I awoke to sunlight burning my eyelids, and rolled over to find Defferre hunched over Benjamin, picking through his hair.
     "You got lice, didn't you?"
     They both looked up in surprise, and Ben looked at me sheepishly. "Just a little."
"I told you," I said with a small smile, stretching across the warm bed and grimacing in pain, "I'm surprised I slept through the night. I'm not used to it."
Benjamin and Defferre exchanged glances.
"You slept through much more than the night," chuckled Defferre, "It's five o'clock in the evening already. How do you feel?"
"Oh, Christopher Columbus," I muttered in surprise, "I'm fine, I guess. Ben, how is your hand?"
He raised it proudly, bandaged all across his palm and to his wrist, small spots of blood seeping through.
"I took the shrapnel out myself," he said, standing up and approaching me, "but it's alright. Here, let me set your broken ribs."
I groaned as he pulled back the covers. "It's fine; they'll heal on their own."
"Well, they haven't for the past two months, so let me just try to ease the pain. Monsieur Defferre," he said turning to him, "do you have any elastic bandages?"
Defferre cocked his head, saying, "Well, I don't think so but I'll see if my wife knows of any. Oh, and there's a nightgown in the wardrobe, Louisa, of you'd like to get out of your day clothes."
I smiled a little, looking down at the tweed skirt and blouse that was now covered in wrinkles. "Thank you, Gaston."
     When he was gone, Benjamin examined the bruising and identified the three ribs that seemed to be broken by painstakingly pressing into each one. It was agonizing.
     "Defferre's wife is actually very kind," Ben said casually as he continued the examination, "and almost as intelligent as you. She has a bath set up for you in the other room whenever you'd like, and made more eggs for breakfast this morning than I've ever seen in my whole life. She's got a lot of food saved up for you, too."
     I smirked. "Makes me wonder how they met, you know? Two people as different as they are. It can't be as dramatic as my fiery rescue from the hands of four Nazis and a plane crash, can it?"
     "You always make it sound like I had anything to do with killing those four soldiers," he said, kissing my forehead, "when they were already dead when I got there. Really, my role was more like a taxi service for you and Maureen."
     "Stop," I said, "it hurts to laugh."
     He winked and took my hand in his, his dark green eyes almost glowing in the sunlight.
     "Remember when you called me a 'pretty boy?'"
     I stuck out my leg and kicked him with a grin. "Don't remind me. I was so embarrassed."
    Defferre came back in with a roll of bandages in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other.
     "Apparently, Andrée has a secret stash of medical supplies I didn't know about," he mumbled with a shrug, "So I guess we do have elastic bandages."
     "And the soup?" I said with amusement, "Was that in a secret stash too?"
     He raised his eyebrows, setting the bowl beside me on the bedside table. "It's definitely not a secret. It's like a restaurant down there. She's really into you getting something to eat, I think."
      "Well, tell her thank you," I said with a wince as Benjamin tightly wrapped my stomach and ribs.
      "I have to go to a meeting in the city," Defferre said, "but I'll be back before it gets dark—hopefully."
     "You're still having socialist meetings now?" I exclaimed, "The Allies are in control of the city!"
     He furrowed his eyebrows. "Did I not tell you both? I forgot; I'm sorry. I'm the mayor of Marseille now."
     Ben and I exchanged surprised glances. "Oh," Benjamin said, "wow. That's—not what I expected you to say."
The Frenchman laughed at our expression and gave a firm wave goodbye before closing the door.  
     Benjamin smiled and sat beside me on the bed, offering a spoonful of the soup to me.
     "I think I can feed myself," I quipped jokingly, taking in a breath as I felt the warmth of the soup down my throat. It was an unfamiliar feeling.
     "Well I won't allow it," he said resolutely, "not with your hands in the condition they're in and with a perfectly good husband around to do all the heavy lifting for you."
     I smirked and ran a finger across the bandages on his knuckles, silently reminding him of the condition of his own hands.
     "You look good with short hair," he added slyly, "kinda like my mother in the twenties."
     "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but I'll take it either way."
     "Good girl." We both laughed, and he rested his head in my lap with a sigh.
     "I just wish I had been there."
"That's a foolish wish."
He sighed. "I should have been there for you in the camp—"
I scoffed, stroking his forehead and looking up at the ceiling in exasperation.
"That's not how it works, Ben. You would have been separated as soon as we got there, and probably sent on the first round of deportations."
"Deported to where?"
"Auschwitz. Death."
We were both silent, the gentle sound of automobiles and Mediterranean winds echoing outside.
     "I'm sorry," he said, "What I said was insensitive to all that you've—"
     I put a finger to his lips and ran my thumb across his jaw as he laid in my lap. "It's not insensitive; you just haven't experienced what I have. That's just how things are going to have to be now—we both have different experiences that we bring."
     "That's a nice way of saying insensitive."
     He tugged on the green silk robe I had found in the wardrobe, and added, "I think it would be unwise for you to fly transport operations to and from Normandy, Lou. You can stay here for the next few days and gain back some strength, and then we'll catch the next plane to the States that ever leaves this continent."
I looked down at him with raised eyebrows, secretly wishing my hair was as silky and agreeable as his as I ran my fingers through it nonchalantly.
"I will consent to this proposal," I mused, "but on one condition: you stay with me. I don't want to sit here for days while you're out having fun flying Spitfires across France."
He chuckled and rolled over onto his stomach, careful not to put pressure on my wounds. "Alright. I'm sure we could think of something to occupy ourselves."

