Chapter Text
Delia giggled and held up her wine glass for more.
Patsy upended the bottle, pulling a face. “Je m’excuse, mais il en reste plus.” Ma chérie, she added mentally.
A pout had initially formed on Delia’s face, but was quickly broken by a certain twinkle and tilt of the head that was reliably summoned every time Patsy pulled out her admittedly rather rusty French.
“You know how I like it when you speak French to me.”
Patsy couldn’t suppress her grin. “You don’t even know what I’m saying.”
Delia leaned across the table, placing a sweet kiss on her lover’s wine-stained lips. Emboldened by the wine, Patsy threaded a hand through Delia’s hair, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.
A loud whistle and a laugh broke them apart.
Patsy hurriedly scrabbled for her purse, slapping some money down and pulling a startled Delia out of her chair and away from the little restaurant.
–
Dark hair bobbed in the moonlight, its owner trying to keep up with the long strides of the copper-headed woman ahead of her as they made their way down a narrow street.
“For goodness sake, slow down cariad!”
Her words had their desired effect and then some. Patsy whirled around as Delia caught up to her. “You can’t call me that in public.”
Delia suppressed a scoff, knowing that Playful Patsy had now firmly become Stern Pats. “We're hardly in public, and nobody here knows what it means. People don’t even know what it means back home!”
Patsy closed her eyes to the argument. “We were stupid and forgot ourselves. It was reckless.”
Well if Stern Pats was here for the evening, Stubborn Deels would have to come out to meet her.
“They only whistled, Pats. It’s not as if they were going to summon the police.”
Patsy’s face was stoney, but Delia could see the panic in her eyes. “Delia, they could have. Anyone could have if they’d seen us.”
“But they didn’t.” She implored, reaching out for her girlfriend’s hand. “I just want to do what every other couple does. I want to kiss you when I feel like it, and stroll down by the river with you, holding hands.”
Sadness softened the bold lines of Patsy’s face. “We can’t, Delia, you know that. We took enough of a risk earlier. I got carried away. No one else can see.” She dropped Delia’s hand and started off again.
Delia didn’t budge. Anger flared up in her. “it’s Paris, Pats, not Poplar! Here, people might whistle or stare, but we won’t lose our jobs or get arrested.”
Patsy hurried back, her voice low and tense. “Delia, keep your voice down. It’s another country, not another world.”
Voice still at normal speaking level and jaw tight, Delia’s anger shifted from society in general to Patsy. “I know that Pats. I’m not the globetrotter you are, but I do know some things.”
“Then you know there are laws against it here too. Recent ones, at that, so I’m sure they’re eager to give them a go.” Delia felt her anger fade abruptly, replaced by a familiar tiredness.
Patsy clearly saw the change in her mood and stepped closer, brushing a discrete thumb over her girlfriend’s knuckles, prompting her hand to uncurl. “Deels, you know how much I wish we could be like any other couple. That I could kiss you anywhere and everywhere. But I’d also like us not to end up in musty, lonely cells, so we can’t.”
Gathering up her humour in response to Patsy’s, Delia took her arm - as though they were just friends - but murmured “well you could do that in the comfort of our hotel room.”
They made it back in record time.