Behind Enemy Lines

By: TG

Summary: When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he's got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn't get to him first.

Or: The time Jack Frost literally charms the pants off of Commodore Bunnymund and then gives him a whole head of grey hair.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood, the USS Carl Vinson, or the movie Behind Enemy Lines

Warnings: Language, sex, scenes of war, misused history.

AN: This was a fun chapter to write!

Enjoy!


The sun has finally set, plunging him into darkness by the time Jack starts walking again. Moving at night is an arduous process, involving a lot of pausing to listen for stray noises, map checking, and careful footsteps. When night falls, the forest becomes almost like a grave, and without a light source it is almost impossible to see where he is going until he is already there.

The night is long, too, and cold. By the time the sun starts to peek over the horizon he feels like he's lost the feeling in his legs and feet, and that he is just going through the motions of walking because that's what he's been doing for so long. He is afraid to stop and rest, in case he can't get back up again. Luckily he is almost there.

Behind him, something snaps in the quiet of the waking forest, and every fiber of Jack's being snaps awake with it. He doesn't hesitate –he takes off like a shot, making for the edge of the forest that is just in sight. He doesn't hear anything chasing him, but neither does he slow down. He's had too many close calls in the last two days to want to repeat any of them, and now that he is back out in the open, he will have to be more alert anyway.

He flies out of the forest and nearly gets hit by a rusty old pickup. He cries out in surprise and lets his forward momentum carry him out of harm's way, the truck just missing his hip by inches. The truck skids to a stop and the passenger climbs out, staring at him. Jack tries to control his slowly rising panic and gestures to the American flag patch ironed onto his sleeve. He doesn't know whether these people are friendly or not, but they aren't wearing camo, so he takes the chance. The passenger –a short, squat man with a ponytail –points up at the sky, asking if Jack is a pilot in the only way he knows how. Jack nods vigorously and the man nods and gestures for him to get into the bed of the truck.

There are several other people back there with him, and they are all staring. There is a boy with brown hair, can't be much older than sixteen; next to him is a girl with blonde hair, pretty rare for this area of the world; toward the cab are two others, both obviously older, perhaps in their thirties. Jack shifts and like an unspoken signal they all look away, except for the brown haired boy.

"You American?"

"…Yeah," Jack says a little breathlessly. "Yeah, I am."

The boy leans forward a little and sticks out a hand. "My name is Jamie."

"Jack."

Jamie has a firm handshake and a smile that is kind, but rough around the edges. Jack can't help but smile back. The girl next to him pops open a glass bottle of Coke and hands it shyly to Jack. He feels his chest warm at the gesture and takes it with a smile. His canteen had run out hours ago and the Coke is incredibly sweet on his tongue.

"So where are we going, Jamie?" Jack asks once he's drained the Coke.

"Hač."

"Good, that's… That's good."

"You know it?"

"You could say that," Jack hedges. He frowns and turns away to stare at the passing scenery, irked at himself. In his gut he feels like he can trust Jamie and his –is she his sister? or perhaps girlfriend? –and even though instincts haven't steered him wrong thus far, he can't help but be a bit leery about giving away information.

As if sensing his sudden unease, the truck bed lapses into silence, for which Jack is thankful. He's gone so long without talking –three days, discounting his radio conversation –that doing so is somewhat painful. The Coke soothes it some, but he is still left with no water in his canteen at the end of the day, and he'd just as soon sit in silence and think about what he is going to do once he arrives in Hač than make small-talk with a few teenagers, as harsh as that sounds. Jamie and the girl seem to understand his silence though. They manage to entertain themselves and only occasionally ask him innocuous questions that simply required a nod or a shake of the head.

They have just entered the city limits when Jack feels the inky fingers of dread creeping up his throat. Something feels wrong. The city, normally (he assumes) teeming with life is totally silent. Hardly anyone is about on the streets, and the storefronts look dark and unwelcoming. It reminds him of a forest under threat. Something is wrong here –

Something hisses on the edge of Jack's consciousness, but before he can register what the sound means, the world around him slides into sudden white-hot pain, and then silence.

