In the persimmon glow of the rising sun, Delphine, Scott, Danielle and their group jogged through the streets from the Lafrange's house. The clamour was increasing as they reached the boulevard. Groups of Parisian resistance fighters had formed a loose line of control, leaving just enough space in the crowds for vehicles to drive through. A halftrack drove by. Madrid, read its name painted on the thick, metal grille plates. People around them were laughing, crying, dancing or standing still in amazement. Delphine felt her heart flutter, a wetness on her cheeks as silent tears she barely noticed flowed down them. Danielle grabbed and embraced her, her voice hoarse with emotion as she spoke in her friend's ear.

"Freedom, Delphine," she husked. "Paris is free."

The journalist pulled back and gave her a brief, but steady look with a tender smile, and squeezed her shoulders. Then she was off, running over to a group of resistance fighters who were talking with an army officer.

The rumbling of heavy vehicles that had shaken their windowsill was still coming. Scott had one hand in his hair, clutching, his jaw open in disbelief. His other hand sought out hers, and they both squeezed.

"I… I can't —" he began, and then his eyes widened, his breath cut off.

"Scott?"

His hand fell from hers, and he took a shaky step forward. He was looking down the street, where a halftrack was approaching. Ebro was emblazoned on its grille.

"C— Cosima?" Scott stuttered, his expression stunned.

Delphine turned again to look at the halftrack. It was pulling closer, nearly to them, and she could make out the head and shoulders of a small woman leaning out the side. The vehicle passed a break between buildings where the sun rays broke through, and her face was illuminated. Deep brown hair in a pompadour with a bun, topped crookedly by one of the soldier's French army hats, dark, sparkling eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and a smile, a smile so bright and infectious, it was like sunlight radiating into Delphine's heart.

"Cosima!" Scott bellowed, and he ran up to the truck.

Delphine watched, frozen to her spot, as the two Americans locked gazes.

"Scott!" the woman blurted out in an elated yelp. She quickly flung herself over the side of the halftrack, one of the soldiers grabbing her arm and adjusting her descent to move her further from the rolling tracks of the still-moving lorry. She hit the ground with a small stumble, and then Scott was hugging her, picking her up, swinging her around, and she was laughing, loudly, freely, the sound so full of music and delight than Delphine found herself clutching her hands to her own chest.

"Whoa! Heyyy… Scott," Cosima half-protested.

"I thought you were dead," Scott was mumbling into the small woman's shoulder as he put her down. "I thought you were dead."

They stood there for a moment, arms around each other, leaning back a bit to smile into each other's faces. She patted his shoulder.

"I'm happy, so happy to see you too, buddy," she said, and then her smile tilted into a mischievous grin. "I think you just gave me more vertigo than I got jumping out of a plane, though."

He grinned back, huffing out a little awkward laugh, Scott-style, and then quieted, giving her a look that made her cock her head.

"There's someone here you have to meet."

Oh mon dieu, mon Dieu, flashed through Delphine's mind. She was spellbound, overloaded, trying to take it all in. She couldn't move as Scott took his buddy's hand and gently guided her through the crowd and toward the spot where Delphine was rooted. Even in confusion, the open sweetness and intelligence in the American woman's face was a delight. Delphine couldn't ever have imagined what she would look like in person, but at the same time she completely knew and recognized her. She looked something like Danielle, yes, just as their voices were similar. But there was something about the woman approaching her that was so vibrant, so utterly individual…

Cosima was still looking up at Scott's face in puzzlement when he finally stopped.

"Cosima," he said softly, "this is Delphine."

Even as the American woman turned her head, it was clear what was happening was not fully within her comprehension. She paused, trying to focus and take in the woman before her. At first Delphine thought maybe she didn't recognize her from the file photos, as she had changed and been through so much since they were taken. Surely the damage she'd endured made her appear a shell of her former self, Delphine realized, although she had never let it bother her before, assuring herself that the rougher she looked, the less likely she would be noticed. But as Cosima's look shifted into a gape and then softened, she realized that wasn't it. Cosima recognized her. It just took her a moment to understand the Swan was real.

"Cosima?" Delphine felt herself barely whisper, hands falling to the front of her skirt.

And then the smaller woman was rushing toward her, and then holding her in an embrace tight, so tight, and warm, squeezing and exclaiming shakily,

'Oh my God, oh my God, Delphine…"

Part of Delphine was still vibrating in disorientation. Here was the woman, the physical manifestation of the voice that had become her friend, that had lodged and carried on encouraging her in her head even in her darkest moments, when in reality reaching each other was impossible. She was a stranger. She was a defined human being whom she might have shaken hands with, or at the most kissed cheeks had they met before the war, and yet, here she was, fully pressed against her, and Delphine's arms rose to squeeze her back. It didn't matter. Propriety and getting-to-know-yous didn't matter, because of all they'd been through separately, yet united in spirit, and the magnetic pull that drew them together, against all odds.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that, holding each other, but eventually Cosima leaned back a bit and looked at her. Brown eyes — no, hazel, up close, just with more brown than her own — took in her hair, her face, her trembling smile, and one hand came up gently, so softly, to barely trace the scar now running from the back of her ear to her neck.

"You look beautiful," Cosima told her, simply and sincerely. "I'm so glad you're alive."

Delphine let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, her smile spreading, becoming full and real. She tipped her head down and leaned her forehead against the shorter woman's, only noticing then that the hat must have fallen off.

"You're beautiful," she responded, "I'm so glad." Her body felt grounded, relaxed, as if she was suddenly exactly where she was supposed to be, with all the time in the world.

Cosima shifted back again, still holding Delphine's upper arms. She looked at Scott, who had been casually looking away as if giving them their privacy, and he turned to meet her gaze and smile. Cosima turned back to the woman before her.

"So, what do you want to do," she asked her, in that voice full of sunlight and low teasing. "Do you want to continue on with the party, or do you want to go someplace and talk?"

Delphine slowly looked about her, bringing her attention to where they were. Many of the vehicles and troops and had passed, but a few were still coming, receiving elated kisses, flowers, presents and drinks of wine from her celebrating countrymen and women. She wanted to run into the sweep of it, let their happiness, their freedom wash over her and swirl her away through laughter and delight, relief and triumph. She wanted to be pulled into eddies of wine and song, embraced by her brothers and sisters in arms, to see the smiles of French children with no fear to hold them back. She even wanted to see the trucks, the prison vehicles carrying the captured and surrendered Germans, wanted to look at their faces as they were carried and marched, defeated, exhausted, the brash men they tried to be swallowed up by the quiet boys inside them, uniforms sullied, pride taken a fall, and maybe, perhaps, a bit of relief there, too, in some of them.

She also wanted to look only at Cosima, to take her in, to talk with her, to get to know everything, everything about her. To explore this feeling they had, this unlikely bond that had pulled them together across miles and through war, to finally meet and, somehow, feel at home. She chewed her lip.

She reached down and firmly grasped one of Cosima's hands between her own.

"I want to see this, I want to see liberation, history in the making, I want to celebrate," she told the small brunette, taking in her continued grin. "But also, there is no way I am letting go of you." Her fingers tightened, emphasizing her hold on Cosima's hand, and the American laughed again. That laugh. Cosima's head turned again for a moment and her hand reached out to take Scott's arm.

"C'mon, Scott," she tugged at him, her gaze returning to Delphine's. "We've got history to make."

A/N: If you're following the playlist, the song for the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next is Vous Êtes Jolie. :)