and she's not happy with the arrangement at all.
Her mother dies of some illness that she can't pronounce the name of, it come on suddenly and takes her just as suddenly. And just as sudden as the death of her mother comes a letter from England. It's written in the impeccable handwriting of David Blythe and details that since he is the father of the four teenagers he is now their sole guardian and will bring them to England so that he can raise them there, in a "proper household". He also mentions that while they are meeting again under "most upsetting circumstances" he's pleased that he'll be able to regain a relationship with his children.
When Georges reads the letter he burns it immediately after, saying that he's an adult and that they don't need to go to England, he can take care of his siblings just fine. And Marguerite believes him because time and time again Georges has proved that he can do nearly anything he sets his mind to, so why should taking care of them be any different. After all, Georges is 19, Luc is 17, and soon enough she and Alain will be 14. They're all old enough to work and they don't need David Blythe and his old aristocratic wealth, they never did and they never will.
It takes about a week of convincing from their uncles and grandparents, but Marguerite, Luc, Alain, and Georges decide to go to England in the end. It's based mostly on the fact that their grandmother reminds them that their mother wouldn't want them to be "working class bastards wasting their life away." So, although begrudgingly, they pack up all of their personal belongings and make the journey to Oxford, England.
On the way there Marguerite reads all of the letters their father has written in the weeks following the death of their mother. They all range on subjects, one is about how he did truly love their mother even if the marriage ended badly and how he's very sorry for all that he's done. Another is about how he's married to that Vera Turner woman and that they have two daughters named Prudence and Phillipa and they're four and three now. He says they're lovely girls that they are sure to love. He also says that Oxford is a quaint town and they house isn't as big as the the old manor house that the Lord and Lady Blythe stay in, but it's big enough for all of them to live in relative comfort. The letters don't ease her, but they don't really upset her either, so she figures that's as good as sign as any to go to England.
Their father and his new family are there to see their arrival. He's not how Marguerite remembers him. He no longer wears slightly dirty slacks and shirts with the sleeves rolled up. His hair does hang about in the carefree manner that it would and his hands are caked in dirt like they would be when he came home from work. He's not as muscular or as youthfully vibrant as he had been all those years ago. Instead his hair is styled, not a single strand out of place, and a mustache that seems fitting and out of place all at the same time. He's wearing a stiff-looking suit that is probably worth more than what Georges made in a month, and there's just a small hint of a smile on his face.
Vera on the other hand looks displeased, and just from that look alone Marguerite can tell that Vera doesn't want them here, and she probably fought their father tooth and nail on this. But even with her look of distaste its obvious why their father left them all for Vera. She's ridiculously beautiful, she has the kind of face that could compete with Helen of Troy. On top of that Vera has a pedigree that could easily compete with her fathers. Vera had beautiful blond hair that lay in intricate curls and beautiful blue eyes that reminded Marguerite of the Mediterranean Sea. Everything about her is perfect, and Marguerite can see how he would have left her mother for Vera. Her mother was a woman with a pretty face, she had light mousy-brown hair that grew in thick curls and large brown eyes that showed her kind nature. She was pretty enough, but there was no way she could compete with the likes of Vera.
And in between their father and Vera stood two young girls with perfect blond curls adorning their pretty little kids. They were quite and obedient, whereas at that age Alain and she and been anything but, and from the stories that she had heard Luc and Georges had been even worse at that age. It was no wonder their father had never come back, his new life was so much better than what he would left behind that she could almost understand his reasoning.
When they reach their father Georges gives a cold hello and sticks his hand out for their father to shake. The corner of his mouth droops a but he none the less places his hand in Georges's and gives him a firm handshake and a much more pleasant hello. Luc and Alain follow Georges's lead, as they usually do. And when it's Marguerite's turn to greet him she hugs him, catching him a bit off guard, and he returns the sentiment.
England is supremely different from France, and Marguerite isn't sure if she likes it or not. In England she has more things than she had before, she even has her own room now, but that doesn't make up for what she lacks. Her grasp on the language is weak and Alain goes to the boys school while she goes to the girls so she has a difficult time in school. The other girls all her "the filthy frog" and mock her accent. Only a few treat her nicely, though no one is all that friendly with her.
At home Vera tries to make some connection with them, she's not the miserable character that Marguerite thought she was, but she makes little progress with them. They all still blame her for the break-up of their parents marriage was, though Marguerite knows that the blame isn't deserved as Vera was more or less completely innocent in the break-up, and for that reason alone they won't ever really like her. Of course Georges is the worst to her, always making snide comments and undermining her authority when she can. Though she can understand why Georges is angry. He's angry for their mother, they all are, and the fact that Vera is only 5 years older than him isn't helping. Marguerite can tell how it grates on Georges's nerves every time Vera tries to take on a matronly role, especially when it concerns Marguerite or Alain, though she wishes he wouldn't always react in such an angry way.
