Strange how the cold in London and the cold in DC are two different things, Tony mused, staring out at the river. He was used to cold, growing up in New York and working mostly in DC for his father’s law firm. More than used to cold, working for Dad’s law firm, Tony thought in dark amusement.

Having grown up in a fairly cosmopolitan household, Tony had been to Europe just about every three years since he’d been born. Germany had been a favorite of his, with the snowball fights and sledding in the winter and, later on, all the pretty blonde girls and boys with whom he’d had to play, in so many ways. But the rumblings from Germany had disturbed him even as far back as ‘37 when a few of his more outspoken friends had disappeared without a trace.

Tony had enlisted in ‘40, despite his father’s extremely vocal disapproval, because he’d believed that maybe, there was something he could do to help. He knew that it would take a lot to get the States into the war when it came, but Tony could see it coming. Once he’d completed the Air Force’s Officers Training School, Tony had immediately gone for flight training. He’d been flying biplanes since he was fifteen and wanted nothing less than the most exciting and dangerous job.

Well, barring test pilot. That was a little too edgy, even for Tony. He wanted to have more than a fifty-fifty shot of making it back alive on a dry run. Flight School was a breeze and the moment that Tony hit the air in a training plane, he’d known that it was exactly where he was supposed to be.

By the time all of his training was done, and he’d finished up his first stint as a lowly pilot, getting some commendations in the Pacific, it was September ‘42 and the US was embroiled all over the world. Tony could have been sent anywhere, but he’d pulled a return duty in the Pacific for a few months, then got sent back to the States for almost six months doing absolutely nothing, which had pissed him off to no end. By the time he somehow wound up in London, it was little more than a year later in October of ‘44. He had as yet to fly any actual missions on his new assignment, which was starting to tick him off all over again. Until he did, all he could do was play tourist and go to meetings arranged by his father to help his career, but which bored him until he was ready to crack his head against the nearest wall.

Even from DC, he still controls me, Tony thought with a sigh.

Big Ben struck five and Tony blinked in surprise, looking around the busy street like he hadn’t been standing there for over an hour. Shivering a little with the damp cold settled in his bones, he pushed off the stone rail and walked briskly down the sidewalk. The thick, shepherd’s sweater only held the cold at bay so much and besides which, he was meeting Donovan for supper at one of the pubs he was so fond of.

It didn’t take long to get there, nothing in London was too far from anything else with the bus system in place, and Tony pulled his cap off as he stepped inside. Scanning the room for the roundish young man who’d become a good friend, Tony found him curled up in a chair by the fire with a book and grinned. Didn’t matter where in the word he was, Tim always found a warm fire to sit in front of and a book to read.

“Hey, Tabby,” Tony greeted, plopping down in the chair beside his friend. “What’re you reading?”

Donovan didn’t even bother to be annoyed at the nick-name anymore. The rest of the squadron had adopted it almost right away, referring to the code-breaker as a stray they’d picked up. He merely shrugged and answered, “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Great! I’m starving,” Tony exclaimed, warming his hands in front of the fire.

“You’re always hungry.”

“I am not.”

At that, Donovan did look up, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Name a time you weren’t hungry.”

Tony thought, then grinned and replied promptly, “In my mother’s womb.”

“Well you’re not there now, are ya bucko?” a new voice observed.

His grin expanded as Tony hopped to his feet and exclaimed, “Abby, my love! Where’ve you been the rest of my life?”

Abby’s grin was just as big as she switched the tray from her shoulder to the small table between the chairs. “Avoiding you, where else?”

“I’m cut to the quick,” Tony exclaimed, hand to his heart.

“You’re going to be hungry if you don’t sit down and take your plate,” Abby stated. “I’ve got other people to serve, you know.”

Knowing that she wasn’t fooling, Tony quickly grabbed his plate and sat back down.

“Good boy,” she purred before picking the tray up again and moving on.

Tony’s gaze followed her ample figure with pleasure. She was a bit skinnier than most of the guys liked, not much of a curve to her, but Tony was more than happy with the slender figure. And the long dark hair. And the brilliant blue eyes. And the ample breasts. And the… “Ow! What the…Tabby!”

