The nurses only managed to get two days in Paris, but that was enough for all of them. As a group, the five of them spent their time there soaking up the atmosphere, shopping, and eating every bit of good food they could find, and by the time they returned to Mourmelon they were all carrying with them a new lease of life.
Some part of Charlie's soul resided in Paris, she was sure of it, and she hoped desperately to return at some point - and for longer this time, too.
Being back in Mourmelon and back to the monotony of formally having to work and yet having no work to do made the days fly by. Out on the line each day felt like a month and yet here, when they were soaking up all of the luxuries of civilian life they'd longed for for months, time rushed past, each hour seeming to end just as soon as it had begun.
Charlie could only hope each day brought them closer to the end of the war, but then again, what would she do afterwards? She'd go home and be far away from all of her friends and she'd have no job anymore, and she'd be expected to find a husband. None of that sounded at all appealing. If only they could all stay here forever, or go back to Aldbourne and all live out the rest of their lives there, all together. That was a selfish desire, she knew, for so many of the men wanted desperately to go back home, as did Mabs, but she couldn't help but long for the days they'd spent back in that rural English village, how fun and easy they'd been and how much sense everything had made to her back then.
Charlie was overwhelmed by her nostalgia for that time in her life, stolen from her with no chance of it ever being returned, as she made her way to the building which currently contained their post office.
The previous night she had sat down to write a letter to Trigger and his Dutch parents, thanking them for the picture and attaching one of her and Floyd in turn, as requested, so Trigger would remember their faces. Floyd had helped her compose the letter and had then taken it to the replacement who knew Dutch so he could translate it, but not before complaining about giving away the photograph they'd chosen; it had been his idea to attach this one, if she remembered correctly - one of the two of them dancing together in Aldbourne - but now that it came down to it he lamented not wanting to part with it.
In the end, Floyd won out, and they picked a different picture of the two of them - a photograph of them in Normandy, from sometime when they were in Carentan, which Floyd had reasoned made more sense to send because Trigger would remember them looking like that, a little less healthy and a little less clean, and wearing their ODs.
Hearing this, Charlie had rolled her eyes but complied with his wishes, too exasperated to argue or simply unable to say no to him, she didn't altogether want to know which, and extracted the picture he'd chosen - one which had a twin almost identical right next to it in the photo album, anyway, so they wouldn't miss it much.
Floyd had returned the following morning with the translated letter and they'd put it, along with the photograph, into an envelope and addressed it using the address they'd been given in the last letter from the Dutch couple. Then Floyd had gone to work, attempting to whip fresh-faced replacements into shape, and Charlie had started making her way over to the post office.
Vest was behind the desk, and Charlie hadn't spoken to him, or indeed seen much of him, since the night of the patrol in Haguenau. She tried not to hold a grudge against him, for she knew that had been his first bit of combat and it had had a dire result, but even still, when she met his eyes she felt herself stiffen. He'd said some horrible things in the heat of the moment, and while she was glad he seemed much better now, she couldn't bring herself to forgive and forget quite yet.
"I have a letter to send," she told him by way of greeting, and held up the envelope to show him.
Vest nodded with a tight-lipped smile. "Parents?" he asked, a way to make conversation.
Charlie shook her head. "Dutch civilians, actually. I don't know if you ever met Trigger the dog?"
"Heard about him," Vest told her. He held out a hand for the envelope and she passed it over, all the while she realised she should probably write another letter to her own parents. The last one she'd written had been in Foy, just after they'd left the Bois Jacques, and it had been filled with doom and gloom even though she'd tried her best to keep it light. It simply hadn't been possible to keep any of that light. But now she knew she should update them to let them know she was back on R&R and still in one piece, even if that piece was a little more hollow than it had been before.
"Well, that's everything," Charlie said as Vest put the letter into the appropriate pile. "I'll see you."
"Yeah," Vest agreed, nodding, avoiding her eyes.
Charlie turned and headed for the door, all too eager to leave, before Vest tentatively called her back.
It took a moment for her to turn around. For a split second she debated pretending she hadn't heard him, but that would have been ridiculous and rude because the room was small and he'd spoken loudly enough that it would have been obvious she'd heard, so she turned back to face him.
