AN: This is AU. Takes place during World War II, but note that it is bad history. Names, places, things are not always as they appeared in reality. Sadly, no mutant powers. Unsadly, it is Romy. And Scott/Jean, but don't let that distract you! I promise I have a great plan for the Ragin' Cajun and his girl. Plus, you know, there's also a secret pairing. Ooh, mysterious. In other news, I know I'm a bad, bad writer. But the muses are being particularly cruel and not allowing me to update the others, and I miss the feeling of having... well, something I like to work on. I plan on finishing out Slowly, Silently by the end of June, one way or another. Blue I shall update... any day now, I think. (Don't tell me its been 8 months!) OH! I thank kindly Ishandahalf for the beta.

Obligatory disclaimer: Marvel makes its claim on me, alas, not the other way around.


1942

By Eileen Blazer

December 17th, 1941 – New York

Billy, Don't Be A Hero

"I don't want you to go," she whispered, clutching his left hand, even as his right signed all the important paperwork. The man behind the counter gave her a tired glare, which she promptly ignored. It wasn't any of his business. It wasn't his fiancé's life being signed away. She tugged on Scott Summers' thick sweater. "It's so dangerous."

He was all kindness as he pulled back, smiling faintly at her. "Jeannie, come on. I can't just sit back and listen to the news on the radio while other guys my age are out there fighting for what they believe in, can I? Look at it this way, at least I'll be an officer." He sounded hopeful, like he was praying she'd adopt his optimistic tone. "You have to admit, Lieutenant Summers does have a nice ring to it."

She didn't have to admit anything. After all, she was Jean Grey, daughter of a popular Senator. And Scott was her fiancé. All she had to do was smile at her father and ask nice and he'd pull the strings that would keep Summers out of Europe, the Pacific, and out of danger. She wished, with all her heart, that that were a viable option. It almost was, too, but for Scott's pride.

For all his tapered pants and expensive sweaters, Scott Summers was not a child of wealth. He'd been born and left for dead on the cold streets of New York and spent too many years bouncing from orphanage to orphanage. Only chance had brought him into contact with Professor Charles Xavier, a man of brilliance who'd seen a spark of something special in the brunette boy and adopted him into his home.

Since then, Scott had blossomed. He had a keen mind that loved to turn the corners of any challenge, a knack for adjusting quickly to changes in circumstance, and a genuine belief in the goodness of the human spirit, despite the trials of his youth. Much as she hated to acknowledge it, he'd do well in the army. He knew it too, and saw it as his chance to succeed in something on his own, without the shadow support of a wealthy girlfriend and gentleman benefactor. He wouldn't hate her for taking that opportunity away, if she did, but he wouldn't forgive her for it, either.

So she sighed and forced a smile onto her face, for his sake. "I'm just scared for you."

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her. "Have faith."


Fairy Tales Can Come True

"Ah'm never going ta make it as a singer," the girl exclaimed, sliding back into her chair. Wine red hair spilled down her back as she tossed her head dramatically. "Well, not unless Ah want ta sleep with every music producer in the business. An' believe me, Ah'm nowhere near that desperate. If Ah wanted ta sell my body for riches, Ah could find myself a nice ol' gentleman ta call me wife an' limit the number o' perverts in my bed ta one."

Her companion grinned. "I gather the radio program didn't pan out the way you'd hoped?"

"Ugh." The girl scrunched her nose. "Instead o' takin' me ta the studio, the creep led me ta his room where my competition was just leavin'. She wasn't even done buttonin' up! Ah took one look an' got the hell out o' there. Ah spent the next hour in my hotel room, scrubbin' the arm where he'd touched me. Never again, Tabs."

"You'll hate me for suggesting this, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad? I mean, just one guy to help you get your foot in the door. You're good, that's all you'd need! After that it'll be duets with Crosby and the Andrew sisters and cocktails stories about the Dorseys." She nudged her friend.

"Tabitha! Ah cannot believe what you just said."

"Well…" the friend flushed. "You're not exactly pure as the driven snow."

"Yeah, an' Ah don't go ta Church every weekend, either. Doesn't mean Ah'm ready ta sell my soul ta the Devil."

Tabitha smirked. "But I bet he could get you a fantastic record deal." She glanced casually down at her watch. "Oh! It's almost six! Lance is supposed to pick me up in half an hour. It's a good thing I picked out my outfit yesterday. I really have to go, but call me tonight, will you? We need to continue this conversation." She was up and gone in seconds.

All alone, the other made a face and turned her full attention to her thick, chocolate comfort. Or tried to, anyway. Soon, there was someone standing in front of her, casting shadows on her table. She glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Can Ah help ya?"

"I'm glad you asked. I think we can help each other."


