My contribution for the month's "Rock the WW2 AU", as well as a special birthday present fic for Pointless Things!

This is a story that I hope to come back to later, so please consider this first chapter a *preview* to what will become, sometime later after I get a few other stories managed, a multi-chapter fic exploring Tom and Sybil's romance, set during the 1940's.

I hope you enjoy! And special thanks to darlingsybil for the cover art to this fic, as well as to gothamgirl28 and rebeccathehistorian for their historical help with this fic! Please let me know what you think! And without further ado...

Calendar Girl
by The Yankee Countess

Chapter One
"Miss May"

Libya, December, 1942

"I'm dreaming of a white…Christmas!
Just like the ones I used to know…!"

"Oi! I'm sick and tired of that bloody song! Play something else!"

Tom couldn't help but chuckle at the "Scrooge-like" behavior of his friend and fellow private, who was busy sticking two fingers up in the air at the men who had been playing the record, before turning and stuffing a cigarette between his lips.

"Not in a 'holly jolly' mood, Jimmy?" Tom questioned.

Jimmy snorted and took a long puff on his cigarette, before joining his friends who were gathered around a very pathetic looking campfire. "The song's pointless since we're hardly in a place that can boast about having a 'white Christmas', not to mention that it's played ALL THE BLOODY TIME!" he shouted once more, in the direction of the merry-makers.

Tom couldn't help finding amusement in Jimmy's disdain of the popular Irving Berlin tune. "All the more reason to be dreaming about, then," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "And the yanks certainly love it."

Jimmy just rolled his eyes, before grimacing at the fire, taking note that it was producing more smoke than flames. "Alfred, let someone else do that—clearly you have no skills when it comes to basic camping."

Alfred frowned and glared back at Jimmy from where he was crouched. "It's not me, it's the wood! I think it's wet; did it rain earlier?

"What rain? We're in the middle of the desert—"

"Allow me," Tom interrupted, his years of being an older brother to two argumentative younger brothers, coming in handy to stop the quarrel. He removed a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket and quickly dispensed a little of its contents onto the wood, thus reviving the dying flames with a sudden burst.

Alfred toppled back slightly, but was already grinning at the growing fire, glad for its warmth. "Thanks, Tom—though I'm sorry you had to use—"

"Nah, it's alright—cheap whiskey; tastes more like piss to be honest," he frowned, before tucking the flask back inside his coat.

Jimmy chuckled at this. "And you have experience with that?" Tom shoved the younger man, who only continued laughing.

He couldn't help but chuckle himself. It was good to have something to laugh about, actually. And it was good, despite Jimmy's dislike of a particular song, to hear their fellow soldiers get caught up in the songs and memories of Christmas, in particular, Christmas back home. Tom couldn't help but sigh with some melancholy, and despite its ill taste, removed his flask once more and took a sip of the whiskey inside it, imagining (for the millionth time) what his mother and siblings were doing right now. Did they have the house decorated? His sisters always went a little overboard with the holly and the pine boughs, but it was nice, in the midst of cold, Irish winters, and the dull brown smog of Dublin's city streets, to see some green.

Their unit, part of the British 8th Army, had been fighting in North Africa for over a year. Since November, the 8th had been in pursuit of Axis forces across Libya, after defeating the "Desert Fox" in Second Battle of El Alamein. They had the upper hand now, and there was talk that their campaign could be a turning point for the war. Tom certainly hoped so; oh Lord, what he wouldn't give to see some green right now, especially the green of Ireland's emerald mountains.

"I thought deserts were supposed to be hot?" Jimmy shivered, pulling the collar up from his coat.

"You say that every night," Alfred groaned in annoyance.

"Well I wouldn't want to disappoint you by not saying it tonight," Jimmy muttered back.

"See you got the fire going finally?"

The argument once again was brought to a close (thank heaven, Tom thought) when the three turned to the voice who had commented on their campfire.

Jimmy frowned at the sight of the young private. "William, what are you still doing here? Thought you were on Christmas leave?"

"Can't wait to be rid of me?" William teased. "Well I'll be gone soon enough," he broadly grinned, his mind clearly already at the place where he was traveling to. "On my way back to Yorkshire—"

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Jimmy groaned. "Back in Yorkshire with 'the sweetest girl in the whole wide world'," he mocked, his voice a higher pitch. "What was her name again? Lily? Tulip?"

"Daisy!" William muttered, flicking some dirt off the ground with his boot at Jimmy.

"Easy!" Jimmy muttered, the dirt just avoiding his cigarette. "I only have half a pack left—you know how hard it is to get these things now?"

William ignored him, but instead looked into the fire, a dreamy expression crossing over his face. "She's more than the sweetest girl—she's beautiful and talented and I'm going to marry her."

Tom looked at William, his eyes widening at the declaration. "So is that the purpose of this Christmas leave, then? Going home to propose to your girl?" Ah, how he envied the lad, he could not deny.

William blushed, but he couldn't help smiling at Tom's insightfulness. "Dad wants me to give her Mum's ring," he murmured. "Says that way, Mum will be with us when we marry."