"I wanted to apologise," Vest said, taking Charlie genuinely by surprise. "For what I said in Haguenau." The expression on his face betrayed that he really did feel guilty about it and that he'd been fretting about it ever since. "I didn't mean any of it but I'm still sorry for saying it. You didn't deserve that and I hope you know that none of it was true."
Charlie didn't know what to say. She should thank him and accept his apology, she knew, but she was too stunned by the earnestness of it.
"You do incredible work and I admire you a whole lot, and I'm ashamed I ever said anything to contradict that. I'm really sorry, Lieutenant."
Charlie took a moment to look back at him as he stood there, his hands fluttering for something to occupy themselves with and his eyes remorseful, before she sighed. "I accept your apology," she told him, and gave him a whisper of a smile. "It was a lot, what happened that night, so don't blame yourself too much. I'm not losing sleep over it, so neither should you."
Vest nodded and the expression of anguish on his face finally eased, though as Charlie bid him goodbye and made for the door again she couldn't help but become conscious once more of the leaden weight in her stomach, always present and waiting to be acknowledged. What she'd told Vest hadn't been entirely true; she was losing sleep over what had happened in Haguenau, though not really because of him. She had just added it to her collection of memories which haunted her, added Eugene Jackson's blood streaked face to the portraits that lined the hallways of her mind, his ghost joining all of the others in the periphery of her vision.
Increasingly, she saw the ghosts everywhere. This time she hadn't even been safe from them in Paris. As she'd walked the Champs-Élysées at night, her arm linked with Mabs' as she tried to keep from both grinning and cringing at the memory of the time she'd been there with Floyd, she'd caught glimpses of faces in dark shop windows as they closed up for the night: the man with the baby on Utah Beach, James, Hoobler, Skip, Alex, Jackson - all of them watched her every move, but all of them vanished the instant she turned her head to face them head on.
Sometimes she wished they'd let her look at them properly. She wanted to see James' face in motion again, worried constantly that with each passing day she was forgetting the gradual brightening of his eyes as he was about to laugh, or the deepening of his dimples. And she wanted to watch Skip and Alex grin at each other, or slap each other upside the head, or even just stand there opposite her in such a way where she could pretend they were still alive, still close, still there when she needed them.
But every time she looked they vanished into the thin air they were composed of.
In Paris, she'd gotten close to asking Mabs whether she saw the ghosts, too. Whether she had her own steadily growing army of ghosts following her around, not letting themselves be forgotten but not allowing themselves to be entirely remembered, either. But as she'd opened her mouth to ask she'd felt the words stick in her throat, felt a sharp tug in her chest that insisted she was better off keeping the ghosts for herself, where she could change her mind every time she saw them as to whether or not they were real. Because sometimes she wanted to believe they were and other times she feared that more than anything else.
And she didn't want to find out that she was alone with her ghosts, the only person haunted by them. Because then she would really have to accept the guilt. Who else would they choose to follow around if not the person who had made them that way?
"Freckles," Floyd said, making her jump with his sudden nearness.
Probably, he'd been approaching her for long enough that she shouldn't have been surprised by his presence. Maybe he'd even called out to her. But she'd been buried so deep in her thoughts she hadn't realised where she was - not her room, where she'd been bound for, or the field hospital, where she might otherwise have been, but the parade ground, where replacements were scattering as they were dismissed for lunch.
For lunch? Had she been wandering around that long? She'd gone to the post office at 1030 hours. How could it be 1300 already?
"You alright?" Floyd asked, ducking his head to look her better in the eyes.
Charlie shook her head, an attempt to clear the fog out of it, but the motion caught the edge of a face she'd once adored. James with his blue eyes and his freckles and his dimples, watching her from the edge of her vision. Did Floyd really not see him? James was as clear to her as Floyd was.
But when she turned he vanished. He wouldn't even wait to let her give him the smile he'd always told her he loved.
"Charlie?"
Charlie swallowed hard as she looked back at Floyd. His eyes were concerned and she knew she was acting strange, so she did her best to snap out of it. "Hi," she said, painting on a smile for him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. She'd answered too quickly and now he was even more suspicious. "I delivered the letter. Vest apologised to me. Did you put him up to that?" The suspicion hadn't been there before, but it rose up in her now. She didn't doubt that Vest had meant the apology, but would it mean as much if she knew Floyd had ordered him to give it?