Donovan didn’t even look up from his book as his hand retracted from hitting Tony upside the back of his head. “It’s not polite to stare. Even less so at a lady.”

Considering some of the things he and Abby had done together, Tony knew she was no lady, but kept that fact to himself. He knew Tim had a crush on her and besides, it wasn’t like Abby was some streetwalker. She was just…openly affectionate…with men she liked. In the rest of the ways that counted, really, she was a lady, if an unusual one.

Tony leaned over and said, “I’ve got a date with Sharon on Friday. Ask Abby and we’ll make it a double.”

Donovan looked over at him, rattled for the first time, and shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can, Tabby! Just open your mouth and ask, ‘Abby, you want to go to the movies when me and Tony?’”

“I’d love to, Donovan,” Abby exclaimed as she walked by.

When Donovan swallowed his own tongue and started choking, Tony burst out laughing.

* * * *

Leaning heavily on his cane, Jethro walked slowly down the street on his way to HQ. He could have taken a tram or cab, but wanted to get the feel of his new city from the ground up, even if it hurt like hell. It really is amazing, he mused, walking along the streets, how much the city had survived over the course of the war. The damage from bombs in the Blitz back in ‘40 varied from neighborhood to neighborhood and he passed burnt out wreckage after perfectly normal row houses, depending on where he was in the city. And while the new rash of bombings weren’t as intense as the Blitz, the V-1’s and V-2’s were more than destructive enough in their own right. Worse still, there wasn’t any formalized notice for the citizens to take whatever shelter they could when it happened.

This would be his last assignment, Jethro knew it without being told. If they didn’t need his knowledge and experience so badly, he’d already have been put out to pasture. As it was, being in charge of the new, experimental unit was more of a ‘keep him busy ‘til he croaks,’ kind of honor, than anything else. Jethro snorted at the thought and then grimaced as a loose cobble caused him to come down hard enough on his left leg to hurt all the way up his body.

The one thing he could be grateful for was that his outside didn’t match his inside. If it did, he’d be scaring children just by walking down the street. It was a long walk to his apartment and by the time he got there, his entire left side was throbbing with pain. Looking at the stairs that led inside and knowing there were even more stairs to get to the second floor where he rented a room, Jethro sighed and slowly lowered himself to the nearest step.

The whole recovery was going better than any of the doctors had anticipated, but Jethro was in pain most of the time he was vertical. Not all of the shrapnel had been able to be removed; some lodged far too close to his spine, and others buried into actual bone, but none of it was life threatening. Not yet, at least. He’d been lucky to survive and he knew it, but that didn’t help manage the pain any.

So he dealt as best he could and became a surly bastard in the meantime. Most of his crew were scared spitless of him, which was exactly how he wanted it. Bad enough he’d lost too many men in his platoon, friends and equals. He wasn’t about to get attached to any of the fresh-faced boys he now had to train and send off to war as so much fodder.

“Gimme yer money!”

Jolted from his thoughts by the ugly demand, Jethro focused on the too-skinny young man in front of him, wielding a knife. Not much of a knife, granted, but it looked sharp enough to do damage if used properly. Keeping his voice mild, Jethro informed him, “You’re holding the knife wrong.”

The would-be thief gaped at him, but recovered quickly. “Just gimme yer money and y’won’t get hurt!”

“You can’t hurt me,” Jethro said patiently. “Not with that stance. Your balance is off.”

“Listen old man, shut yer bleedin’ mouth and gimme yer money!” the thief exclaimed, stepping closer and brandishing the knife.

Which was exactly what Jethro had been waiting for. Slicing his cane upwards to crack into the thief’s knife hand, the blade went flying into the apartment building wall. It was only a matter of twisting the cane to crack it against the kid’s skull and send him reeling against the street pole a couple of feet away. When the kid staggered down the street holding his head, Jethro snorted and called after him, “Old man, my ass,” and slowly got to his feet.

Fortunately, the encounter hadn’t taken all that much effort, so he was able to climb the stairs with a little more energy than when he’d first reached them.

“Captain Gibson! Dear Lord, are you all right!?” Mrs. Mallard exclaimed, rushing out onto the stoop to meet him. “I’ve already phoned the police to go after that miscreant!”

