In the Light Of the Stars

Jack crouched in a drafty barn with Theo, Tony, Neville, and Frankie. 'Invasion's on,' he said quietly. 'You know we have to take that damn beach. I don't have to tell you how important that is.' He straightened and peered at each of them, adjusting Frankie's armband that marked him as a medic. All four of them were assigned as medics for their respective platoons. 'And for God's sake... Be careful.' He aimed a look at Neville and Theo. 'Especially you two. I don't want to be the one that has to tell your girls what happened to you.'

Neville smiled tremulously. 'I imagine Augusta will kill me if I die in France,' he said in an attempt to inject a little levity into the moment.

Jack lightly punched Neville in the arm. 'Shield charms on the crossing. If you can get in a Body-Bind on the Jerries operating the guns, then all the better.' He distributed tiny vials of a glimmering golden potion. 'Don't take this until you have to,' he warned. He gave them larger vials with another shimmering potion. 'Take this as soon as your landing craft is in the water. Channel's choppy and we can't have you throwing up your toenails over the side,' he instructed Neville and Theo. 'Frankie, Tony, drink it before you're airborne.'

Frankie held up the smaller vial. 'Jack? Is this what I think it is?'

'Yeah. Just enough to get you to France. If you're with the infantry, don't take it until you see the shore of Normandy.' Jack considered the small vial in Frankie's palm. 'Change that. Don't drink it until you're ready to get off that damn boat. Going airborne, take it just before you jump.'

'What if they're using this little potion, too?' Theo asked, worry lancing his voice.

Jack ran his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to tug on it. 'I haven't heard from some our contacts on the Continent in weeks. The last Jan was able to tell me, the ones in Warsaw weren't. And I'm pretty sure they're not using it in France.' Jack ran a hand over his face. 'Well, at least not in the last year or so. I don't think they can get the proper ingredients for it anymore.'

'Think those bastards captured Jan?' Frankie asked, a little too savagely for Jack's taste. Frankie had more reason than most to win the war in Europe.

'I hope not. Good chance he went into the Home Army. They're planning something in Warsaw on the chance the invasion is successful. The witches and wizards in the French Resistance have been setting Confundus charms on the German commanders in regards to where and when the invasion will happen.'

'Can we Imperius them?' Frankie interrupted.

Jack hesitated. But war, and this war in particular, had reached a level of hell that the laws governing the magical community could never have foreseen. 'Only if you're in grave danger,' he finally said. 'And only if you can use it to prevent the capture of your unit.' He glanced at his watch. 'Better get going. First wave of airborne's taking off at midnight.' He shook hands with Theo and Neville, gave Frankie a back-pounding hug, and held Tony back for a moment. Tony was the closest thing to a brother he had. They'd attended Salem together, survived the Auror program together, and they had both volunteered to serve with the Army together. 'Keep an eye on Frankie, if you can. I have a feeling he's going to do something stupid,' Jack said thickly, unable to meet Tony's eyes. 'Like try and capture Berlin all by himself. And try not to get shot. Your mother scares me.'

'I'll do my best,' Tony said gravely. 'And Mami likes you more than she likes any of us.'

'Only because I help wash dishes,' Jack shot back. He stared at the line of C-47s for a long moment. 'I wish...' Jack began, but Tony cut him off.

'No, you don't. You don't want to be there. You don't want to risk dying. We need you here in case it doesn't work. We need you here if it does. If it hadn't been for you, the four of us wouldn't be as well-trained as we are. Nobody is going to be able to question what we say we are or suspect we're using other means to fight. You're too good a planner and trainer to be cannon fodder. Besides, you're gonna be Head one day. And Min...'

'Pipe dreams,' Jack muttered. 'No more than what Eileen reads in those damn dimestore novels.'

'Those dreams are what we're fighting in all this craziness for,' Tony reminded him. 'Don't give up on her.' He started for the airstrip where the troop carrier that would carry him across the Channel to Normandy waited. Halfway there, he stopped and quite unembarrassed, tightly hugged Jack.

