1) I hope all is going well with you and your new little one. 2) A few years ago you wrote a few ficlets set in WWII France, in which Clarke and Bellamy are in the Resistance. They are two of my favorites that you've written. If you're taking fic requests, and your Muse is up to it, I'd love to see where their adventures take them.
In a wonderful bit of coincidence, @jasperjoordan also requested bellarke and WWII! Part I to this series is here, and part II is here.
Clarke lit the scrap of paper on fire and tossed it into the fireplace, waiting until it turned completely to ash to pour herself a drink. Prices had gone up scandalously in Paris under the Occupation, but the Nazis weren’t about the deprive themselves of a good time so at least she had ready access to alcohol.
She was halfway through her wine when Bellamy returned, letting himself into her shabby apartment above the bar from the back staircase. “What’s the news?” he asked, shoulders tense. They had played this game for weeks, constantly waiting for news that never seemed to come.
But for once, she had an answer. “Next week. They won’t say where, but the Americans are coming.”
Bellamy closed his eyes as if in prayer. It had been two years of only intermittent contact with his people; laying in wait for them to finally launch a new front. He’d moved in with her somewhere early in his second year in France, and to the Nazis they were just another set of collaborators. Clarke served them drinks and Bellamy drove their generals around like they were on holiday. To the Allies they were two particularly successful spies, specializing in sabotage and the occasional assassination.
To each other, they were everything.
Bellamy leaned over and kissed the top of her head, easing her wine glass from her fingers to drink from it himself. “What did they want to know?”
“If we’ve heard anything about an invasion and if so, where they think it’s going to happen.”
“The general I drove yesterday was talking about Calais with his men,” Bellamy said.
“And someone in the bar today mentioned being sent to Calais soon,” she confirmed. “That must be the decoy site.”
Bellamy took her hand and tugged her to standing. She leaned against his chest, letting his heartbeat soothe her nerves. After two years the end was finally in sight, but the worst was likely yet to come. The Germans wouldn’t leave France without a fight, and she and Bellamy would be in the thick of it. They had made it this far, but there was no guarantee they’d make it out alive. “I’ll do the drop. Confirm that the false trail is working,” Bellamy said into her hair.
A/N: Calais was the decoy site for D-Day.
