Chapter Text
René was wiping the table by the door, muttering to himself about the sticky heat, without even some sunshine to at least make it cheerful 'And therefor make his customers more cheerful; and more likely to spend', when he heard the racket of many vehicles entering the carriageway. He cheered up and walked to the edge of the square, waving when he saw the colonel being driven by Helga, both looking tired and travel-stained and grumpy, a line of trucks extending behind them.
"Colonel! Welcome back!" he shouted to be heard over the noise.
Von Strohm waved back minimally as he shouted, "Later, René. I need a bath even more than a drink!"
René snorted to himself, walking back into the café with a cheerful step and a smile. "Yvette," he waved out the windows, "You may as well go do a round outside, hopefully Jacques and Gilles will vacate their table soon, I expect a number of von Strohm's officers will shortly be mobbing us to wet their whistle after their week of manoeuvres."
Yvette's eyes brightened as she looked out and saw all the soldiers passing by, "Yes René!"
René shook his head as she almost skipped on her way out. He was not the only one whose customers had disappeared because of Klinkerhoffen's attachment to torturing his troops.
^
Yvette had just taken the orders of the first Panzer officers to take a table, winking at the friendliest one before turning to go get their drinks, when she heard a familiar sound coming closer than the convoy's path. Lieutenant Gruber's little tank stopped at its usual spot under the tree, and she smiled, even though he was no customer of hers; he did contribute to the café's take plenty, not least when he played the piano, encouraging other guests to stay.
Her welcoming hail cut off, and instead her brows flew up as she watched the usually gracefull man stumble out of the tank, almost tripping over his own feet as he obviously tried to hurry toward the door, not even seeming to see her through those dark-ringed, blood-shot eyes already darting around the interior of the café.
She almost reached out to offer him a hand when that odd enervated rag-doll jerkiness changed to shoulders slumping with relief, and he slowed, finally walking more normally toward the bar, where René had just stood up with a platter full of fresh glasses.
"Miss?"
Yvette set the lieutenant's oddness aside as she turned to smile welcome at the little group of enlisted having just grabbed a table by the door.
^
René hummed under his breath as he listened to the rattle of tracks passing by outside, very like change rattling in a cash register. He counted up the bottles along the back wall: one two three bottles of cheap red waiting to be opened, good. Gin, brandy, good, good. Now where had he left the cognac... Turning to look at the shelves in the bar itself, the hint of a familiar grey shape slowly moving toward him at the edge of his vision caught his attention instead and he looked up with a ready smile. "Lieutenant! Wel-" René's brows flew up when he saw the usually dapper man looking entirely undone.
He shook his head ruefully, his nose almost wrinkling at the waft of... lily and diesel, assuredly, but it was not entirely managing to hide the sweat. Reluctantly sympathetic for the man in the mud-streaked uniform, his voice softened to something more friendly than he usually risked around his erstwhile admirer, "You look in dire need of a bath and a laundry, lieutenant." No wonder that lotion had to be so strong!
As he stepped up to the bar, Gruber's smile was a poor, almost *shaky* imitation of his usual flirtatious beam, and his thin hair stuck out stiffly every which way, moulded to the shape of the steel helmet he set on the bar-top; nothing like the fastidious lieutenant Gruber that René knew. "Some things are more important."
A little surprised at the man's unexpected priorities, and unable to help frowning at the quiet voice, René finally shrugged, obscurely reassured by hazel eyes familiarly tracing over him. "Of course. A drink I assume." Without waiting for an answer, he crouched down to look at the shelves as he had originally meant to do, shifting out of Yvette's rushed way as she poured beers behind him. He grunted to himself as he found the bottle of cognac, still stashed behind the expensive brandy where he had put it a week ago.
Quickly polishing a glass from the platter he had prepared, he handed the tired man a generous drink. Gruber took the glass with a hand streaked in engine grease, though René couldn't deny that his gaze had never actually shifted to it, fixed on René with an odd desperation. "Thank you, René." He finally downed the alcohol in a long swallow that again made René's brows shoot up. Instead of the coughing fit he half expected, the lieutenant took a deep breath of what might be relief, his smile becoming a shade more recognizable, "I apologize for coming here in such an uncouth condition, René. You are quite right, a long bath is in order." Without so much as a wink, he turned, with an aborted flinch that made René frown, and walked, or limped, really, toward the door, René rolling his eyes at himself when he realized he was staring at the man's -mud-coated- back-quarters.
Stopping at the table by the door to say something to one of the soldiers, Gruber finally stumbled back to his tank, the machine noisily backing out to take the same path the convoy had.
René shook his head at the strange visit, getting back to his bottle-checking. He was just bringing a fresh bottle of gin forward to be ready when he heard steps come up behind him and turned with his practised smile. He nodded politely at the newcomer, "Yes, soldier? What can I get you?"
The private shook his head, standing a good arm's length from the bar, which René appreciated, considering the look of him and the smell that *Gruber* had trailed; the week *had* been excessively hot and humid, when it was not pouring to make everything a sea of mud. "Your waitress has already given me a beer. I-" he glanced toward the door hesitantly, "You are René?"
René looked at him blankly, debating his answer as fear quickly coiled in his stomach. "My name is René, yes." Now what had he done??
The man stared at him stoically, though René did not really see a threat in it, and tried to relax. "I do not believe it was... alcohol he came for. My name is Clarence-"
The name made relief lick through him and René interrupted in a rush, "His driver, yes, he has mentioned you." Fondly even. Which should hardly mean anything, but... Gruber had protected him more than once; there was a certain vague amount of general trust between them. Sometimes. About *some* things.
The private visibly relaxed, though he did not smile, "Yes. During manoeuvres, we often end up exchanging sleep shifts in the tank."
René frowned, nodding when the man seemed to wait for a response, wondering where the devil this was leading him.
"The lieutenant has nightmares."
And now René stilled, his discomfort with Gruber's attentions not enough to make him wish the man disturbed sleep.
"Some of the men say that he commanded a party that executed your brother?"
René nodded reluctantly, unable to say a word and suddenly dreading what the boy would say.
"He often wakes crying your name-" René's eyes slammed shut, wishing he could make the conversation vanish so easily, "He worsened, the longer we were out..."
René finally made himself open his eyes at the silence, looking at the boy grimly as his gut roiled with sickly cold.
Gruber's driver was watching him, looking less flat-eyed than before, possibly a little relieved. "He is a good commander. I believe he thinks of you as a friend; at the least. Perhaps you can help him." With a nod of finality, he turned back toward the table of men by the door, leaving René trying to breathe normally.
He almost jumped at the hand on his arm, not certain how long he had been standing unmoving. Edith looked at him with a quiet understanding he had not seen in many years. "You should go see him."
He looked away from that look, feeling his cheek twitch. But just this once, she was right.