Three days later, a messenger finally came to tell us a plane was waiting to bring us home. We said tearful goodbyes to Gaston Defferre, thanking him for all he had done for us.
"We've come a long way since we first met," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder with a smile, "and that day you put a gun to my head."
We all laughed, and Benjamin embraced him. "Come to the United States someday, Gaston. We'll put you up in our finest guest room—"
"Our only guest room," I interrupted.
Defferre grinned. "I'd love to. Someday."
Andrèe emerged from the dining room with a basket brimming with packaged food. "Hopefully this will last until you get home. Do not forget to eat."
I took the basket on my arm and thanked her profusely. My emaciated frame was obviously not sitting well with the French woman, and she was determined to fatten me up again. I certainly wasn't skinny for lack of her attempts the past few days.
The Allied military sent a Jeep to take us to the airstrip, and we sat in the rumbling backseat with the enormous basket between us. It felt exhilarating to think we were on our way home. Really home.
The large aircraft sat roaring on the tarmac, six other men and a pilot trudging towards the plane.
For all the time we had spent here, the departure was inglorious.
There was no ceremonious goodbye of our small apartment now in ashes, or a final day of Benjamin's medical practice, or a letter from the OSS giving us orders to leave Marseille. Not even a souvenir for us to bring home. We just left.
     Sitting against the body of the plane as we quickly gained altitude, Benjamin clasped his hand tightly in mine. He despised this part of any flight, even when he was the pilot.
The six other soldiers sat against the wall, talking amongst themselves over the roaring engine.
The man next to me grimaced in pain as he reached for a ration in his pack, and I noticed a blood-stained bandage that wrapped around his chest.
"What happened?"
He looked at me as if surprised that I was speaking to him.
"Oh, just a small bullet, Ma'am. It's alright."
"Has someone operated on it yet?" Benjamin piped up.
"Yes, sir—a few days ago. It hurts but I think it's healing."
"That's good. I can give you something for the pain if you'd like," he rummaged through his bag with a small smile and added, "Where are you from?"
     "Nebraska. Fly-over country, they say," he chuckled, "No one ever lands there; they end up there on their way to somewhere better."
     "I'm from Connecticut. Just as boring as Nebraska, just colder. The Major General here is a city boy—born and raised in Washington D.C.," I said, "I'm certain he'd never seen a real tree before his eighteenth birthday."
      We all laughed, and Ben slung his arm gently around my neck and kissed my forehead.  
     The flight home was miserably long, but the six other soldiers were gracious and joyful. They were all giddy to see their families.
     We landed at the Army Air Force base outside of Arlington, Virginia, and a small crowd was gathered on the tarmac as we taxied toward the hangar.
"Does anyone even know we're alive?" I asked Benjamin softly as the men eagerly looked out the windows to catch a glimpse their families.
"Last official report that went out was that we were dead," he shrugged, "but word might have gotten around. I couldn't get in touch with George to pick us up in the car, so we'll have to take a taxi."
"That's fine. I just want to go home. I'll walk if I have to."
The soldiers climbed out of the plane one by one, running into the arms of their wives and children. I felt a small pang in my heart, watching the beautiful reunions of each family. We had no one to greet us.
Benjamin seemed to be feeling a similar thing, taking my hand firmly in his bandaged one and sighing resolutely before climbing out of the aircraft.
The fresh, American smell in the air made me swell with exhilaration, and I smiled as the soldiers' families wept over their sons and fathers and brothers and husbands.
     We walked silently across the tarmac with our heads down—no fanfare, no cameras, no family.
     Ben put an arm tightly around me, pulling me close with a small whisper. "You okay, Lou?"
     "Yeah. And you?"
     "Yeah."
     A small, stray tear dripped down my cheek and Benjamin ran his fingers through my hair.
We had both known that our job did not leave much room for family or friends, and that all we really had was each other. It was still hard to feel so alone.
"Hey," someone called from a black car parked on the other side of the road, "you two wouldn't happen to need a ride, would you?"
It was George Donovan—our driver and friend. He was one of the few people who knew our true reason for suddenly leaving DC.
I crossed the street without even looking, jumping into his arms with a sob of joy. Benjamin enveloped both of us into a strong embrace.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you two again," he said, opening the door for us both, "Come on; I'll take you home."
Ben helped me into the backseat and followed after me, leaning forward and kissing me with a giddy laugh.
"Hey, hey, hey," George said as he roared the engine to life, "Settle down back there!"
We all laughed, and I laid my head down in Benjamin's lap, my military-style oxfords propped up on the window.
I let Ben do the bulk of the explaining, interjecting every now and then to guide Benjamin's rambling stories back on track.
George listened carefully, obviously appalled by the abridged tales of what happened to me.
"Should I be taking you two to the hospital?" he asked, looking back in the rear mirror with concern in his eyes.
"Definitely not," I answered, "we've snuck into the country out of the watchful eye of the bureaucracy so far; we'll have to turn ourselves in tomorrow but I just need one night without the misery of debriefings and questioning medical exams."
"Besides," Ben said, "I'm a doctor. I can solve all her problems."
I socked him in the arm and sighed, looking up from his lap at the trees that lined the road.
     "Do you see the leaves on the trees?" I mused softly.
     "Didn't have those in France." Ben answered thoughtfully, squinting as though it would help him take in every detail. France had been decimated by the constant bombing; there wasn't much room for nature's beauties in war.
     "I'm just so glad you're both back," George said with an exhilaration in his voice, "and I have my job back, too!"