"No. I wasn't aware he owed you one." Floyd's eyebrows were furrowed and he was speaking slowly, deliberately, trying to puzzle her out.
Charlie knew she needed to get hold of herself if she didn't want him to send her for a psychiatric wellness evaluation.
"Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "how are the replacements?"
"Aren't you going to lunch?"
"Right."
Get it together, Charlie. What is wrong with you?
"Yes. I am," she replied. "Are you?"
Floyd gave a suspicious nod and together they started to head over to the mess hall.
They walked most of the way in silence, all the while Floyd kept glancing at her like he expected her to grow a second head any second now and Charlie searched her mind frantically for something (normal) to say. It was when she saw Chuck walking up ahead with Babe that she was reminded of what she'd been meaning to talk to Floyd about.
"You bought me a corsage," she said, carefully stepping over a puddle. The recent rainfall made the air smell somehow fresh and dirty at the same time, and though there was a chill in the breeze it was a mostly mild day. The sky overhead was just starting to go blue where it had been grey all morning and more and more sunlight was beginning to peek out into the gaps between the clouds.
"What?" Floyd said, because she'd spoken without giving any context.
"Back in Aldbourne," Charlie explained. "At the dance. When you were going with Mabs and I was going with Chuck?" Floyd nodded so she went on, "You bought me a corsage and gave it to Chuck, who gave it to me under the pretence that he'd bought it. But he didn't. It was you."
"Oh." Floyd lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. He looked away from her, evasive. "Yeah, I remember."
There was no use in trying to catch his eye, he was taller than her and making a point of looking the other way, so Charlie just asked him point blank. "Why didn't you just give it to me yourself?"
Floyd shrugged, still looking away. "I wasn't your date."
"Why did you buy it?" she challenged.
Floyd huffed a short laugh, the sound not quite amused but not quite bitter, either. It wasn't a real laugh but it was clearly intended to give the impression of casualness. It didn't quite hit the mark.
"I thought you might like it," was his explanation.
Charlie wasn't satisfied. "Why did you buy me the corsage and not tell me you bought it, Floyd?" she asked. She was hoping for a straight answer, was all but begging for it, but he was resolute not to give it.
"I told you. I thought -"
"Yes, but why?" she demanded, and finally he looked back at her. "You could have just told Chuck to get me one."
"Chuck didn't know your favourite flower," he pointed out.
"So you could have told him!"
Floyd tipped his head back and heaved a loud sigh. "What do you want me to say, Charlie? You've got me trapped."
"I want you to tell me the truth."
"I have! I got you it because I thought you might like it. I just didn't think about getting Chuck to do it himself."
"That's the only reason?" she pushed. She stopped walking and faced him, prompting him to do the same, and searched his eyes with enough pleading, enough vulnerability, that she prayed it would be enough to get him to see, that it would be enough to communicate everything she was feeling but couldn't say because she didn't honestly believe he felt it too. If he just said it first, if she gave him enough that he would just cross the line for them...
"Yes, Charlie, that's the only reason."
He stared at her hard, a mix of unreadable emotions in his eyes, before he inclined his head in the direction of the mess hall and continued walking.
Charlie let him go on without her and let her heart accept its brokenness for a moment.
She'd known. Of course she had. He didn't feel for her like she did for him. She was his best friend and no more, and that would have to be enough.
Oh, her heart. It ached worse than it ever had. She loved him. Loved him so much that it hurt. Loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone or anything, loved him more than she could even say.
And she'd been stupid, so stupid, to let herself read into the small things, like the way he smiled down at her in that photograph in Autumn's album or the fact he'd bought a corsage for her. He was Floyd, resident flirt, insatiable womaniser. How had she let herself fall in love with him? How had she ever been stupid enough to let it go this far?
But there was nothing she could do now. She'd tried avoiding him in a bid to lessen her affection and it had never worked, not any of the multiple times she'd done it. All she could do was love him in silence, be his friend and pretend that that was all she wanted, try to pretend that that was enough.
***
A/N:
merry christmas!!! i would've loved to have given you a happier chapter but, unfortunately, timing didn't work out that way. nonetheless, i hope you're all having a very happy holiday. all the love <3