He doesn't think he lost consciousness, but he isn't entirely sure how he ends up lying face down in the dirt either. Jack tries to look up, to move his arms to support him so that he can stand –because god knows he doesn't want to be caught or killed, not after making it this far –but he can't. His limbs refuse to cooperate.

His mind feels hazy, but he distinctly remembers that he'd just been in the bed of a truck…hadn't he? He tries moving his head and is met with some measure of success –okay, so his neck isn't broken –only to find the truck lying fifty feet away on its top. The three unnamed men who'd been in the bed with him are obviously dead, trapped under the weight of all that metal and rubber, but Jamie and the girl are nowhere to be found.

Jack breathes slowly, trying to quell his rising fear. He tries again and this time manages to get his elbows and knees under him. He tries to stand, too, but is overcome with a wave of nausea and frustration that this has happened again. Almost getting blown up twice in twenty-four hours is twice too many times.

Someone is screaming, but it sounds like it is coming from under water. His ears ring with silence, and he brings a hand up to check for blood. Luckily his ears aren't bleeding, so his eardrums aren't burst. Even luckier, the rest of him seems fine too, except for his ribs. But, he reasons that as long as there aren't any bones poking out where there shouldn't be, he is okay. He distinctly doesn't think about the fact that ribs can break inward, too, because that is something he doesn't think he can deal with at the moment.

Something hard slams into him and even though he can't hear, he can feel the cry of pain tearing from his raw throat. For a moment he wonders if he'd been the one screaming earlier, but that thought is lost in the face of this new threat.

It is a man, and Jack realizes he has him trapped against a cement building with a forearm to the throat. The man is yelling at him, something Jack can't really hear and wouldn't understand even if he could. He feels his mouth move, knows he is saying "I'm an American!" over and over again, knows that the man probably doesn't understand him. Luckily for him, Jamie intervenes just as the man wraps a hand around his throat and starts choking him.

"NO! Stop! Стоп! Он је Американац."

"Ја знам шта је! Он је разлог што су овде опет!"

"Да, али он може бити користан," Jamie replies, desperation written across his face. His hands are around the man's arm and he is yanking on it, trying to help Jack get a breath of air, but the man just stares at him and doesn't budge. For a moment Jack thinks he might have survived the crash just to die like this, might have survived the entire ordeal just to die in a supposed safe zone, but after a moment the man lets go. Jack's knees nearly buckle, but he shoves his shoulder against the cement and stays upright. He doesn't think he can get back up if he falls now.

"Come on!" Jamie says, grabbing his arm and tugging hard. Jack realizes he can vaguely hear what Jamie is saying and sends up prayers of thanks to a god he doesn't believe in. "They're coming! We have to get out of here."

Jamie half leads him, half drags him into the building he'd been leaning against, and he is surprised to see a few dozen eyes staring at him from darkened corners. As his eyes get used to the darkness, he begins to make out more of them –men, women, children, and the elderly all huddled together and looking terrified. They must've heard the missiles and taken shelter.

Another earth shattering explosion shakes the walls, and bits of the cement ceiling crumbles onto the people huddling below. Jack flinches away from the noise, heartbeat picking up in fear. He can hear the sound of a nearby building collapsing to the ground and realizes that whoever is behind this is systematically destroying buildings because they know that people are hiding in them. Or maybe it is just him they are looking for.

The thought strikes him like a sharp punch to the gut and he curls in on himself slightly, sickened. Jamie looks at him, concerned, but Jack can tell that Jamie is reading his thoughts like words on a page. The fact that the kid isn't all that surprised makes Jack wonder if Jamie had suspected Jack is a fault from the get-go.

Jack leans over and retches, but nothing but bile comes out. He wipes his mouth off on his sleeve and just barely stops the whine that threatens to bubble out from his throat. Jamie just watches him sadly and mutters something about staying in motion. Jack just nods and lets the teenager lead him from building to building, always taking care to stay out of sight of the Serbs. Jack watches as building after building becomes nothing but shredded husks, tombs of those felled by enemy guns.

"They're here looking for me," Jack admits as they huddle together in an empty shack.

"I know. You must have done something extra bad to get on their naughty list," the teen jokes. Jack tries to smile, but his face feels frozen in a perpetual mask of exhaustion and horror.

