This fic is formally known as “That Military AU That Really Needs a Name.”
The pair left the library and strode towards the hospital wing. While Sister Marie Rose remained silent as they walked, Colonel John Smith prattled on about last year’s grape harvest and the how it would affect Champagne production.
When they reached the door, Sister Marie Rose stopped and waited for the door to be opened for her. She had become used to the overdone manners of the Gestapo officers, who were always trying to curry her favor, with one goal in mind; however, she had remained seductively aloof to the frustration of the officious men who were used to getting what or whom they wanted when they wanted it.
It’s too cold to be outside, but it’s New Year’s, so they are anyway. Shivering in the cheap leather jackets they’d scraped together the money to buy, right after the guitars, because Koschei said something about cultivating a look. Theta nicked a new pair of Converse while he was at it – cherry red, instead of dirty white, bright against the wet black tarmac of the London streets.
Shoulders hunched, shoving their way through the thronging crowd near Big Ben, they don’t touch each other as they move, but they never get more than a few feet apart, as though an invisible tether is strung between them. They haven’t tried to talk since they got off the Underground at Saint James’s Park, because the crowds and the energy buzzing in both their ears, keying up their nerves, sparking and fizzling like the fireworks they’ve come to watch.