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QUITE A CATCH

June 1945  | Zell am See, Austria

Marc hadn't seen Adélaïde smile so much in years. But sitting on the terrace of the Austrian hotel, a dozen tired soldiers listening to her sing songs in French, and then English, and then Italian, she seemed to have found some amount of peace. He recognized the regular listeners: Sergeants Luz and Malarkey, First Sergeant Talbert, Private Heffron, Sergeant Alley, and Corporal Liebgott.

The shadows of the doorway hid him from their view. He was content to just watch his sister pluck at the guitar someone had gotten for her from a USO troop. It hadn't taken her long to learn it. She'd always been gifted like that. Golden hair fell in her face as one of the men made a joke he couldn't hear and she laughed.

Movement to his right drew Marc away from the scene. In the shadows of another archway, two of the leaders of the Americans stood chatting. He recognized them both: Major Winters and Captain Nixon. He didn't spend much time with the former. Ida did that. But Captain Lewis Nixon was another story all together.

Though the man chatted with Winters, Nixon seemed to only have eyes for Adélaïde. Marc felt his chest tighten. He'd seen it weeks ago. After their arrival in Zell am See, in the weeks where Adélaïde recovered from her wound, he had helped her. The moment he'd spoken French, however mutilated it sounded because of his American accent, she'd smiled. And she hadn't stopped smiling since.

Nixon laughed at something Winters said. He took a sip of his silver flask, then turned back to where Adelaide had just finished another song. The shadows suited Marc well enough, gave him a place from which he could watch the men. She could take care of herself. He knew it. He'd seen it. But she shouldn't have to, so he stayed there, watching them.

A third officer, shorter, closer to Adélaïde's height than his own, nodded to Marc as he walked passed him onto the terrace. Lieutenant Welsh. A good man, as far as Marc could tell. He and Robert didn't do much while laying low in Zell am See except act as German translators, but the interactions he'd gotten with Welsh had been pleasant enough. Marc watched as he joined the other two officers.

It didn't take long for Nixon and Winters to turn and spot him in the shadows of the archway. As he met their gazes, Marc offered a small smile. Not with his eyes, as Adélaïde pointed out to him on more than one occasion. She'd always said he didn't smile much with his eyes, not anymore, not since Paris had fallen. She was right, of course. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and moved to join them.

"Your sister's a fantastic musician," Winters stared. He seemed to be trying to break the ice. "How many instruments does she play?"

Marc glanced over at Adélaïde. She still sat there, clutching the guitar in her metal chair as the men lounged on the ground or in tables around her. Her smile never wavered even as she plucked at strings between songs and chatted with Luz and Talbert. He turned back to them.

"If she can get ahold of it, she'll learn to play it," Marc told them. "Primarily piano, though. And some violin."

Winters nodded. He took another bite of the apple he'd been eating. They fell into silence again, a few moments of peace listening to the early summer breeze rustle the leaves of nearby trees broke only by the laughs of the enlisted.

"Must've been hard, then, leaving Paris behind," Welsh said next.

Marc broken into a rueful smile. He shook his head. They didn't know the half of it. They didn't know what had led to their flight from Paris. They didn't know how their youngest sister's blood had stained the cobbles. And even if they had known, they couldn't understand.

"Lieutenant, leaving Paris was hard for many reasons. Least on our minds was not having a piano," he told him. He kept his voice even, his smile up. But he made eye contact and didn't waver. When Welsh looked away, he turned to Winters, and then to Nixon. The man turned to face him head on.

"Major Winters, Lieutenant Welsh!"

All four of them turned at the raspy voice that called their way. Colonel Strayer and Colonel Sink, two of the men that Marc had quickly learned held much of the power in Zell am See, gestured for them. Winters and Welsh excused themselves. When Marc turned back from watching them walk away, he found Nixon watching Adélaïde again.

"She's happy here," Marc finally said. It was true. The beauty and simplicity of Austria had brought all of them happiness. Robert got to spend hours roaming the woods by himself. Marc finally could spend time with Ida when she wasn't busy talking to the SOE. And Adélaïde had found a purpose beyond killing. Looking at Nixon, he added, "I'd hate for something to mess that up."

The way Nixon stopped drinking his flask almost made Marc laugh. Instead he just smirked, and turned to watch his sister chatting to Luz again. The man in question had taken up a spot on the patio stones, his back against a rather large planter, cigarette dangling from his mouth. They got along well. He could make her laugh.

"She's quite a catch," Nixon agreed.

Marc turned to him. A catch. Based on the way Nixon's smile widened, the double meaning had definitely been intended. He knew that Adélaïde liked him. No accounting for taste, of course.

"Adélaïde talks about you," he said. Marc turned back to her, enjoying the shade he now occupied next to the man who frequently shadowed his sister. "I'll admit. You've been a lot of help in her recovery, keeping her company while Robert and I are busy. Helping her get used to walking again." He turned to Nixon, who had stopped sipping at his flask. "Though your French needs work."

"Does it? I think it's pretty good," he argued. Taking another drink, Nixon just shrugged. "So how did you three end up with the spy group? No offense, Klein, but your siblings aren't the most discreet."

He wasn't wrong. Robert had the tact of a Molotov cocktail, and Adélaïde made heads turn wherever she went. But they'd not had a choice. "Do you ever stop asking questions, Nixon?"

He snorted. "Does she ever stop talking?" Nixon joked. He gestured over to where she had ended another song. Talbert sat near Luz and kept begging for songs, but it seemed she was running out of ideas. Instead, she just chatted.

"Do you want her to?"

Nixon paused. He turned to Marc, flask at his side as he folded his arms. But he tried to salvage his response with an easy shrug and smirk. "Never said that."

"What do you want, Nixon?" Marc turned to him directly, stepping a bit into his view, arms across his chest. He felt the sun on his skin, warming his dark hair the longer he stood there. "Because she likes you. But I swear, Captain, if you hurt her, you'll have to deal with the consequences."

"Are you threatening me?" he asked, breaking into a bit of a grin. Nixon seemed to have forgotten Adélaïde for the moment, turning instead straight towards Marc.

Marc shook his head. "I'm not the one you should be scared of. I'd be more worried about my brother, if I was you. I'm sure your dossier has his combat experience, and he has nothing more to lose except for her."

His shook his head. "I wouldn't hurt her."

"That's what the last one said. Then he did," Marc told him. He smirked. "And now he's dead."

The way Nixon drew himself up with a deep breath made Marc smile. Nixon was an intelligence officer; if anyone from the 506th knew about what had brought them to Zell am See, he was one of them. And based on his frown, Marc guessed he knew exactly what he meant.

Marc let out a small laugh, patting Nixon on the shoulder as he moved past him. He leaned in to him. "But, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." His hand lingered on Nixon's shoulder for a moment too long, and then he moved away.

Even as his boots pounded against marble floors, Adélaïde's voice rose above the chaotic American chatter and laughs. Light, happy, still sounding beautifully of French, though Marc could make out the German beneath it. He hoped she never stopped talking. Even if that talking was endless praise for Captain Lewis Nixon III, an American with apparently too much time on his hands.

"What are you smiling about?" Robert asked.

Marc looked up at his brother's use of french. He moved towards Marc from the other entrance to the hotel headquarters, running a hand through his hair. Marc grinned even wider. "Just had to do some housekeeping."

"How bad did you scare him?"

He didn't respond. Marc just turned around and tried to look out into the back terrace. Adélaïde had driven the boys away, though a few tried to keep chatting with her. Including Lewis Nixon.

"Just enough."