'Don't be a hero,' Jack murmured, lightly slapping Tony's cheek. 'Go.'

Tony shrugged. He was in one of the groups slated to take off in the later wave of drops. 'Listen, about Min...'

'Stop,' Jack snarled, heartily tired of people telling what he should do or not do with Minerva McGonagall. 'That's an order, Lieutenant.'

Tony plowed ahead, ignoring Jack as he usually did. 'I've been watching the two of you. We all have. And you're both lousy at hiding it. She's the type that doesn't do anything halfway. You saw how she went at it with both hands when she got that assignment from that Dumbledore guy. She's also the type that only falls in love once in a lifetime -'

'And that ship's already sailed, Tony.'

Tony shook his head. 'I don't think so.' He stooped and shouldered his pack. 'Try not to find yourself under a German bomb.'

Jack nodded once. 'I'll send a message to Hitler. "Don't bomb the house where John Hashimoto lives in London. Hugs and kisses, Antonio Lopez." Speaking of messages, don't forget to activate the Protean charm on your dog tags. It'll let me know you've landed safely. Remind the others, will you?'

'Copy that and roger wilco.'

'Do it at least once a day. Ideally, you should do it two or three times.'

'Jack!'

'What?'

'You're starting to sound like Mami. Actually, you sound like Tia Esperanza.' Tony extended a hand to Jack, who grasped it tightly. He tapped his dog tags, gleaming in the lights, before tucking them into his shirt. 'As soon as I land.'

The muscles in Jack's jaw jumped. 'Good luck...' Tony smiled thinly and loped toward his aircraft. 'Hey! If you happen to run into Takeshi over there...' Tony waved in acknowledgement. Takeshi was Jack's cousin. They were close, nearly as close as Jack and Tony. He was embedded in the all-Nisei 442^nd Infantry Regiment, and Jack had heard through the military grapevine they had landed in Italy a few days ago. Jack envied Takeshi sometimes. He was actively doing something and Jack felt all he did was devise ways in which magic could help end the war with a victory for the Allies.

Jack stood in shadows, watching as first Frankie's, then Tony's troop carrier soared into the sky, murmuring soundless prayers for their safe return. Whenever that might be. After an agonizingly long wait, the blank dog tag nestled with his regulation tags vibrated softly against his chest. Jack flipped it over to see Tony's name glowing dimly on the silvery tag. He exhaled in short-lived relief and wrapped his hand around the tag, the edges of the metal biting into his palm, eyes squeezed shut against the sickening fear that Frankie hadn't managed to jump successfully.

He stayed, picturing the landing craft that would take Theo and Neville to the strip of beach assigned to the British - Theo to Gold Beach, and Neville to Sword, again, silent words of prayer dropping from his lips into the cold wind. There was no going home for him today. Not until he knew if their gamble paid off and they had managed to take coast of Normandy.

xxxxxx

Just after midnight, Minerva transformed and slipped from her room, trotting smoothly down the corridors, hugging the shadows. She hoped the royal family's dogs didn't scent her as she explored the family wing at Windsor. She also hoped the few guards that remained on staff wouldn't notice one, small, grey tabby cat. Besides, if something were to happen, if the Germans retaliated for the invasion, she could actually do something about it. Put Shield charms over the King or Queen. Or the Princesses. She debated internally with herself about who she would save, if it came down to it. Even with magic, she couldn't be in two places at once. She supposed if she had to make a decision, if her life depended on it, she would put every protective charm she could over the Princess Elizabeth first. Elizabeth had just turned eighteen and was old enough to where she could step in as Queen. Like both of her parents, Elizabeth had a strong sense of her responsibilities to her country and possessed a level of rationality uncommon in one so young. Even though it was a largely ceremonial role, Minerva wouldn't wish becoming the titular head of the country during a long and difficult war on even a Black, much as she would want to hex them into next year. However, she knew that if the King were to die, it would devastate the country in ways she couldn't begin to imagine. Therein lay the dilemma.