Jethro waved it off and shrugged out of his jacket as he assured her, “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Mallard, I’m fine.”

“Well, at least let me draw you a hot bath,” she offered, taking his jacket.

Thinking how good it would feel to be immersed in hot water, Jethro accepted, “Thanks, Mrs. Mallard, that would be great.”

“Oh it’s our pleasure, Captain, honestly,” she gushed, then turned to bellow, “Donald! Get yourself down here instantly!”

It always amazed him that such a small woman could give a drill sergeant a run for his money.

The skinny ten-year-old slid down the banister to land on the floor in front of them with a thump. Mrs. Mallard casually cuffed him behind the ear and ordered, “Go draw a bath for the Captain.”

“Yes, Mum!” Ducky piped up, giving Jethro a shy smile from behind thick glasses before scampering back upstairs.

Jethro couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s antics, even as the mother shook her head and sighed. Hoping to forestall another lecture on the lack of obedience in today’s youth, her son included, Jethro said quickly, “That’s a fine boy you’ve got there, Mrs. Mallard. I can tell he’s going to make you proud, one day.”

She huffed in disbelief, but only replied, “Dinner’s at seven, Captain. Shall I have Donald bring it up?”

Jethro thought about it and said, “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Of course it isn’t,” she agreed, smiling broadly. “Not for yourself.”

Clearing his throat, Jethro nodded politely and started making his way up the long flight of steps. He could have had regular quarters at the base, but had decided to start weaning himself off military comforts, such as they were. He’d been in the Navy his entire life and it was time to make his way in the world as best he could. It seemed fitting that his last assignment would be the one to get him back into life as a civilian.

He aimed straight for the common bathroom that he shared with two other tenants and the Mallards, not bothering with a change of clothes. Ducky would grab his robe for him without even being asked. He was a thoughtful boy and smart as a whip, someone that Jethro couldn’t help being drawn to, despite the forty-odd year gap between them. They played chess some nights to pass the time and Ducky like to read whatever military manual Jethro left lying around his room.

Jethro felt for the boy, growing up in a tiny village in Scotland, then being transplanted to London with the death of his father only the year before. Despite the hardships of life in a wartime London, he could imagine that it was better than wherever the Mallards had come from. Life was hard just about everywhere. City life was overwhelming for Ducky, though, and he took refuge in knowledge and adults, by and large avoiding kids his own age with a wide berth. If he did nothing else for the rest of the war, Jethro had made it his mission to draw the boy out so that he could get some friends his own age.

Opening the door to the bathroom, Jethro sighed in pleasure as the steam from the tub circled around him. “Thanks, Duck.”

The boy grinned up at him and answered, “No trouble at all, Captain! I got your robe for ya.”

The thick accent was a lot cuter on Ducky, than his mother and Jethro rubbed the kid’s head, messing up his hair. “I appreciate it. How was school?”

Making a face, Ducky answered, “Same as yesterday.”

Jethro winced. “How much did they get?”

“I left my allowance home, like you suggested,” Ducky reported. “So they just messed up my books a bit.”

“We’ll start that boxing regimen next week,” Jethro promised.

Ducky beamed at him. “Thanks, Captain!”

Jethro tweaked his nose and ordered, “Out with you. Time for an old man to take a bath.”

Once the kid was gone, Jethro closed the door and sighed as he started to undress. He had to sit on the large tub to support himself as he pulled off the shirt and tossed it onto the toilet. Pants and briefs were tricky, but he took it slow and bent carefully to pick them up to set them with the shirt. It was better to get it over with before he’d soaked and relaxed in the tub, than to try and move after.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Jethro scowled and resisted the temptation to punch the glass in. He was old before his time, reduced to half a life, thanks to something he’d had absolutely no control over, and now had to move carefully, cautiously. To a man who’d lived his life hard and fast and dangerous, it was sometimes worse than death.

Pushing aside the dark thoughts, Jethro slowly climbed into the hot water and sank gratefully into its depths.

* * * *

Tony leaned over towards Tim and murmured, “I hear this new CO’s a real bastard.”

“He was badly injured and he’s Navy,” Donovan replied dryly. “I wouldn’t expect him to be anything else.”