"We need to get out of here, Jamie. Your parents -?"

"It's just me and Sophie." Jack figures that's who the blond girl is and nods. "You have a plan?"

Jack makes a small noise in the back of his throat and glances out the window, body tense in preparation to pull back in case he spots any sign of danger. Snipers are always difficult to spot but the midmorning sun will make it more difficult to hide the glint of a muzzle. He rakes his eyes across the scene, taking in the tanks and the throngs of soldiers as they break down doors and mow down whatever is in their way. A few doors away a man screams and falls to the ground, dead. Jack grimaces and looks away, but a thought strikes him.

"I might just. Jamie, go get Sophie and meet me by the woods north of here. Make sure no one follows you."

Jamie just nods and like a shadow he's gone. Jack spares a moment to hope that Jamie and Sophie will be okay, and then he too is gone, moving as swiftly and silently as he can in the direction they'd just come from, back toward the carnage.

It doesn't take long to find bodies. Most of them are of women and children, a fact that makes Jack's throat seize with the urge to be ill again, but eventually he comes across the body of a man roughly the same height and build as himself. The man has recently been shot in the back of the head execution style, which is lucky for Jack because the exit wound obliterates most of his face, making him unrecognizable.

That means that when Jack dresses the man up in his flight suit, it might take the Serbs a while to figure out that the body doesn't actually belong to him, hopefully buying them enough time to escape.

Actually walking out of the building and toward the soldiers who'd spent the last three days trying to kill him is one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. Luckily the dead man had been wearing camo and a ski mask, so Jack is able to hide his white hair and pale skin from sight, but it takes almost everything he has not to move faster than a self-assured saunter. He forces his tense muscles to relax, even lifts a hand in greeting as he walks past the soldiers milling about the tanks. Jack prays that no one says anything to him as he goes, knowing that if they do his cover would be blown sky high because he can't respond.

One soldier claps him on the shoulder as he walks by and for an instant Jack feels his vision go black at the edges from sheer, unadulterated terror at having been caught and oh god they are going to kill him or worse torture him –but in the next instant the man is gone, walking back toward the tanks that Jack has just left behind. He wants to sob, his legs burning and twitching with the need to run, but he can't, not yet.

He makes himself wait until he's circled around, using a few of the buildings left standing for cover before he gives in to the need to get away, and then he can't run fast enough.

No one follows him, and it isn't long before he finds Jamie and Sophie hovering at the edge of the tree line. Sophie sees him first, and for a moment Jack is confused by her reaction –instead of recognition, he sees fear and panic in her eyes before she grabs Jamie and forces him down to the ground –but then he realizes that he still has his ski mask on. He rips it off and holds his hands out palm up, trying to calm the panicked girl.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's all right," he murmurs. He glances back behind him, hoping that no one is looking his direction –if they are, they'll spot him almost instantly and recognize him from his hair.

"Gerroff, Sophie, it's just Jack," Jamie whines, gently pushing his sister off so he can get up.

"We need to move. We're too close."

"Yeah," Jamie says, eyes fixed back on the city he'd probably grown up in. Jack feels sadness well up inside him for Jamie and Sophie but he pushes it aside as they begin the trek to the pick-up spot.


"He's not here, sir!"

"Search harder! I know he was here," Winter says. A man comes out of his house, begging and pleading to save his family but Winter pays him no mind, shooting him between the eyes and smiling as his body falls. Maybe if he can make the people believe it is simply because the American soldier had taken refuge among them, they too will turn on the NATO peacekeepers. Winter figures their side can use a few more disposable pawns, after all.

Snow Queen stops up beside him, looking triumphant. He rolls his eyes, knowing she is waiting for him to ask her about it before she mentions anything. "What is it, Queen?"

"They've found him," she croons. "In one of the buildings. Head's a bit blown off."

"Good. Show me." He lets her lead as they turned toward one of the outlaying buildings to their right. "And someone get Pitch!"

The inside of the building is not as dark as he expects, but then that might owe to the fact that parts of the walls and ceilings are missing. A group of soldiers are standing in a circle near the far corner, and Winter guesses that that is where the American's body is. The soldiers part when come up to them and he is left with a clear view of the body.