Tom smiled back, though it was bittersweet. William's mother had passed away only a few months ago. He hadn't been there when it happened, and this would be his first return to Yorkshire since her passing.

"Will you be going to Downton while on leave?" Alfred asked William. It had been one of those strange coincidences; Alfred's aunt and William's sweetheart, both working at the same country estate in Yorkshire.

William nodded his head. "Daisy wants both the both of us, my father and I, to come to the big house for Christmas."

Tom couldn't help but snort a little at this. "Fine Christmas that will be; running upstairs and down, serving a bunch of posh—"

"Christmas at Downton is a little different from other houses," William interrupted. "The servants get Christmas Day to themselves; there's a big meal in the Servant's Hall, complete with crackers and presents," he grinned as he described the scene. "I got to attend once, years ago, when I first met Daisy," he reminisced.

"Alright, alright, don't rub it in," Jimmy muttered, flicking ash from his cigarette. "We're happy for you, truly, just remember that your friends will be here, freezing their arses off while huddled around a campfire for warmth, while you're cozy back in Yorkshire with your soon-to-be-missus."

William chuckled and opened his mouth to say something, but quickly leapt to attention, as did the rest of them, just as their staff sergeant came upon them.

"At ease, gentlemen, at ease…" Sgt. Bates instructed. "I've come for two reasons, one—" he turned to William. "—to inform Pvt. Mason that his transportation has arrived a bit early; we received a message that a storm is heading this way, so they want to get out before it hits."

William's eyes widened, but he couldn't help but smile at the "early Christmas present" the sergeant was giving him. Jimmy muttered "lucky bastard" under his breath, before putting on a smile for their friend's sake.

"Well…" William turned and looked at the rest of them. "I guess this is goodbye, for now."

"For now," Tom repeated. It was what they all said to each other; a silent promise to not do anything stupid like get themselves killed.

"Merry Christmas, you lucky git," Jimmy exchanged, laughing and giving William a hearty handshake that quickly became a brief bear hug. William laughed and said the same, before shaking Alfred's and Tom's hands as well. A jeep pulled up then, and William gave them all one last parting glance, before grabbing his bag and heading towards the waiting car.

"Give her a kiss from me, alright?" Jimmy teased, to which William responded with a two finger gesture of his own. They all laughed and waved as he was whisked away, off to spend a much happier Christmas than the rest of them, or at the very least, in a much more desired location.

"Well," Sgt. Bates drew their attention back. "As I said, that was one reason; the other reason…" he held up a box for the men to see. Tom, Alfred, and Jimmy frowned, and watched with curious eyes as Bates opened the box. "Just call me Father Christmas," he told them, a knowing grin on his face as he handed them each an item from the box.

"Notebooks?" Alfred asked, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

"Calendars," Sgt. Bates corrected. "Something to…'boost morale'."

Tom was also a little puzzled, and so he turned his calendar over to the front…and his eyes went wide. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…

"Merry Christmas, indeed!" Jimmy laughed, a high-pitched wolf-whistle escaping his lips as he began giving the calendar a quick flip through.

"Alright, alright, show a little decorum," Sgt. Bates muttered, as he closed the box.

Jimmy simply continued grinning like an idiot. "And uh…who do we have to thank for this fine Christmas present?"

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know; was just told that some organization back in London had them printed up and sent to various units. Maybe Father Christmas thought you deserved something nice, for being such good boys and helping defeat Rommel."

Jimmy chuckled at that, while Alfred's eyes grew bigger and bigger with each passing photo.

"You look like a codfish, Nugent, close your mouth," Bates muttered, to which Alfred obeyed, not realizing that his jaw had been hanging open too. They saluted the sergeant as he went about his way to pass out more calendars to other troops, before going back and drooling over the lovely "English roses" that covered all twelve months. Or at least two of them did. Tom had yet to open his calendar, which Jimmy quickly took notice.

"Something wrong Branson?" he asked, his eyes aimed at the closed calendar the Irishman was holding.

Tom shook his head. "Don't see what all the fuss is about," he answered honestly.

Jimmy stared back at him. "Please tell me you're joking! We haven't seen a girl in months, let alone a girl in something like this!" He opened the calendar to a random month (Miss September) whose short skirt left very little to the imagination.

"Aye, she's lovely," Tom could not deny. "But to each their own."

"To each their…what are you, a monk or something!?"

"Leave him alone," Alfred defended. "He's got a sweetheart—"

"Had a sweetheart," Tom muttered, remembering all too well his sister's last letter, informing him that the reason Bridget hadn't been answering any of his letters was because she got married to Mickey fecking Monahan of all people. Fine, Bridget didn't love him anymore, fine, he surprisingly could accept that. But to know that she had married a Monahan brother, who had loved nothing more than tormenting him and making his life a living hell when he was a lad…that was below the belt.

"All the more reason to look then!" Jimmy laughed, before snatching Tom's calendar right out from his hands. "What's your birth month?"