Snickering, Tony asked, “What do you think the chances are that he actually knows what he’s talking about?”

“Pretty damn good, I’d say,” a voice snapped as someone limped passed him.

Tony flinched at the harsh tone and instantly jumped to attention, just as the rest of the men in the briefing room did. Cold blue eyes glared at him from the podium in front and Tony immediately shifted his eyes to a spot on the wall.

“And since you’re so full of questions, Lieutenant, why don’t you ask me if I give a rat’s ass what you think about anything? No? Didn’t think so. What the hell is your name, Lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant Commander Anthony DiMarco, Sir!”

“Well, Lieutenant Commander Anthony DiMarco, I think you and I are going to get very well acquainted after class is done. Everyone sit, except for Lieutenant Commander Anthony DiMarco.”

Tony groaned silently, mentally smacking himself in the forehead as everyone else sat back down. Keeping his eyes on that same spot the entire two hours that he stood through class, Tony listened intently to the surprisingly knowledgeable lecture on concealment behind enemy lines. He couldn’t actively participate in the question and answer portion, given his singled-out status, but Donovan asked intelligent questions for him and he soaked it all in. When the class was dismissed, Tony stayed exactly where he was, waiting for the rest of his reprimand.

“Think you’re hot stuff, do you DiMarco?” Gibson asked quietly.

Somehow, it felt a hell of a lot more dangerous now that he was alone with the instructor, even given the cane and how much the man leaned on it. There was, of course, only one right answer.

“Sir, yes, Sir!”

“That’s what I thought. You can report to Zeta Squadron at 0500 tomorrow morning. Dismissed!”

Tony saluted automatically, turned sharply on his heel, and strode from the briefing room. Once outside, he sagged a little in relief that he was only being given scut work instead of some truly horrendous duty.

* * * *

Zeta Squadron, however, turned out to not be anything like rumor had it. There were no mops cleaning supplies, or a board designating KP assignments. It was a large room with lots of audio equipment and people hurrying around like they were on important missions; which maybe they were.

Keeping firmly to attention, Tony grabbed the first person of lesser rank that he saw and stated, “I was told to report here. Who do I report to?”

The young man, a Naval Corporal, jerked a thumb towards a raised dais at the back before continuing on his way. Surprised by the lack of formal response, Tony frowned after the kid and then walked over to the dais. Gibson was there, along with an Admiral, and a few other Captains, but everyone present was Navy, save him.

“Good of you to join us, DiMarco,” Gibson snapped. “Plant your ass in that seat and don’t open your mouth unless spoken to.”

Jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts, Tony did as he was told and sat in the seat indicated. Ten minutes into the briefing, however, the clench was gone and he leaned eagerly forward to catch as many details as he could coming from the ranked group.

Gibson finally glanced over at him and asked, “Think you can pull it off, DiMarco?”

“Yes, Sir!” Tony exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Giving him a dark look, Gibson replied, “We’ll see. Get your ass down to deployment.”

Tony saluted everyone present, turned sharply on his heel, and exited the command center that only certain people, apparently, knew existed.

* * * *

Jethro had already picked DiMarco out as the pilot they needed for the mission, just from his jacket. Meeting the kid in person had only confirmed the paperwork; DiMarco lived life fast and hard, just like he had, and could back up the mouthing-off with serious flying skills. His record was impossible to believe and if he hadn’t kept getting into trouble for insubordination and winding up in the wrong damn bed, he’d probably already be Commander at the tender age of twenty-seven.

As it was, Jethro could only admire the brash confidence the young man exuded and hope that life didn’t eventually extinguish it. They needed more men like him, truth be told; those who would stand up to the status quo and say what needed to be said, do what needed to be done.

Pulling himself out of the brief reverie, Jethro turned to Admiral Morrow and said, “He’ll be ready in thirty minutes, Sir. Take off is scheduled for 0600.”

Morrow didn’t look all that impressed by DiMarco. “You’re sure he can pull it off?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jethro confirmed.

Inclining his head, Morrow pointed out, “It’s your ass, Jethro. Let’s hope your boy can do what you say he can.”