According to the small calendar she kept on the flyleaf of a book, it was June sixth. Just as she was preparing to return to the house in London, her supervisor poked his head into her room, and requested she stay for just another day or two. It was especially important, given her unique talents, he'd told her, especially considering the upcoming invasion. He hadn't told her when it was going to happen, but given the extension of her time on duty, she surmised it was going to happen within the next day or two. She spent most of her nights at Windsor prowling the corridors in and around the family wing in order to familiarize herself with the layout, in addition to her regular duties. She was looking forward to going back to London, and crawling into the small bed, pulling the bedding over her head and sleeping for an entire day. The tension hanging over Windsor was exhausting.

Somewhere, distantly, a clock struck three. A door creaked open and the King, head wreathed with a cloud of smoke drifting from the end of a cigarette he held between his fingers, walked into the corridor. Minerva froze, just outside the shaft of light spilling out of his bedroom. She cursed to herself. She knew the King didn't sleep much and tended to pace the family wing during the night. He stopped to take a draw of his cigarette and peered in her direction. He crouched down and held out a hand, clicking his tongue softly. Remembering to behave as a cat, Minerva cautiously slunk forward, nosing the fingers that reeked of tobacco. If her nose could wrinkle, she reckoned it would. He gently tickled her under the chin. 'Wh-where did you c-come from?' he wondered. 'We d-do not have m-m-many cats here. I d-d-d-do not care for cats, as a rule,' he added. 'Too aloof. Cats remind me of my m-m-mother.' Minerva mewed softly and gently head-butted his hand. 'You do not seem terribly distant, however.' The King gave her a final soft pat on the head and unfolded himself to his full height. Minerva sat, tail primly curled over her front paws and watched as he began to walk away down the dark corridor.

Minerva waited until King George had turned a corner before she silently padded to sit just inside Princess Elizabeth's bedroom. To wait for what might come and do whatever was necessary to avert certain disaster.

xxxxxx

Minerva stumbled into the house, aching with weariness. 'Jack?' she called. 'Reggie? Is anybody home?' There was no answer, so she removed her boots and peeled off her uniform jacket. As she walked up the stairs, she unbuttoned the shirt, nearly sighing with relief when she tossed it over the foot of her bed. There were times where she missed wearing robes. Robes that weren't scratchy. She shimmied out of her trousers and pulled her dressing gown from her bag and slipped it over her arms and shoulders, belting it loosely. She didn't intend to wear it very long. A prolonged bath was in order and she was going to take advantage of having the house to herself for the moment. She could see about cobbling together a passable tea later.

Adjusting to the food rations had been a little difficult coming from Hogwarts, but she'd managed to adapt. But baths...

As a prefect, Minerva had had access to the prefects' bathroom - a truly decadent experience, even if one only ever availed themselves of the showers, which were much more spacious than the dormitory showers, and one could even adjust the spray to their personal liking. But the bath was what Minerva missed the most. It was positively enormous, with more hot water than she could ever hope to use. It had the added benefit of never growing cold. There was nothing better after an intense Quidditch match than a stolen hour in that bath. But here, there were strict limits on bathwater. Minerva wondered more than once if Queen Elizabeth imposed stricter limits at Windsor to combat rumors that she didn't adhere to the rationing system. But here, in the walls of this house, she could indulge. As she so often had over the last year, Minerva aimed her wand at the bathtub and a stream of hot, steaming water poured from the tip, splashing into the old slipper bath. Once it was full, she let the dressing gown drop to the floor and stepped into the bath with a drawn-out sigh, relaxing for the first time in over four days. She reached over the edge of the bath for her wand and Summoned a towel, flicking her wand a little. The towel unfurled and rolled until it was just the right size to fit between her neck and the back edge of the tub. Minerva closed her eyes and began to drift on the currents of her dreams.