Most days Georges and Luc are off studying at the university, Marguerite isn't positive on how they got in there seeing as they had never been the best of students, but she has a feeling her father and grandfather had something to do with it as when she first saw the university her father told her "Every single Blythe man has gone there Maggie, every single man in our family has gone there since the 18th century. Your brothers are going to go there too."
When her father says this she wants to point out that Georges, Luc, and Alain aren't Blythe men anymore, not since his marriage to her mother got annulled. They're all Beauchene's now and forever, but she sees the glint of happiness in his eyes so she bites down on her lip until she can taste just a bit of blood.
Her father can tell she's miserable and one day, after Georges has gone back to France to help their grandparents with the shop and Luc is still at Oxford studying to be a doctor of some kind, he pulls Marguerite and Alain aside and tells them that he can see that they're unhappy and that they want to go back to France, and if they stay just one more year and still find that they're unhappy he'll let them go and never make them come back again.
Only they don't get to go back to France, and from that point on Marguerite doubts they ever will. France and Britain declare war on Germany in 1939, and Vera assures Alain and Marguerite that everyone will be fine and the war will be over in less than a year. They receive a letter from Georges stating that he will be joining the French Army, and not long after Luc announces that he will be joining the RAF.
When Paris falls to Germany, Vera assures her that the war will be over soon. But Marguerite looks at her father while Vera talks and sees the grim look on his face Vera's musings won't come true. After all he fought in the Great War, he'd have the best idea out of anyone and he looks less than hopeful.
Marguerite's 16th birthday is exactly 19 days after the fall of Paris. It is also La Fête Nationale, and that day she sees a propaganda poster on her way back from the town. It shows a beautiful looking nurse leaning over an injured man looking down at him with concern. The poster reads "Save his life... And find your own. BE A NURSE."
Looking at the poster all she can think about are Georges and Luc who are God knows where. She also thinks of Alain who swore up and down that he would sign up to join the RAF, and had left early that morning to go to London to go and sign up. She frets over Georges and Luc enough as is, and with Alain going to war too, she'll be nothing but a wreck. A lonely wreck at that, she only has a few friends in Oxford and she spends all of her time with Alain for the most part. Once he leaves she'll be alone, at least if she joined the war effort she'd be able to help somewhat.
When she tells her father that she's signed up to become a nurse he's livid.
"You will not become a nurse!" He booms at her and she flinches at the volume of his voice. Alain stands behind her and puts a consoling arm around her shoulders. Vera stands in the background fiddling with her knitting needles nervously.
"I've already signed up," Marguerite says in a quiet voice, "It's already done."
"I don't care if you've already signed up," his face is a ridiculously red and his hands grip the chair in front of him tightly, "I will not have my daughter being a nurse in the middle of some war zone!"
"It's her choice, Father." Alain says in her defense.
"No it's not, she's only 16! She is still a child and I will not have her going off into war!" He snaps back at Alain. Marguerite's never known her father to be anywhere near this angry, and it honestly does scare her a bit. But she knows she can't shirk back on this commitment, she knows that this is the most important thing that she could possibly do.
"Alain is 16 and you let him join the RAF." she argues back, speaking louder than she had meant.
"Yes!" he father snaps back, "I've let all three of my sons go of to fight in the stupid bloody war! Isn't that sacrifice enough? Why should I let my eldest daughter go of somewhere where she won't even be able to defend herself, but can still be killed? You're just a child Marguerite, you don't know what war does to people! I already regret letting Georges, Luc, and now Alain go! I am not going to lose all four of my children!"
His face is a ruddy color and he's gripping the chair so tightly that Marguerite thinks he might break it in another minute or so. But she doesn't care, she wants this more than anything, and she's never gotten anything she's wanted in life. Everything's always been taken away from her, and she won't let this be taken away too.
"You lost your children the day you decided you'd rather fuck her," her hand is shaking as she points over at Vera who looks like a dear caught in the headlights "than be a proper husband and father! You lost your children the day you decided to run home to bonny ol' England. You left us as some stupid French bastards that you wouldn't even claim! Your broke our mother's heart, and you're the reason why she died! All she did was love you and you repay her by running off with some stupid girl! It was your fault she got sick and died! You ruined everything for us, and nothing is going to change that! You lost your claim as our father!"
