Out of a Vacant Heart: A Band of Brothers Fanfiction

Paris When it Sizzles

Frothy morning drifted over the city. A fog bank swelled like ocean waves outside the hotel window. It crashed and ebbed against the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

Don's hand dropped to his side as he flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the floor. Leaning against the frame, he didn't bother to push away the sheer curtains. The antique clock on the mantel chimed softly in the adjoined sitting room beyond the bedroom doors.

Absently, Don counted them. One, two, three, four, five, six. Then silence.

A half conscious sigh rose from the tangled sheets of the queen sized bed. Don numbly glanced up at the arm chair by the door where his uniform jacket and pants had been flung. His shirt from the night before was bunched on the rug, covering her dress that lay inside out.

He took a drag from the cigarette and looked over to the bed. A shock of long, dark hair spread out on the pillow, her bare back rising and falling softly as she hugged the pillow to her body. She was as beautiful as she had seemed the night before after several beers and glasses of gin.

Adeline.

That was her name. The girl in red that one of the other men had introduced him to when he arrived at the bar. He couldn't remember her last name. Maybe she had never mentioned it. Pulling back the curtain, he peered through the mist without knowing exactly what he was looking for.

"What is her name?"

The girl's lilting French accent, demure and seductive as it had been the night before, broke the quiet. Adeline was sitting up in bed, her hair covering the olive tinted skin on her shoulders like a shawl. She pulled her knees up to her chin and studied him, her juniper green eyes unblinking and calm.

"Whose name?"

"The name of the girl who sent you... what do you Americans call them?" She crooked a dark eyebrow at him as she rose naked from the bed and walked over to the rug to retrieve her clothing. "The 'Dear John' letter?"

Don glanced down at the floor as he sank into the chair beside him. "There was no letter."

"Still. There was someone. It was written all over you last night. You kissed me like you wished I was someone else."

Don snorted, crossing an ankle over his knee and taking another drag from his cigarette.

Adeline shrugged and walked over towards the bathroom. "I am right. There was a girl and now there isn't, oui?"

His stomach turned as she shut the bathroom door. His head throbbed. All he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep.

Adeline emerged in her smart, blood red dress, her hair twirled carelessly in a bun on the top of her head. Despite his murderous hangover, he couldn't deny that she was one of the most enchanting women he had ever seen.

Adeline smirked. "Your eyes are hollow when you look at me. Like so many others. Do yourself a favor and forget her by another means. You will not find the answers you seek in bed. I will let myself out."

Gracefully, she disappeared through the bedroom doors. There was a soft click in the other room as she left. His eyes never left the door. The gnawing hunger in his heart had not abated as he thought it would once someone else had been in his arms. It chewed away at his insides like gangrene.

He grimaced and heaved himself out of the chair. Crawling into the bed, the sheets smelling of cigarette smoke and Adeline's fine perfume, he closed his eyes. After what felt like only ten minutes, the chime in the other room rang out.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

It was Friday. He had been given the day off by one of his superiors. A three day break. Now that he had time, he didn't know what to do with it.

Bleary eyed, he stumbled from the bed and picked his uniform up off the floor to set aside for dry cleaning. He dressed and finished another cigarette before leaving the quiet of the room.

He had to get out.

"Arc... uh..." Don struggled in the back of a cab with a pamphlet, the driver glared at him in the rear view mirror. "Arc de Triumph?"

"Oui," the man grunted, flicking his cigarette out the window and lurching the vehicle into the busy, midday traffic.

Don was thrown back into the seat as the cabbie drove erratically to avoid the backups in the chaotic Parisian streets. Don twisted the pamphlet into a roll and drummed it on his knee, peering out the window at the slate grey sky.

Post war Paris was a madhouse. Uniforms of all kinds milled about, the long suffering expressions of the natives intermingling with the oblivious young servicemen and women of many different nations. It was hard to believe it had been merely five years since Hitler had strode these same streets.

The cab came to a bone shuddering halt. The driver hung his head out the window and shouted what Don could only guess were French obscenities.

He shifted in his seat, trying to see. "What is-"

"Some American soldiers," the cabbie spit. "A wedding I think. They are coming from the church. Blocking the whole street."

Don smirked, amused at the man's aggravation. He spotted the wedding party. They were no doubt American, it was obvious from more than their dress. Their attitudes were brazen and unapologetic.

No wonder they suffer us like frustrated parents over here, he mused.

His face froze as the bride came into view.

The girl was dressed in an older style wedding gown, her dark hair pulled into a tower with a netted veil. Her strong features and dark eyes were unmistakable. It was Mirabelle Bradley, the nurse with a taste for men from the Airborne.

A tall, dark Airman in his uniform brought her hand to his lips as they crossed in front of Don's cab. The driver blared his horn, but the group ignored him. Don's hands grew cold as he pressed himself against the worn leather seat of the cab.

Catie Doyle

She had her head turned away from him initially. Her narrow shoulders cut a willowy figure in the plum dress she wore. Her short hair was full and tucked back in pins, grazing the base of her neck.

She looked ahead, her profile burning into his conscious. She was smiling. Don tried to remember if he had ever seen her truly smile like that since he had known her. She had been too shy in England and too worn thin in Haguenau.

It was as though he was seeing her for the first time. But there was no denying it was her.

You kissed me like you wished I was someone else.

Adeline's words drifted into his thoughts as Cate hooked arms with one of the other soldiers and walked down the street. The cab jerked forward, the driver muttering under his breath menacingly. They drove past the happy group.

Mira handed Cate her bouquet of pink roses. Cate carried them in the crook of her arm as the soldier leaned towards her ear to say something. She laughed. Don didn't look back as they drove away.