Sigmund & Audrey, somewhere in France.

Brief little reminders like this that life went on… that’s what they thrived on. She knew not to get blind drunk (even if Sigmund would thump anyone who tried to take advantage… himself included), but it was too nice to be able to shuck off ‘Lieutenant Sinclair’ for a few hours and just be Audrey. Even if the Major and his lackeys insisted Sig shave his beard, and even if Sig felt like he wasn’t wearing any trousers, it was nice to pretend to be normal.

—Just to pretend that they were at a dance hall back in England somewhere, and he’d asked her for a dance… and not like two comrades who’d stared into the face of Hell and had it stare back.

Despite his grumbling, he was a fabulous dancer whose effortless grace always put her novice fumblings to shame.

Part of The Sharpshooter & The Vet series.