Her voice is cracking and she's sobbing out of anger, never in her life has she yelled that loudly. But looking at her father he can see that his grip on the chair has loosened completely. Instead of being a terrible red color, his face has now blanched and he looks almost deathly pale. She turns to look at Vera who's sitting in the settee wiping stray tears from her eyes trying to remain calm. She can still feel Alain's hand on her shoulder and she knows that if she turns to look at him she'll see a look of utter embarrassment and disappointment on his face. So she doesn't look at him. Instead she shrugs his hand off of her shoulder and brushes past him.
She runs up to her room and digs her old suitcase out from the back of her closet. It's dusty from being locked in closet for ages, and when she throws it on her bed a plume of dust appears forcing her to choke on both her sobs and the dust. She grabs her most basic dresses and folds them as carefully as she can in her current state before placing them in her suitcase. Anything that she can deem important at this rate she places in the suitcase. Shoes, dresses, skirts, blouses, jewelry, pictures they all find their way into the suitcase.
"What are you doing?" Alain asks standing idly in her doorway.
She lets her eyes meet his for a second, and can see the disappointment in them and it kills her.
"Packing obviously," she says in a cold voice, "what else does it look like I'm doing?"
"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic Rite?"
She pauses, patting down a shirt into her suitcase. "Have you ever known me to be dramatic?"
"No," he pauses moving off of the door frame and into the room, closing the door behind him, "but I've never known you to be cruel and rip someone apart with your words. He's just trying to look out for you Marguerite, you didn't have to be so evil about it. You sounded like Georges down there."
She blushes out of embarrassment and she hopes her brother can't see it. "He wasn't being fair and you know it." It's a childish reply but it's the only thing she can think of to defend herself.
Alain sighs and sits down on her bed, the springs groaning below him.
"Where are you going to go, Rite?"
"To Luc's flat," she replies returning to her packing and avoiding eye contact.
"That's all the way in London, how on Earth are you going to get there?" He sounds like he's laughing, but Marguerite knows that he's concerned and nervous. He always laughs when he's nervous.
"By train obviously."
"With what money Rite? Outside of David you don't exactly have an income of any sort. And I doubt the bookstore really paid enough for you to get by in a place like London."
She moves over to the top drawer on her dresser and pulls out a medium sized tin box. Fiddling with top of the box for a second she opens the box and shows Alain the wads of money sitting in it.
They're both silent for a minute and she can't decide whether she should stay still or continue to pack.
"How long have you been planning on leaving?" He asks in a quiet voice.
She shrugs, "Two years and seven months."
"And is that all of the money you've been saving since then?" He asks indicating the two tin boxes she now carries.
"Most of it, yeah."
"All the money that the Lord and Lady gave you, all the money that Georges and Luc have sent, all the money that you earned at the bookstore?"
She nods taking out a small wad of the money before packing the rest away in the suitcase. Alain exhales loudly and lays down on her bed rubbing his face with his hands.
"You could come with me you know," she says sitting down next to him, "we'll both have to go to London soon enough anyways to report for duty."
Alain sighs looking at her. "So you're serious about this? You're sure you're not making a rash decision?"
"You're either coming with me or you're not," is her only reply.
Alain sighs again and he looks a bit conflicted.
"Alright," he groans, "Give me a bit of time to pack."
All she does is hug him in reply, and he kisses the top of her head.
England some how becomes a bit more bearable for Marguerite once they leave Oxford
Years pass and one day when Alain is on leave he lets it slip that there is going to be a huge offensive sent out into France.
"Why are you telling me this?" Marguerite says in a low voice, even though they are in the confines of the flat.
"Because," Alain says "They're going to need nurses that can speak French, and not too many fit that role."
Marguerite raises her eyebrow at this, "I thought you didn't want me to go into the front lines."
"I don't" he replies simply, "But I know that the army will want you to. I'm just letting you know that you probably should get ready to leave London pretty soon."
Sure enough, Marguerite gets a letter telling her that she "shall be deployed into France on a date to be announced and in the meantime will be asked to be prepared for departure."
She writes a letter to her father, detailing that she at some point shall be deployed into the front lines, but he need not worry for she would be safe at all times. Even though she knows it's a lie she writes it anyways to assure both him and herself.
The next time she comes back to France, the world has gone to hell.
Nothing really prepares Marguerite for what she sees in Normandy. Not the diagrams she had been shown, not the cadavers, not the bombing victims, nothing prepares her for what is in Normandy. At last she can see why her father didn't want her to become a nurse, because any innocence left in her dies with the first man that dies in her arms. His name is Brandon Gruffudd and he's from Cardiff and he begs for her to save him, and she promises that she will, but she breaks her promise as she watches him grow stiff while she tries desperately to pinch an artery shut.