The only discernable piece of evidence that the body belongs to the American is the clothing. The rest of him is either crushed by the rubble, burned, or, in the case of his face, missing entirely. It is difficult to tell what color his hair had been because of all the blood, or what color his skin is because of all the blackened burns.

"Roll him over," Winter commands just as Pitch arrives. On the front of his uniform is a small ribbon with the name 'Frost' written on it. It is him, then; that same name had been written on the side of the plane. Winter turns to Pitch and waits as the man kneels to inspect the dead man. Of all the people in this room, Pitch is the one most able to identify Frost –he's spent the last three days watching him through a scope, after all.

Pitch's inspection stops short when he spots Frost's hand –or more importantly, the markings on his hand.

"This is not him."

"Of course it is," Snow Queen snaps, angry.

"No, it is not. These marks," Pitch says, indicating three little dots on the fleshy part of the hand between thumb and forefinger, "are from a Serbian prison camp. I know because I have them myself." Pitch stands and rolls back his sleeve, showing them identical marks on his own hand.

"He is still out there," Winter says, pitching his voice to sound like the falling of an anvil. The men flinch.

"Yes, but we can use this to our advantage," Pitch replies, standing up and wiping his hands off on his robes. "We just make an announcement that we found Frost's body in a village. Make it seem like he was killed by civilians instead of us. Maybe it was an accident or maybe they saw him as an enemy, it doesn't matter, so long as he's dead."

"Yes, because then the Americans will stop looking for him and we'll be free to search for that blasted recording with little resistance. Brilliant, Pitch. But you must go after him. You too, Queen."

"Our pleasure," Snow Queen says, smiling nastily.

"Oh, and Pitch? When you find him, shoot him in the head."

Pitch grins, teeth sharp and white. "Yes, sir."


Aster could have danced a jig. After being forced to sit on his hands, he is finally getting Jack back. It will feel so good to have Jack in his arms again, to be able to drag him close and feel his solid, living body warm against his own. More than anything, though, Aster wants to see his face, to see that trademark joyful spark in his eyes. He wants to hear Jack's voice again, without the distortion of static and distance. He positively aches with hope, but he forces himself to bury it deep.

Now is not the time to give in to his excitement –he can do that later, when it is just himself and North and Tooth and Jack. Now, he is the commanding officer on deck. Now, he is meant to be listening to North as he briefs his Marines on the pick-up, going over the call signs and the details of the plan with the crew who'll be rescuing Jack.

"Last transmission was here," North is saying. He points toward a map, which has hastily been tacked up over what had once been a chalkboard. A fat red marker line shows the path that Jack had taken; it is marked with an x wherever Jack had been in radio contact with someone on the Carl Vinson. "As you can see, he has circled back toward the crash site. RP is Hotel Alpha Charlie Niner, which is this clearing right –"

Aster jumps as the bang of metal door slamming into metal wall echoes violently through the hangar. He turns to look and his stomach drops as Admiral Lunar stalks through the doorway. It falls even further when he notices Pitchiner hurrying behind him; she shoots him a look that is both nervous and calculating. This can't be good.

"BUNNYMUND!"

North stops his spiel and his men turn to look at the Admiral. Aster takes a moment to appreciate the discipline instilled in North's men, that they don't even look toward the disturbance until North stops giving instructions, and then Admiral Lunar is upon them.

"Tell your men to stand down."

"Sir, these men are ready –"

"I said, Commodore Bunnymund, tell your men to stand down." He is right in front of Aster now, chest-to-chest, and what he lacks in height the Admiral makes up for in force of his gaze. Aster suddenly feels terrified.

"But sir, Jack –"

"Tell your men to stand down. Or I will do it for you."

Aster stares at Lunar for a moment longer, but even as he opens his mouth to protest he can feel his shoulders falling in defeat. He knows that arguing with Lunar now, as incensed as he is, will get him nowhere but the brig. Even so, it still takes him several moments to speak, and when he does his voice comes out wrong, thick and scared.

"You heard the Admiral, men."