Europe

Good Riddance

The boat was waiting for one of the two people. "What if I never see you again?" the one said, blinking tears away from her eyes. She leaned her weight against the other's chest. "What if this is the end? If that's what this is about then, I don't care. I'm not going anywhere. I'll just stay here with you and take my chances. I'm not completely inept, you know. I could… no, we could find a way. Please? Just don't..."

"It's not ending. Just being postponed."

"Right. And how am I supposed to find you? What if I can't? The United States is a long way from here."

"Pessimist."

She glared, through the darkness. "I hate you."

"You don't."

"Yes. I think I do. I might." She groaned. "I don't."

"Why can't you stay?"

She frowned. "Isn't that my line?"

"Doesn't matter. Answer it."

"Because…" she sighed. "Because I'm exactly who they're crusading against."

"Crusade? Don't imply a righteous cause."

"Fine. I'm their type, all right? And not in a good way."

"Katherine." It was a drawn out sigh.

"Oh God, don't start calling me that."

"Kitty. The boat."

She looked in the direction of the water. "Promise you'll find me?"

"Yes."

"Good." She leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to the other's face. It wasn't fair. God, nothing was fair anymore. She tore herself away and ran, jumping up the boat's stairs. On deck, faces were all sallow, tired, broken, and pained. Something clutched her heart as she leaned against the railing. It was going to be a very long ride back to America


7 Months Later

Good Girls Don't (But I Do)

"Frost?"

Emma tilted her head up instead of answering. Curious blue eyes examined the man standing above her. His stuffy suit seemed to choke him, his face ruddy with impatience while his mustache twitched like a dying dog. "Miss Frost, you failed to file your report this week. In fact, you've failed to file your report every week for a month."

"I'll give you my report right now. Everything is fantastic. Absolutely according to plan."

The man flushed a deeper red. "That is not the way we do things. You file regular reports." He leaned down. "I don't care who you screwed to get this job, Miss Frost. It is a high priority for us, and I will not let you ruin our chances. I expect all four reports to be sitting on my desk within the next five hours, or else."

"Or else what?" she teased, hooking a finger around his collar, pulling him closer until he was but a breath away. "Don't worry about me, I'm in control of the entire situation. You need to relax. You're dense. I mean, tense."

"Frost," he warned again. He sputtered when she laughingly pressed a kiss to his mouth and then pushed him away, a cold smile adorning her lips.

"I'm good at what I do. Don't get in my way." They exchanged glares, and then he pivoted on his heels and left. She rolled her eyes in casual disgust. Her time in the army had taught her superiors were rarely superior. But all the same, she pulled out her files, examining the facts one more time.

For the past three months, her job had been to acquire plans for the Blackbird, a supposed revolutionary piece of American technology crafted by U.S. scientists in the early stages of the war – just in case. Rumors of its existence had been floating around for years, but no one could find anything concrete. Whoever succeeded in obtaining information was assured a promotion and a place of power in the new world. Ever ambitious, Emma couldn't help but try her hand.

Contrary to her superior's suggestion, it hadn't been her sex appeal and loose moral code that won her the opportunity, although she was sure they'd helped. No, her husband had been handed the job and had labored eagerly for a month before someone – an ally spy, it was supposed – laced his martini with arsenic. She'd been at his side for that month of planning, though, and luckily was available and qualified to assume control of the operation after his untimely demise.

Her eyes scanned over the files. Rough sketches, assorted names, and a location: a club called Mancini's. Her fingers found her temples and rubbed, slowly, in tiny circles. All really was going according to plan. Her mole was in place. Soon enough, she'd be the Third Reich's best and only source of information regarding the Blackbird.


United States

Getting to Know You

"Well, Summers, you are one lucky bastard."

The young man gave a polite smile as he dipped his fork into the glob of mashed potatoes and blended it with brown, lumpy gravy. "Sir?" he wondered, as Major Smithe pulled out a chair and joined him.

"You have just landed the assignment of the century, Lieutenant. Better watch out, your peers just might kill to take your place. As it is, you're lucky they won't have the chance. You leave in approximately seven hours."

Scott choked a bit. "What? But I thought…"

"The man picked for the mission just lost a brother. His only brother, Summers, and you know the rule: it means he's out. You've been reassigned. Come this time tomorrow, you'll be sitting pretty in London with none other than Anna Raven herself." At this, the commander threw a stack of papers onto the table, revealing a photograph of the war's favorite pin-up girl. Legs up to here and the voice of an angel, men always said. Even in two dimensions, her smile dazzled. Glowed. Offered a piece of home.

Scott tore his gaze away to raise a quizzical eyebrow. "Sir?"