Tom groaned and rolled his eyes. "Keep the calendar," he muttered, before turning to head back to his tent.

"Oi, what's your birth month!" Jimmy called back. "It's in the spring, isn't it? March?"

"No."

"April?"

"Goodnight Jimmy."

"May!?"

He didn't mean to pause, in fact it the pause in his step had been so brief, that if you blinked, you would have missed it. But Jimmy didn't blink, and he did take notice.

"Ah ha! May!" he flipped to the spring month, and another wolf whistle escaped his lips. "My, my, she is stunning, I'll say that," he chuckled. "Though compared to Miss September, she's a bit more…'conservative'."

Tom shook his head and resumed his movements.

"Don't you want to see!?"

"Not really!" Tom called out from the entrance to his tent.

"Oh come on, you're not even a little curious?"

The tent flap closed and Tom wasted no time settling down on his cot and turning up the oil lamp so he could resume reading James Joyce.

"Liar," Jimmy laughed as his arm poked through the tent flap and threw the calendar down on top of Tom's chest, before scrambling away and out of sight before Tom could pursue him. Tom groaned and was tempted to pick up the calendar and throw it outside—however, the page was open to Miss May…and despite his original protest, he did look…and…he couldn't help but find himself agreeing with Jimmy, that yes…whoever she was, Miss May was indeed, stunning.

Cheeky too, at least that was what her smile looked like; cheeky and mischievous, and Tom couldn't help but smile back. She wore a red dress, one that stopped just below her knee. Red with white polka-dots, with matching shoes as well. Her pose was like that of other pin-up models, though he could see what Jimmy meant by "conservative", simply in the sense that her dress wasn't that revealing, but Tom always liked a little mystery when it came a woman.

One knee was bent in front of the other, the foot of her bent knee rubbing against the ankle of the other, in a demure but provocative manner. She had one hip popped slightly the right, and her hands were pressed on either side of her waist, a motion that not only accentuated her curves, but also made her look…empowering.

The dress was sleeveless, and had a low bodice, providing a somewhat tantalizing view of her cleavage, which Tom could not deny, looked rather…ample. No, he wasn't a monk by any means, but he couldn't deny, he felt his cheeks burn, and he quickly lifted his eyes from her breasts, moving now to her shoulders…and the creamy skin that was revealed thanks to the lack of sleeves.

Her hair was a dark brown, and flowed over her shoulders like silk. Tom's fingers actually twitched, a part of him longing to run through the glossy tresses to see if it felt as soft as it looked. Once again, his eyes were drawn back to her face…and he gazed at it for a long time, smiling back at her cheeky, mischievous smile…and losing himself in her beauty.

Was it his imagination? Or…was his heart beating a little faster?

No, no, she was just a pretty girl—a beautiful woman, he corrected, but still…she was just an image of some beautiful woman who posed for a calendar to "boost morale", as Sgt. Bates had said. He didn't know her, he didn't know anything about her, he didn't even know her name, outside of "Miss May".

…And yet in just that brief glimpse of her…he was fascinated.

Fascinated and curious. He wanted to know who she was, he wanted to know what her real name was, he wanted to know…

He wanted to know her.

Tom groaned and closed his eyes, a hand rising to cover them. This is your lonely heart getting the better of you, he told himself. You're still sore after the news about Bridget, so you're just grateful for the distraction, that's all.

He opened his eyes once more and despite his better judgment, returned his gaze once again to the image of Miss May and her mischievous smile…and once again, found himself smiling back.

It's just a picture. That's all. Nothing wrong with admiring a picture.

He swallowed and nodded his head, as if he had come to some great conclusion after a long, thoughtful argument. He took the calendar, and not bothering to look at any of the other photographs, propped it up against the wall of his tent so that Miss May was continuing to smile back at him, just like he saw many of his fellow soldiers do with photos of their sweethearts from back home. Just like he had once done with Bridget.

He turned on his side, his book forgotten, and he continued to gaze at Miss May, until the heaviness of his eyelids finally led him to close his eyes and drift off to sleep, the sounds of "White Christmas" playing somewhere beyond, in the camp.

That night when he dreamed, it wasn't Ireland, or his family, or even Bridget that filled his head. It was his lovely calendar girl, who for some reason in his mind, spoke with a rather posh English accent, her voice husky and sweet. She smiled back at him, and in a low voice, she whispered, "Merry Christmas, Tom."

The Irving Berlin song "White Christmas" was made famous (both by being sung by Bing Crosby) as well as being connected to the popular film "Holiday Inn", which was released in 1942, and the song was an instant hit, especially amongst soldiers fighting in WWII. Also, Tom is part of the British 8th Army-Ireland remained neutral throughout WWII, but many Irishmen volunteered to join Britain's various armies to fight the Axis powers. In 1942, Britain's armies were fighting predominantly in North Africa, and the 8th were behind a big victory for the Allies, in defeating Erwin Rommel and the Axis armies in Libya.

AGAIN! Thank you for reading, and please leave a review! More to come in the future, so if you enjoyed, please subscribe and follow!