Ever since that afternoon in Diagon Alley and the conversation with Augusta, she let herself contemplate, only in odd moments, of what could be. She could still recall the feel of his lips on hers from that long-ago Christmas Eve. She wanted more. She found herself watching Jack's lips move while he talked, imagining them moving over her body. According to Jack, the weather in San Francisco wasn't that different from London. He had family in California. Parents, a sister, aunts and uncles and cousins. She wouldn't ask him to stay in Britain. They could use magic to travel the distance between Scotland and California. But he could stay here. The house in Scotland was large enough for the two of them and her father. The Ministry needed good Aurors and Jack was everything a good Auror ought to be - calm, focused on his task. He was an excellent teacher. Perhaps one day, he could teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class at Hogwarts. In her dreams, anything was possible. Even children. Who would grow up speaking English and Gaelic with Jack's dark almond-shaped eyes and her wavy black hair. If they lived in California, they would learn Japanese, too. Minerva was a great believer in remembering one's roots. Even in her dreams, but she was far more of a pragmatist than a dreamer.

And the images running through her head were just that. Dreams. Nothing more.

xxxxxx

Wrapped in her dressing gown, Minerva contemplated the drawer in the small bureau that her underthings. She owned exactly three nightdresses - two rather shapeless garments in cotton and flannel, respectively, and one of a more fanciful style she'd bought on a whim for her anticipated wedding night. It was also made of white cotton, but it had a somewhat fitted sleeveless bodice with a deep V-neck and the skirt, cut on the bias, draped in folds halfway down her shins. It was rather becoming, making even her angular frame look moderately curvaceous. She lifted it from the drawer and shook out its lavender-scented folds. 'No use letting the thing go to waste,' she muttered, dropping her dressing gown and slipping the nightdress over her head. Normally, she would have donned either of her usual ones, but they both needed laundering, a task Minerva hadn't had time for the past week. Magic could clean clothes, but it couldn't quite replicate how a freshly washed, dried, and pressed garment felt. She retrieved her dressing gown and headed for the kitchen, pulling it on. She didn't bother tying the belt, letting it billow in her wake. For all she knew, neither Reggie, nor Jack, was home.

Minerva pushed the swinging door of the kitchen opened and pulled out her wand at the sight of a man in the dim room. She yanked the tip of the wand toward the ceiling, the arresting the hex on her lips as he turned, revealing himself to be none other than Jack. The sparks emitting from her wand gouged a hole in the plaster and Minerva wasn't sure if she was more annoyed with Jack or with herself, Minerva flicked her wand at the damage, muttering, 'Reparo.'

'Nice outfit,' Jack said, easing a cork from the mouth of a bottle.

'I beg your pardon?'

Jack set the bottle on the table and fingered the edge of the neckline of Minerva's nightdress. 'I don't recall seeing this before...'

Minerva jerked the dressing gown closed and tied the belt with a square knot. 'That's because ye haven't. And ye willna be seein' it again, aye?' She flipped the ends of her hair from the dressing gown's collar and pushed the sleeves back. 'When did ye get here?'

'About two minutes ago. Reggie's staying at headquarters tonight, so it's just the two of us for dinner. Have you had anything?'

'No. I was about to make something.'

'Reggie went out yesterday and brought back a few things. Raspberries, strawberries, carrots, spinach...' Jack rummaged through a cupboard. 'Asparagus. Picked up our rations for the week, too.'

'Eggs, toast, the berries, and tea?' Minerva ventured. 'I havena the energy to try and eat more than that.'

'Make it coffee and I'll even do the cooking,' Jack replied promptly.

'Make your own coffee,' Minerva stated, pulling the powdered eggs from the cupboard. 'Rinse the berries,' she ordered.

'And...' Jack picked up the bottle. 'We have wine!'

'Why do we have wine?' Minerva inquired, too tired to try and figure out why.