Jethro lowered himself into the nearest chair, trying to ignore the back spasms, and replied, “He can, Sir.”

* * * *

The mission was straightforward, if not easy: fly into Germany, pick up a spy, fly back. He had a designated landing field where she would be waiting at 2100 that night. The fact that it was a woman completely blew his socks off, but Tony was more excited by the mission itself. He had the latest in flight technology under his fingers and a prettier, more responsive plane than he’d ever flown. On top of that, it would all be low flying without a break, thanks to the auxiliary gas tanks. He would literally be peeing in a cup for this one, which actually sucked. The rest of it was great, though.

The route to the field outside a small town in southern Germany was fairly straightforward. He wasn’t going to be passing over enemy territory until the last leg and could relax for most of the mission. He was right on time and set down in the field without a hitch, which actually worried him more than if he’d been greeted with guns blazing. Popping the top, Tony climbed out of the plane and jumped down on the hard ground, scanning the area with his hand on his gun.

Tugging off his helmet and shaking his head clean, Tony walked only five feet from his plane in any direction as he looked for the spy. That was the maximum distance he would go, knowing he could be inside and fired up in half a minute, then in the air in two, as long as he didn’t go beyond that.

“Hey flyboy!” a woman’s voice called out. “Over here!”

Tony spun west to find the woman dressed in men’s clothing jogging towards him. Not that she could be mistaken for a man by anyone who wasn’t blind. Long, reddish-brown hair, a nice curve to the hips and waist, and very pretty features. Meeting her halfway, Tony saw her eyes were hazel and her grin just as insolent as his own as she smirked at him.

“Took you long enough to get here,” she greeted in a distinctly Irish accent. “I’ve been waiting on you for nearly an hour.”

Eyebrows raising, Tony asked, “I thought the Irish were neutral in all this.”

“I’m American,” she explained. “And in case you were wondering, the grass is always greener on the other side.”

Right. Code phrase.

“Only if you use the right fertilizer. Speaking of, we need to get back in the air before it hits the fan,” Tony said firmly.

She grinned at him and climbed into the copilot’s seat. Tony put his helmet back on and did the same, getting settled as easily as walking. They were in the air in two minutes flat and heading south west only a minute after that.

“So what’s your name?” Tony asked, keeping his eye on the horizon.

“Caitlin McMurdock. You?”

Tim would love this one, an Irish, female spy. If only I could tell him, Tony thought with a grin. “Tony DiMarco.”

“Well, Tony. What say you get this bird flying faster and we’ll be home in time for breakfast?”

Tony grinned. “If you really want me to.”

She let out a yelp of fright when Tony leaned on the throttle and his grin got bigger.

* * * *

“If you ever, put me in another plane with that, that, with him, I quit!”

Tony grinned as he sauntered down the hall, away from where Caitlin was making her very loud report. He’d decided to throw in a few loops now and again to put the confident woman off her stride, but stopped just short of making her vomit.

“Pleased with yourself, DiMarco?”

Immediately coming to attention, Tony wiped the grin from his face and barked, “Sir, yes, Sir!”

“At ease.”

Relaxing a little, Tony looked at his CO and told him, “She said she wanted to be here by breakfast, Sir.”

Is that an actual smirk? he wondered in astonishment.

As if sensing that he was close to displaying actual amusement, the potential smirk vanished and Gibson replied dryly, “Next time, try not to make her lose hers.”

“Next time?” Tony asked, surprised.

Gibson nodded. “You’re going to be her regular pilot. The Irish are neutral, so we’ve got Agent McMurdock fitted with a fake passport. The locations will change, but you’re her new chauffeur. I suggest you make peace with her in some fashion because I’ve seen her make men’s lives very difficult.”

Tony snorted and said, “The day I can’t handle a woman, Sir…”

At that, Gibson’s lips did twist into a kind of grin, and he said, “It’s your funeral,” before walking slowly down the hall, towards the briefing room.

Frowning after the other man, Tony thought slowly, He wouldn’t have bothered to warn me if he didn’t think there was some kind of danger.

Tony decided to take the man’s advice and hearkened off to the nearest florist shop off shift.

