A/N- As you read this, you may begin to notice that this chapter has little to nothing to do with the first one. This is mainly because I wrote the first chapter about 3 years ago and this one I wrote over the course of today after having gotten back into watching Allo' Allo' pretty regularly. As often happens when my love of the show returns, so does my love of pairing these two characters. So, this one-shot was written with no real consideration to the one before it. It's for this reason that I've decided to make this story more of a collection of somewhat unrelated 'scenes' rather than a totally connected, linear plot line.

So here is yet another Michelle/Crabtree "lost" scene. It takes place towards the beginning of the episode, 'The Return of The Paintings'. In this episode, the gang had disguised themselves as firemen to gain entry into the General's chateau. As per usual, the plan went totally wrong and Herr Flick and Von Smallhousen (also in the chateau at the time) made off with the fire engine. Long story short, Michelle and Crabtree were forced to walk home (which was revealed in a rather adorable little scene where Michelle realizes the engine has been stolen, Crabtree remarks "We will have to week home!" and they both simultaneously roll their eyes before climbing back outside. Adorable. =D Anyway, this is what transpired (in my mind, of course) on this walk together.

Also, I seem to have some fascination with Crabtree carrying Michelle around. If you'll check my DeviantArt page, you'll see I've done a fan art pic of them in this position. IDK where that comes from, really.

Look for (hopefully) more of this scenes, soon!

Disclaimer- Not mine.

It was in a rather uncomfortable silence that the two of them walked.

Michelle did not seem to notice or care, occupied as she was with seething in anger. He could have sworn he saw her kick the loose soil every now and then out of frustration and curse in some manner of French that he hadn't yet learned- nor was he certain he ever wanted to.

He had known her now for the better part of four years and yet she was still as much of a mystery to him as she was when they first met. The most emotion he had ever seen her elicit was at times like these when she seemed ready to drop a bomb on the whole of Europe and call it an evening. He had assumed she'd wanted things this way, that she liked having no one truly know who she was. So despite his ever present and probably dangerous curiosity in her, he respected this need for distance. He had done so for four years after all; there was no reason he couldn't now, when they were suddenly and completely alone for the first time in their acquaintance.

Still, though, he simply couldn't shake the odd, vulnerable intimacy this setting made him feel. Yes, he had seen Michelle furious before, but never when they were isolated out on a stroll in the French countryside.

So for better or for worse, he spoke, hoping that this sense of confidence that had overwhelmed him wouldn't gift him with a bullet in his leg.

"I say," he began softly in his native tongue, knowing how much his broken French made her dark brown eyes roll. "That was a rather botched venture, I admit. But for what it's worth, I think you and I were splendid."

She scoffed and her eyes still made a 360 degree revolution in their sockets despite his best efforts.

"I know we were," she sighed loudly, choosing to answer him in her own language. "Zat's not ze point, is it?"

"Well, no, I suppose not…"

They were silent again for a time. She was no doubt trying to avoid speaking at all and he was busy trying to conjure up something else to say.

"Well," he started again, a bit unsure. "…now, forgive me if this is too bold, but…perhaps you should take responsibility for the more crucial parts of the schemes from here on out. You know what they say; nothing is done right until one does it for oneself!"

He chuckled at his own attempt at humor, and even nudged her slightly on the arm to see if he could manage a smile from her (and then began to wonder if he'd ever seen her smile at all). She looked up at him and was obviously not in the least bit amused.

"Okay, fine!" she shouted, stomping out in front of him and forcing him to stop mid-step. "Why don't you organize everyzing from now on, since you're so smart?"

He simply stared at her, wide-eyed with shock, and defensively raised his hands to either side of his chest.

"N-n-now there's no need for all of that. I was simply trying to start a conversation."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and sigh, and turned back around to continue walking, apparently with or without him.

"It isn't really fair, you know," he called after her. "The way you treat me…and others."

He had to trot to catch back up to her, and she seemed to quicken her pace to make it difficult for him.

"Whenever someone tries to reach out to you, you simply push them away. There are much more polite ways of telling someone-"

"To sod off?" she finished sharply.

He couldn't completely stifle a laugh at the way her accent malformed the bit of slang. She made that growl noise again, and this time attempted silence him with a swat to the upper arm.

"Shut up!" she commanded, and it somehow only amused him further. Perhaps it was the complete and utter danger he was in of getting a gun pointed at him at any moment, or far worse. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of this knowledge to that of her much smaller, demure form, overcome with more rage than she knew what to do with.

Either way, she certainly didn't help matters any when she began beating her slender fists on his chest, again hoping that it would silence him. Of course, it didn't.

After a time, her pace began to slow and he took hold of her upper arms. He did this because she had begun to sway and had probably used what remained of her strength from the little sleep she managed last night to make him stop talking.

But in fact, she was exhausted; more so than her behavior that night would have let on. She suddenly dropped her arms and collapsed against his chest, held only in place by his hands.

"My gosh, woman, do you get any rest?"

He picked her up in his arms before she got a chance to answer. She may have muttered a "Merci, Gendarme" sloppilyinto his shoulder, but it was hard to tell for sure.

"Do you feel better now that you've assaulted me?" he asked her amusedly as he resumed their walk.

She adjusted herself in his arms and situated her head so that it sat more comfortably in the crook of his neck. He rather wished they weren't still in disguise, however, as the steel of her fireman's helmet was like frostbite on his skin and he would have much rather felt soft locks of hair. Nevertheless, he let her remain.

"I just wanted you to shut up," she murmured, soon falling asleep.

He smiled and acquiesced to her wishes, allowing her that much needed half-hour of slumber. They could speak again when they arrived at the café.