Jack waved the mouth of the bottle under his nose, sniffing appreciatively. 'Decent wine, too. And why? Because it worked! The invasion worked. We took that damn strip of beach in Normandy.' He set the bottle down. 'Did you hear me, Minerva? It worked!' he shouted, voice breaking. 'Months of planning and training, then hoping the weather cleared enough so we could do it now and not next month... It could be over in Europe by Christmas,' he said joyfully. He pulled his dog tags from inside his shirt and brandished them at her. 'And all four of my boys are alive.' He held out the dog tag with four names glowing softly on its surface. 'For now.' Jack took a swig from the bottle. 'Not bad. So let's have supper and demolish this wine and celebrate something going right.'

Minerva stared at him for a moment before reaching for the bottle; raising it to her lips and tilting it back, letting the liquid slide down her throat. 'Verra well,' she said.

xxxxxx

'It makes me feel like I'm not doing nuthin',' Jack said, eyeing the strawberry he held in his fingers. 'I joined t' do somethin', not sit on my ass here.' He gestured wildly at the braided rag rug they occupied in front of the small fireplace.

'Ye are doing something,' Minerva pointed out. 'Someone has to oversee things.' She took a pull from the bottle, dimly aware they had already refilled it once and almost needed to repeat the spell, if they wanted to drink more of the wine. Her dressing gown had come loose and Jack's shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the olive drab undershirt. They were both pleasantly lit from the wine.

'Good leaders go with their guys,' Jack explained with exaggerated patience. 'They don't stay behind.'

'Ye're no' going to be happy unless ye're standin' up to your knees in freezin' mud, wi' naught but some bluidy Army rations to your supper, dodgin' German bullets,' Minerva grumbled.

Jack leaned closer. 'Tell me you don't wanna do somethin' like that.' Before Minerva could answer him, he hooked a finger under the chain that suspended her identity discs from her neck. He'd never seen them before. 'W/237282, M. McGonagall,' he read. 'That's it?'

'What else does someone need to know?' Minerva demanded. 'It's my identification number and my name.'

Jack pulled his dog tags from his shirt. 'John Hashimoto. O-8558457 T42 43 B. Kenji Hashimoto. 1505 4^th Street. Sacramento, California. NO.'

'And all that clishmaclaver means?' Minerva snorted.

Jack settled so his shoulder nestled next to hers. 'My name. My serial number. The dates I got shot up with a tetanus vaccine. Blood type. My dad as my next of kin, their address in Sacramento. Or what used to be their address... I can't very well put Topaz War Relocation Center on it. And no religious preference.'

'Too much bleedin' information,' Minerva stated. She turned her head and her nose brushed against Jack's.

'Why are yours red and green?' Jack asked, tracing the outline of her identity discs.

'Dunno,' she shrugged. 'The rumor going round the ATS is that the colors were supposed t' help the lads in the last war remember which one t' send t' headquarters and which one stayed wi' the body.'

'That's not morbid at all,' Jack drawled sarcastically. He picked up the bottle and drained the last bit of the wine. 'D'you want more?' he asked, holding up the bottle.

Minerva started to shake her head, but fished her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown instead and tapped the bottle. She waited until it was full, then took it from Jack. 'I'll hae a wee dram,' she told him before taking a large swallow.

Jack began to laugh. 'If that's a wee dram, whatever the hell that is, I'd hate t' see a big one.'