"The girl's gone noble. Wants to do a USO tour, but the Big Ups are afraid something bad might happen to Freedom's newest doll and damage troop morale. You're being put in charge of a platoon. Would you like me to tell you your new purpose in life, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Ensuring Miss Raven's safety and securing the base where she's to stay. It's a small holding the allies have in London, a hotel called Mancini's that doubles as a club for soldiers like you. If either she or Mancini's winds up on the wrong end of a Nazi, you can kiss your advancement chances goodbye. On the other hand," the Major's eyes twinkled. "If she ends up on the right end of you, well, that's your business."

Scott suppressed a sigh. "Will I get the chance to call my fiancée? We usually talk on Thursdays. I don't want her to worry. She's already got a lot on her mind…"

"Yeah, sure." The major laughed, gesturing over Scott's shoulder, motioning someone towards the table. "Listen, most of the guys are already there, except for these two. Maybe you three ought to get acquainted now, have a few allies when you join the group."

And just like that, the Major was replaced with two other soldiers. One was short, but hard looking, aged but fit. "Sergeant Logan," he introduced himself, gruffly. Scott gave a nod. "Nice to meet you. Sir." That last part sounded like more of a sneer, but Scott didn't let it faze him. He'd gotten used to it by now, the older, experienced sergeants growling down at the fresh-faced lieutenants who outranked them. It was an understandable concern, and Scott certainly wasn't going to exacerbate the situation by letting his own pride get carried away. He needed Logan's experience.

"Glad to meet you." He turned to the third man at the table. "And you are…" Scott squinted to read the name tag. "Private LeBeau. I've heard that name recently. You aren't the same Private LeBeau who was caught sneaking two girls onto the base last week, are you?"

LeBeau, a man Scott's age or so, shrugged nonchalantly. "Didn't realize news traveled so fast."

"How did you get out of trouble so quickly?"

Another shrug, this time joined by a smirk. "Men are desperately needed in dis war, an' I'm a real good talker."

"I hope you don't plan on defeating Hitler the same way."

"No. For him, I got a slab o' C4 all special made."

"C4, huh?"

"Well," LeBeau crossed his arms, casually. "I do specialize in explosives."

"Sir." Scott corrected.

"Right." Remy said. He glanced down. "Sir."


England -The Next Day

Bored

Private Drake and Corporal Wagner listened as the hum of an incoming helicopter filled their little tent. Drake leaned back into his cot. "Who do you think is first, the girl or the boss?"

"The boss."

Drake wrinkled his nose and tossed aside the magazine he'd been reading. "Probably. But it is exciting, don't you think? We're going to be the personal escorts of Anna Raven. The Anna Raven. I'd write home to my girl about it, except she's so jealous as it is, ever since her friend's guy wound up bringing home a walking, talking souvenir, the ring already on her finger. God, if I mentioned this to Amara she'd… You know, you're lucky you don't worry about the temptations of the flesh…" Drake trailed off.

Talking was always the problem. Managing the gun was no worry; he had good hand eye coordination. He'd been marching like a soldier since he was ten. But the talking, it always threatened to betray him. He'd start off well enough, just agreeing with the other guys, and then his tongue would start moving and the words would keep coming, and he knew, just knew, that someday soon someone would narrow their eyes in his direction and see it. His lie.

He didn't think they'd send him back home, not when there was still a war going on and he could still shoot the enemy. But once it was over? Drake didn't know if he could be court-martialled for lying to the recruiters about his age, but he didn't ever want to find that answer out. Just in case they didn't agree that fifteen was a virtual adult, anyway.

Corporal Wagner gave him a small smile. The guy was a saint, Drake thought. Born and raised in America's heartland, he was nice like the Nazis were twisted and it was really no wonder that he'd found religion to be his calling. "What are you looking at?" Wagner wondered suddenly, glancing down at himself. That was, of course, his one quirk. Well, aside from his insistent and peculiar sense of humor. Kurt Wagner was prone to fits of extreme self-consciousness, like he expected his skin to melt away and reveal a coat of fur, instead.

"Nothing, Mr. Chaplain," Bobby shook his head. "Come on, let's go meet the helicopter. We either get our alone time with the girl or get brownie points with the Lieutenant."

"Whatever you say, Drake."

"Yes, Sir!"


Follow the Leader

Scott liked salutes. He was good at them. They fit him. Once, Jean had talked him into dance lessons, and he'd been absolutely incompetent. An hour he'd spent stumbling over cold tile in poor mimicry of a waltz. The teacher had sighed, Jean had grinned encouragingly, and Scott had felt like a complete klutz. But in a salute, with its hard angles and swift movement, he was graceful for the first time in his life.

Scott Summers saluted his men. "Good afternoon," he called out, voice loud and strong.

The air was dry. He licked his lips and motioned for Private LeBeau and Sergeant Logan to step out before him. He'd never been to England before, but he didn't notice much of a difference between it and the base back home. Just lots of men in familiar suits and the surprisingly large Mancini's…

He hadn't imagined it was quite that big. Like it could've been meant for more than just a club for soldiers and enthusiastic singers. It could've easily hidden anything… planes? Maybe. Tanks, without question. Filing that thought away, he turned back to the soldiers ready for his address.