Admiral Lunar nods at him and has the nerve to put a hand on Aster's shoulder, as though telling him he understands how Aster feels. The Aussie grinds his teeth, not needing the look Pitchiner is sending him to understand that punching a commanding officer is a very bad idea.

"Do not worry, Bunnymund. I've got a group of men in the air right now, heading toward the RP point."

Aster's jaw drops, shocked. "Sir, what –? Why –?"

"Rear Admiral Pitchiner has informed me that your pilot's story has been leaked to the press, though she was not able to tell me how," Lunar grumbles, clearly unhappy. Aster casts a glance in her direction and catches her in the midst of suppressing a smirk. So, this is what she'd meant by politics…

"That's…unfortunate," Aster manages, too busy trying to keep the triumphant grin off his face to say much more.

Lunar stares at him. "Indeed. At any rate, you are invited to the bridge to bear witness to the rescue operations, if you'd like."

Yes, he would like. It is just now hitting him that he won't be the one to rescue Jack after all, and that bothers him more than he is willing to admit. He wants so much to be there, to be the first friendly face Jack sees, to –he doesn't even know, he just wants to be there, but Admiral Lunar has taken that from him.

"Yes, sir."

They sweep through the hallways at a moderate pace, but even that is too slow for Aster's tastes. Tooth and North fall into step beside him; he vaguely wonders how they got themselves invited, but knowing them they probably haven't. Those two have known Jack the longest out of everyone on the ship sans perhaps Sandy, and there is no way they will be kept away from this, not even by the admiral.

Before he realizes it, the door to the bridge is standing wide open in front of him. He squares his shoulders and makes to enter, but hesitates. This is exactly what he's been working toward over the last three days, but something feels off. He can feel the wrongness of it, like something lodged in the back of his throat that he can't swallow down. Tooth glances back at him and smiles, but he can see that she feels it too.

Once they step through the door, though, that feeling falls away; the bridge is bustling like it almost never is, and it is obvious that everyone there has some role to play in the campaign to bring Jack home. It just adds another layer to the reality that this is actually happening. It soothes some of the anger and frustration to see the men and women in their places, doing what they can to help bring Jack home where he belongs. If he can't be the one to do it, then at least he can be here, and as long as Jack comes home safe, it doesn't matter in the end.

Aster's musings are cut short, and the bridge falls eerily quiet as a TV in the far corner flares to life.

"What's going on, soldier?" Lunar demands, confused.

Aster turns in time to see Phil moving away from the television set, gesturing toward the screen, and starts. That TV, and several others, are there for the sole purpose of monitoring foreign underground news, a prime method of gathering information that the country's national news doesn't want to lend out. On the screen are several men in various stages of combat dress –obvious they had just gone through some kind of battle, if the bodies surrounding them were any indication. They are speaking quickly in what sounds like Serbian. One of the intelligence officers begin mumbling a translation.

"We were patrolling the safe zone when we came across a skirmish. We interfered and found this dead man." Two of the men struggle with a body, lifting it far enough so that the head and torso are in camera-shot. The sight is ghastly, and immediately Aster feels his blood turn to sluggish ice in his veins. Tooth gasps behind him. "We believe he's the downed American pilot we've been searching for." No, no, no no no nonononono – "We think he was killed during the skirmish."

His vision narrows and sharpens, focusing on the name patch on the body's chest. Frost.

Oh god.

He turns around and throws up.


"Стоп! Он је Американац." Serbian. He is an American!
"Ја знам шта је! Он је разлог што су овде опет!" Serbian. I know what he is! He is the reason they are here again!
"Да, али он може бити користан." Serbian. Yes, but he can be useful.

AN: Hey, just a couple things:
1. Wanted to thank you for the response I'm getting for this fic! I put a lot of time and research into this fic so it really makes me happy to see that people are enjoying it so much 3
2. I took last week off to get more writing done but instead all I did was catch the flu. So unless I can get busy and crank out another chapter or two this week, I will probably not post until the Thursday after next.
3. Would anyone be interested/participate if I were to make an ask blog for BEL!Jack and Aster?

For updates, please follow me at frostedhips and/or trumpet-geek on tumblr!