Minerva's hand drifted up and her thumb grazed over his lower lip. She wasn't nearly as drunk as she fancied Jack thought she was. She had drunk just enough wine to lower her inhibitions. The ones that held her back from moving forward, had she been inclined to admit it. Minerva closed the space between them and kissed Jack. Startled, he pulled back for a moment, peering at her, before lowering his mouth to hers, threading his fingers into her hair. Minerva twisted, pressing against Jack, hands sliding over his stomach and chest. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and Jack helpfully removed his hands from her hair so the shirt could fall to the floor. Her hands glided over the smooth, dusky skin of his bared shoulders. He pulled her onto his lap so she straddled his hips, lips skimming over the skin of her throat, coming to rest at the throbbing pulse just above her collarbone. He tugged at the belt of her dressing gown until the loosened knot unraveled and he could spread the edges apart. 'Oh,' he breathed. The fabric of her nightdress was molded closely to her breasts and shoulders. The hem gathered in folds near the apex of her thighs. Jack let his hand fall to one of Minerva's knees, fascinated by the contrast of his pale bronze skin against the creamy alabaster of her inner thigh. Further examination was hindered by her mouth moving insistently against his once more. Minerva's hands dragged the tail of his undershirt from the waistband of his trousers and delved underneath, eager to touch as much of Jack as she could. Jack's stomach jumped as her palm rasped across his body. 'Let me...' Jack reached behind his head and grabbed the back of his undershirt and yanked it over his head, throwing it across the room. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His hand burned a path across her back through the fine cotton of her nightdress. Minerva wound her arms around his neck, shifting slightly, Jack's groan muffled against her lips. Jack's questing fingers drifted beneath the edge of the fabric, lifting it away from her shoulder, pressing kisses to the slope of her breast. Minerva's head fell back with a soft sigh and shudder, reveling in the feel of another person's skin caressing against hers, a sensation she hadn't let herself experience, nor remember for nearly two years.

Jack lifted his head and took in her swollen lips, flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes. 'Not here,' he said.

'What?' Minerva inhaled sharply. 'But, I thought ye wanted...'

Jack cupped her face in one hand. 'I do. But I'll be damned if we do this here on the floor when I've got a perfectly good bed up in my room.'

Minerva snorted. 'Och, aye. If it's anythin' like mine, how in Merlin's name d'ye propose to fit both o' us in it?'

Jack lifted her hand to his mouth and slowly kissed the palm, grinning at her. 'You've never seen my bed, have you?'

'I canna say that I have.'

'Come on...' Jack nudged Minerva gently. 'Get up and I'll show you.' Minerva scrambled to her feet. Jack let his hands rest on the backs of her thighs and slid lazily upward. He shifted until he was on his knees, face rubbing over her stomach. He gradually unfolded himself to his full height, just a shade taller than she. 'Shall we?' He twined his fingers through hers and led her up the narrow staircase, to his bedroom, two floors above hers. He shouldered the door open and gestured to the wide bed taking up most of the small room.

'That's almost indecent,' Minerva pronounced, tilting her head to the side.

'Rank has its privileges,' he murmured, sweeping her tumbled hair aside so he could taste the skin at the base of her neck. He let his hands rest lightly on her hips and began to gather the delicate fabric in his fingers, then languidly drew it over her head, draping it over the small chair just inside the door.

Minerva glanced down at her body, then Jack's, completely unconcerned with her nudity. She straightened and traced the buckle of his belt. 'Ye're overdressed.'

Jack laid a shaking hand on her shoulder. 'Yeah...'

Minerva unhurriedly unbuckled his belt and worked on the button-fly of his trousers. 'May I?'

'God, yes...'

She pushed them down and giggled at the boxers he wore underneath. 'Are all your underthings green?'

'That's olive drab to you,' he corrected. 'Are yours just as utilitarian?'

'Ye'll just hae to find out,' Minerva teased.

Jack unbuttoned the three buttons at the waist of his boxers with one hand. 'If it takes me the rest of the war...' Kicking his boxers to the side he propelled Minerva toward his bed and yanked the bedding down. Jack sat on the edge and pulled Minerva down beside him. He brushed her hair from her face and kissed her, shifting and maneuvering until she sprawled underneath his body. His dog tags dangled in her face, lightly swatting her in the nose. Impatiently, Jack flung them over his shoulder to rest between his shoulder blades. He took in a deep breath and slid inside her, bracing himself for the expected resistance, and finding none. His eyes popped open and he stared down at her in surprise for a split second before she wrapped first one leg, then the other around his hips, urging him on. Jack wound his hands through hers, moving with agonizing slowness. It was, he reflected, much better than his previous experiences, with Susie Miyasaki in the backseat of his father's car.

Minerva's back arched and she cried out in Gaelic, her first language and the only one she used in times of deep emotions. 'Ian! S math sin... S math sin, Ian... Tha gaol agam ort...'