"I'm Lieutenant Summers. It's good to see you all." He felt a slight urge to say more; to deliver one of those rousing, elegant speeches commanders and generals throughout history were famous for. But when it came down to it, they weren't in the business of flowery language. They weren't historians taking notes, just a group of young American boys who would've been out playing Chicken, dating girls, and finding inventive ways of avoiding school if the war hadn't called them across the Atlantic.

The pilot whispered something in his ear. Scott nodded. "All right, it seems as if Miss Raven's plane is just behind mine. I expect all of you to be on your best behavior."


Smile Like You Mean It

Anna Raven stepping off the plane was a lot like Aphrodite emerging full grown from the ocean. She was clearly moving into an entirely different element, but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing could shake the aura of confidence and beauty, of complete and utter comfort. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she cooed, waving like a princess to the gathering around her.

"Miss Raven," Lieutenant Summers said cheerfully, "It's a pleasure having you here with us."

"Aw, shucks," she grinned. "Ah'm the one surrounded by a whole army o' cute boys. The pleasure is absolutely, one hundred an' fifty percent all mine."

"Let me help you with your bags," he said, reaching behind her to pull up the suitcases she'd brought along.

While he arranged them over his shoulders, she took the opportunity to look at the others. She passed over several soldiers before allowing her eyes to halt on one person in particular. Her lips parted, just barely, as one eyebrow arched up. "Remy LeBeau," she stated, taking a step forward.

Private LeBeau tipped his hat. "Chere. It's been too long."

"O' not long enough, dependin' on which side o' the Guess What, Ah'm Married surprise you were on." She gave him a long inspection. "How did ya manage a place in the army, anyway? With your record, it should've been straight ta the gallows."

"Gallows?" Remy laughed.

"Mmmhmm. Could've done commentary for it on the radio an' everything. Would've been a smashin' success in the ratings. Folks love the morbid."

"You are da show business expert."

"That Ah am."

"Glad it worked out," Remy said.

"Me too." She crossed her arms. "How is Mrs. LeBeau?"

"Dead."

She faltered, blinking a few times. "Oh. Ah'm… sorry."

"Don't be. She was murdered by her brother in their bed."

"In their…"

"Apparently, two siblings can be too close," Remy sighed in explanation.

"Ick."

He shrugged. "I'm over it."

A nod. "Good."

"Great." They stared at each other a moment more, before Marie took a step back. They'd somehow gotten closer than propriety allowed. She reached up to smother a stray hair.

"Mais… have fun wit' da troops."

"Ah will, thanks." And Summers was back, taking her arm, showing her to her rooms. Remy watched her go, recalling the last time he'd seen that end of her…

"You know her?" one of the other privates breathed, his voice thick with envy.

"We dated once."

"You dated? I'd kill to-"

"Check da desperation," Remy advised, patting the boy's shoulder.

"But… Anna Raven! I can't even imagine…"

"She wasn't Anna Raven den," he said, trying out the sound of her stage name. "An' it was long ago." He knew that even though it didn't feel like it, that much was true. They'd both been different people. He turned then, and headed in the opposite direction.


That Evening…

Calm Before The Storm

"If I could say something," Corporal Wagner said, standing up with drink in hand.

"Let's hear it, Preacher man."

"Go on, Mr. Chaplain."

He nodded and raised his cup higher. "We're sitting here tonight with cheap champagne-"

"Hey. It cost me two boxes of cigarettes!"

"-Anna Raven, and a new lieutenant…not that our last wasn't any good…"

"Easy on the sugar-coating, Wagner. Sweets are in high demand and low in stock."

"All I can say now is…" he drew his face into a long, serious expression and tossed on a fake British accent. "God bless us, everyone!" He grinned madly and ducked his head as crumpled up napkins went sailing through the air.

"Sit down, Corporal." The corporal did, ignoring the playful jostles of his comrades.

Scott rose up in his place. He looked thoughtfully at the glass, all shimmering sparkles, carved letters spelling out Mancini's, and soft weight. "To…" He gave a long look at the rest of his platoon, twenty men in all. The faintest hint of a smile graced his lips. "To victory."


Oh, sigh. I made you read the whole thing and there was only one Rogue/Remy encounter! GASP. Don't worry. If you review, there will be much more stuff going on here. Really! If you don't review I may cry and take drastic action. I'm unstable like that. Hey! Questions, comments, and all coconuts can be sent to me at: eileenblzr (at) yahoo (dot) com. I can also be found at my livejournal, which is linked on my profile, or on Yahoo Messenger.

So please tell me what you thought? Take sympathy on the girl who's posting fanfiction two days before her giant research paper is due!