Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 2

Despite being the middle of the night, the airfield was awash with Royal Air Force crew, managing the planes and pilots on their assorted sorties across the Channel. No one had time nor reason to look twice at the civilian-clad team, and if they should, knew better than to ask.

"Ah, the beautiful mademoiselle is here to see us on our way, but not dear Miss Frost? Nevertheless, enjoy what one has, huh?" Fantomex said as he approached the plane. He took Elizabeth by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. Warren rolled his eyes, unable to intervene.

"Logan," Elizabeth said, taking a step back, "Should you happen to open the doors mid-flight and M. Fantomex here should happen to find himself taking an unexpected dip in the Channel, don't feel too guilty."

"And if I happen to pop my claws in him first?"

"I'll tell Miss Frost I never saw a thing," Elizabeth said.

"Is there something I should know?" Fantomex asked.

Elizabeth pulled her goggles out of her pocket and opened the door to the aeroplane. "I'm the pilot, you moron."

...

The flight to France was uneventful, thankfully the noise of the engine overpowered any effort at conversation. The weather was in their favour, with high cloud and no wind, their bearings true, and an hour before first light they landed in an empty field ten miles north of Lyon. The plane positioned at the end of the field, facing the direction most favoured for take-off, and the team set off towards the city, Elizabeth and Warren heading northeast towards the nearest town to take the train the rest of the way, and Logan and Fantomex to the northwest to try and hire a car.

"Ah, France, the land of my fathers. The food, the people, the culture - " Fantomex began.

"The occupation by hostile forces," Logan grumbled, "Listen, bub, we move on in silence. Got it?"

"I do not understand why I could not be partnered with dear Psylocke, and you with your fellow American."

"I'm Canadian."

"Ah, lovely country I am told. Many moose. Wonderful mountains. So very cold, though."

"More walk, less talk."

"Ah, but of course. Ah look, we approach a town. Fresh baguettes and cafe au lait await, mon amie."

Logan gritted his teeth, and shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the fake Ausweis, Vichy Government papers, and rations stubs brush against his fingers. The sooner he could pop his claws through those, the better. It was going to be a very long journey into town.

...

Elizabeth and Warren enjoyed a meagre breakfast on the embankment of the Rhône; if one ignored the Swastikas and few bombed buildings, it was a very pleasant view, with the golden trees, and Basilique Notre Dame de Fourviére overseeing the city.

"Last time I was here," Elizabeth said, "The city was bustling. Wonderful milliners, and cake shops. The praline tart, oh I remember that."

"When was this?" Warren asked. Betsy used her psi-powers to hide the fact they were speaking in English. She and Warren could both speak fluent school-French, but much preferred their native tongue.

"Summer of '31 I think. Maybe '32. I was still at school. We went to Venice for the summer."

"Of course you did. Bit flasher than the Hamptons."

"It has it's perks," Elizabeth smiled, and leant into Warren. Away from Logan and Fantomex, they didn't have to pretend that they weren't married. "I'll have to take you there one day, provided the fascists haven't wrecked it, and no one else bombs it to smithereens."