Jack stilled, still buried inside Minerva and ran a hand over her face, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 'Wha' was tha?'

Minerva shook her head and tightened her arms and legs around Jack's body and rolled until she straddled him. 'It means ye're doin' a bluidy good job,' she whispered huskily. She bent and kissed him, hips undulating.

Jack wanted it to last longer; all night, forever if possible, but his body betrayed him. He felt his climax coil deep inside. He gripped her hips in his hands and held her while he thrust deeply into her, a throaty shout ripped from his lungs, while Minerva convulsed in his arms, murmuring, 'Ian... tha... Ian...' She felt drugged and collapsed against his chest, face buried in his neck. 'Tha gaol agam ort, Ian...'

'You're goin' t' have t' tell me wha' tha' means,' Jack murmured sleepily. He turned his head on the pillow.

'I told ye. Ye're doin' a bluidy good job.'

Jack stroked Minerva's back, fingers meandering slowly down her spine and back up to the base of her head. 'Thank you.' He stroked her hair for a moment, before saying, 'You weren't a virgin...'

'No.' Minerva carefully eased off Jack's body. 'Does that trouble ye?'

Jack brushed his mouth over hers. 'No.' It was the truth. For all his surprise, it didn't bother him at all.

'It doesna?' she asked in evident consternation.

'No, it doesn't.' Jack wrapped a lock of her hair around his index finger. 'Did you expect me to be one?'

'No...'

'All right, then.' Jack pulled the bedding over them. He drifted off to sleep and Minerva ruefully pulled off her glasses, wondering how on earth they had managed to stay perched on her nose and set them on the table next to the bed. She gazed at Jack, hand resting against his heartbeat, listening to the soft sounds of his breathing in the dark night, hoping the air raid sirens stayed silent. So she could dream about this moment in the harsh light of morning when reality would intrude once more.

xxxxxx

A/N: The descriptions of Jack's clothes are based on photographs of American World War II Army uniforms. Minerva's nightdress is based on a vintage 1930s nightdress. If you want an idea of what Jack might look like, look up a picture of Ken Watanabe.

Dog tags (or "identity discs" as the British called them) have been in use in various forms since the mid-1800s. The Americans introduced metal dog tags in 1906, and in 1916 mandated that each soldier, sailor, or marine had to wear two. If someone died, one tag would remain with the body (on a long chain) and the other tag (on a short chain attached to the long chain) would be returned to headquarters. The information in Jack's dog tags is accurate for someone who joined the armed forces between 1941 and 1943. His serial number is also accurate for World War II. His address is actually located in what was a Japanese neighborhood in Sacramento.

British identity discs were first issued at the beginning of World War I. They were red and green, with the green tag staying with the body and the red one being sent to headquarters. Identity discs only had the person's identification number, name, and religious preference. The red and green identity discs were issued through Korean War. Minerva's identification number is a real number, assigned to a Phyllis Mary Potter, who died on June 18, 1943, and was buried in Brookwood Military Cemetery in Surrey.

Operation Overlord, the code name for the Normandy invasion, consisted of a fifty-mile stretch of the Normandy coast between Cherbourg and Le Havre. It was divided into five sections: Utah, Omaha, Sword, Gold, and Juno. Utah and Omaha Beach were assigned to the American forces, and Sword and Gold to British, while Canadians were assigned Juno. Adolf Hitler believed any invasion would occur at Calais and he dismissed the idea that they Allies would try at Normandy. French Resistance members would feed German officers false information about a possible Allied invasion.

Ian! S math sin... S math sin, Ian... Tha gaol agam ort... - Ian is the Scots Gaelic for John; S math sin means great or terrific, Tha gaol agam ort is I love you. Not being a Gaelic speaker, I humbly ask if I've gotten anything wrong, please PM me, and let me know what's correct.

Copy that - I heard you.

Roger - I understood you

Wilco - I will comply

So what Tony says is: I heard you, I understood you, and I will comply.