* * * *

Wincing when he saw the headless flowers on his doorstep the following morning, Tony picked them up and thought, This could be more difficult than I thought.

“Dear God. What happened to the poor flowers?” Donovan asked from behind.

Turning to his roommate, Tony shrugged and said, “I guess the lady wasn’t interested.”

“Guess not. You flying another mission today?”

“Not that I know of. You want to grab some chow?”

“Sounds good.”

Tony nodded and waited while Donovan gathered briefcase, books, backpack, coat, and hat, and somehow managed to put them all in order so that he wouldn’t drop everything. Shaking his head fondly, Tony clapped the other man on the back and informed him, “One of these days, Donovan, we’re going to get you a woman.”

Flushing, Donovan exclaimed, “Don’t even think about setting me up on another date!”

“Oh come on, Tabby, it wasn’t that bad!” Tony protested as they entered the main corridor of the base living quarters. “Gina was a very nice girl. With a very talented tongue, I might add.”

Donovan groaned and said, “I’m perfectly happy with my books, Tony, thank you.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come you still stammer around Abby and you’ve known her for three months?” Tony pressed. “And you aren’t getting out of the double-date on Friday, by the way.”

“Tony…”

Swallowing a laugh at the distinctly whiney edge, Tony said, “You’re going, and that’s final. It’s for your own good, Tabby! How else are your folks going to get any grandkids, if I don’t get involved?”

“Kill me,” Donovan moaned.

“Seems to be a common reaction around DiMarco,” Caitlin said as she joined them.

Giving her a wary look, Tony greeted, “Morning, Caitlin. Something I can do for you?”

Caitlin smiled, looking a lot like the cat that ate the canary, and Tony was abruptly reminded that this woman was a spy and could probably eat him for breakfast.

“Just thought I would join you boys for breakfast. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Squinting at her suspiciously, Tony couldn’t not introduce them and so said, “Miss. Caitlin McMurdock, this is my roommate, Commander Tim Donovan.”

The two shook hands across him and then they all continued walking towards the mess.

“So, you’re not in the military?” Tim asked as they stood in line.

Caitlin nodded and answered easily, “I work for the State Department on various assignments. There’s always room for a good secretary. We’re worth our weight in gold, you know.”

Tony arched an eyebrow at the blatant lie, but Tim only nodded and exclaimed, “That is so true! You know, I had this assistant once in college and you wouldn’t believe the chaos my life was with her! I mean, she couldn’t even get my schedule right and it didn’t even vary. Without the right secretary, life is absolute hell. Oh! Pardon the language, Miss. McMurdock!”

Giving him her complete attention, Caitlin smiled and took his arm. “You have no idea how right you are. And please, it’s Caitlin.”

Eyes rolling, Tony followed them to a table.

* * * *

Wandering aimlessly through the base on his time off, Tony couldn’t help feeling at loose ends while he was off-duty. There wasn’t anything for him to do. Tim and Caitlin were still chatting about books back in the mess and Abby wouldn’t be on her shift yet. He finally headed for the rec room in hopes of striking up a pool game with someone, even at ten in the morning, but there was only one person there and he definitely didn’t look like he wanted to be disturbed.

“Have a seat, DiMarco,” Gibson ordered as Tony tried to quietly back out of the room.

Caught, Tony pasted on a smile and joined his CO at the table where the man was studying a chess board. “Morning, Sir.”

“Sit.”

Tony sat.

“You play?” Gibson asked, finally looking up at him.

Shrugging, Tony answered, “Not really. I mean, I used to, but not for a long time now.”

That barely-there smirk was back as Gibson questioned, “Too hard?”

Tony straightened in response to the challenge and answered, “Care to find out, Sir?”

“Only if it involves money.”

“Gambling’s against regs, Sir.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t. C’mon, DiMarco, make it interesting. I never took you for a rules and regs kinda guy.”

Tony contemplated the man before him, but the poker mask was impenetrable. Finally, he said, “Okay then. Twenty says I take two out of three.”

“Well now, that is interesting,” Gibson murmured. “And confident.”

“We have a bet?”

Blue eyes sparkled at him briefly before the mask returned and his CO corrected, “No, DiMarco, we have an understanding.”

Tony grinned and started to set up the board.