After Brandon Gruffudd more and more men begin to die. She can't remember names, she only remembers scared faces before they die that seem to torture her in her sleep. But it doesn't matter that she has nightmare because so does everyone else, and no one cares that some 20 year old girl cries in her sleep.
Every so often she's moved from place to place to place, until finally she finds her way to Bastogne where she finds herself stuck in frozen hell both physically and mentally and she doubts he'll ever get out of it. Even with the news of her relocation she falls deeper into the frozen abyss as the war takes away more and more life.
Though on her very last day in Bastogne she feels strangely hopeful, though she hardly know what hope is anymore. That's when she sees the medic Eugene Roe sitting outside on a piece of rubble smoking a cigarette.
"Hello Miss Marguerite," he greets in that strange accent of his, "they deployin' you somewhere else? I heard the other nurses talking about it."
He sounds a bit bitter, but Marguerite understands why. She gets to live, she can get a bit of reprieve from all of the death and explosions, while Eugene can't he has to stay or die, those are the only choices he'll have the entire war.
"Yeah," she replies, "They're sending me to Paris."
She fiddles with her sleeve of her coat while she talks with him, looking at the stray threads on it. Out of everyone in Bastogne Eugene Roe is the closest thing she has to a confidant, and her has no idea. He doesn't know everything, in fact he knows the bare minimum about her but in the middle of war the barest of facts is equivalent to a biography. Of course Anna and Renee had known more, but everything they new about her had died with them, and that just left her and Eugene.
She's not even sure why she chose Eugene other than a sense of normalcy that she craves. There are other medics in Bastogne, all of whom could have related with her just the same. But something within Eugene draws her like a moth to a flame and she can't explain it.
Eugene lets out a low whistle, and gives the closest thing to smiling that anyone can manage. "Well I imagine Paris will be a mighty nice change."
And suddenly she realizes that Eugene isn't sitting anymore; he's standing right in front of her.
"I'm happy to be leaving," she replies, "though I probably shouldn't be so pleased when there's so much to be done here."
He takes a small step towards her, "Marguerite," he says in a soft voice, "you shouldn't feel bad about it. No one blames you for being happy to leave a place like this."
Eugene's only a few inches away from her now. Suddenly she can't remember what exactly they had been talking about, she feels her thoughts getting fuzzy, and the only thing she can focus on is how close their bodies are and how wrong this is. She should be saving lives right now, and he should be too. There are much more important things that she should be doing, she shouldn't even consider kissing some soldier, because at the end of the day that's what he is. He isn't someone special, he isn't the man that is going to whisk her away, off to someplace where war is just a distant thought. He's here in this frozen hell with her right now, he's one of the many keeping her here, it's her job to help him save lives. It's not her job to cozy up to a medic she hardly knows, to want to kiss him and do God knows what else, she shouldn't be considering any of it.
But she does, and she move closer to Eugene, their bodies only centimeters apart. She can feel the heat from his body radiating off of him just a little bit. She looks up at him, and without a second thought she kisses him. His body is rigid for a moment, but only for a moment. Within seconds he reciprocates her kiss. His lips are chapped, much like hers. The kiss is a little bit rougher than she imagined it would be, but then again it's not a kiss of love so it makes more sense to her why it is. This is a kiss of need, of a desire of some sort. A kiss to try and regain some normalcy. Somewhere else, where being attacked and killed isn't the main worry, this is what people their age do. They do little promiscuous things like kiss handsome strangers, and they enjoy it.
She rests her hands on his chest, partly because she wants to push him away, and partly because she wants to get closer to him. She can't decide which she wants more, so she leaves her hands there in an awkward position. She knows better and she knows nothing good will come of this, but for the first time in a long time she's not that concerned about everything that surrounds her. She isn't worried about all of her duties, all of her thoughts, there's nothing there to disturb her.
Eugene brings his hand to her cheek. Its freezing against her warm skin, and in she wishes he'd move it away from her. But a truck honks, and they break away from each other as quickly as possible. His face is flush, and Marguerite can't imagine herself looking much different.
She takes a few away from him and gives him a small awkward smile, "good bye Eugene, it was nice meeting you. Perhaps I'll write you?"
"Yeah," Eugene says. He's still firmly planted to the ground, his feet haven't moved an inch, and his face is still flush with an unreadable expression,
"Yeah," he clears his throat a little "yeah, that'd be nice. I'd like that very much."
Marguerite offers nothing but a smile, because she's not sure what else to do. Then she simply turns her back on him and walks away.