Just a note: James "Jimmy" Howlett is Wolverine's name before his memory loss.

A Canadian and an American walk into a bar…

While it may sound like a bad joke, in reality… well, one of the individuals would snort and agree with the sentiment.

The pub was full to the brim with soldiers enjoying the brief reprieve from training and getting in a last few drinks before they deployed to the European battlefront. The loud laughter was a shock in contrast to the usual somber attitude that filled the streets of a London currently suffering from the blitzkrieg inflicted by the Luftwaffe. Songs had been played on the piano for several hours now, the quality varying with the player; the current one was making the lone man near the back of the bar want to stab something.

In a room that had tables overcrowded with groups of comrades celebrating in the numbness of alcohol, the sight of the loner at his own table in the dim corner would be considered strange. Considering this had been his routine for the past few weeks, it was something that was ignored by the majority of the current attendants, but not by the American with a charming grin that leaned against the edge of the bar.

"Fill me up again, and add a strong whiskey too?" He nodded his thanks as the bartender slid a new mug across the surface towards him before topping off the other glass. A drink in each hand, the man made his way across the room (sending a flirtatious wink towards one of the girls who had just walked in) before setting them down in front of the lone man in the back. The gent glared at him as he sat down.

"What'dya want, bub?" The man growled, speaking around the cigar in his mouth.

"Looked like you needed another." He leaned back in his chair and gave a two fingered salute.

The loner huffed in annoyance. "American. Figures." He took the cigar out of his mouth, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling as he exhaled.

"You know, that thing'll kill you in the long run."

To his surprise, the man made a sound that sounded similar to a laugh. "If only." His gaze dropped to the drink that had been placed in front of him. "Rum?"

"Whiskey."

The man didn't say anything, but the fact that he lifted it up and took a sip was a victory itself. "Thanks, soldier."

"Captain."

"Hmm?"

He grinned, eyes twinkling. "The name's Captain Jack Harkness; at your service."

Snort. "I bet you are." Jack wasn't sure to which part he was referring to, but shrugged because either way, he was correct. The two sat in silence for several minutes, content in listening to the jovial atmosphere surrounding their little bubble. "James Howlett," he muttered somewhat reluctantly.

Jack's grin grew wider, if that was even possible. "Pleased to meet you, Jimmy." He chuckled as James glared daggers at him again. "James, of course."

James gave another drag on his cigar. "And don't you forget it, Jacqueline."

And thus began the new routine for the American and the not-so-loner. Each night, Jack would make his rounds with the boys from his base before ordering another two whiskeys and delivering them to the back table. James would usually be seated already, sometimes with a drink but always with a cigar in hand. Words weren't always exchanged, and they didn't need to be. For once, Jack was alright with a lack of constant conversation. Two old souls sharing a space for a while was enough for the both of them.

There were reprieves to the silence, and over time these breaks became longer and occurred more often. It started around mid-December, when James entered the bar and was slightly surprised to see Christmas decorations had appeared during the daytime hours despite the rations and restrictions in place. The piano had been draped in red ribbon, and a small tree was placed next to their table in the corner. The display almost made him smile. Almost. He did have a reputation to uphold (even if Jack had damaged the "loner" bit already).

"Getting into the spirit, James?" He sighed mentally as Jack's voice came from behind him. He had been hoping to ignore the American for a bit longer, but luck was not on his side.

"Forgot the mistletoe," he commented, overlooking the question and training his eyes on the ceiling beam above the bar.

"I could-"

"No." James said firmly. Jack did laugh heartily and wink at him, but that was that.

Until the next week, when he strolled into the bar, this time wearing a dark blue trench coat that fluttered with every step he took. James couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes at the dramatics. "You should really try that in a dress."

Jack waved a hand nonchalantly as he sat next to him so they both had their backs to the wall and could see the entire room. "Like I haven't done that before." He turned his excited gaze fully on James as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small box wrapped in newspaper. "I think you'll like this." James raised an eyebrow skeptically, but accepted the package and unwrapped it fairly quickly. Lifting the lid unveiled a pair of Cubans- the genuine, pure tobacco cigars. "I figure, if they're gonna kill you anyways, might as well go out on the good stuff."

"Thanks, Jack," he said gruffly, looking him in the eyes as he used his real name in a sign of true appreciation. Not having something in return for the cheerful brunet made him feel slightly guilty. "Didn't expect anything, especially so early…"

"Don't worry 'bout it," Jack brushed off. "Had to give it to you now because my unit's leaving in the morning."

"Shipping out to France?"

"Not yet. We've been selected to help train American troops now that they've been dragged into this."

Ah. It wasn't all that shocking, James considered. After Pearl Harbor about a week ago, the United States needed to make a battle-ready military on three fronts: European, Asian, and African. What better way to train them faster and better than with the help of a few veterans from their allies. "Have fun listening to them complainin' the first few weeks."

Jack chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Send a letter my way, eh James? Gonna need a reminder there's some sane folks out there fightin' the good fight." Translation: Let me know if you deploy.

"Will do, Cap." James lit his cigar as he watched Jack exit the pub, trench coat billowing once again. The piano turned somber as he disappeared beyond the door frame.