A/N: The WWII AU no one asked for. Starting this was inspired by Alfie Boe's performance of the song quoted below at Queen Elizabeth II's 90th birthday celebration but my brain ran away from the original idea a bit; it's still shorter than my previous multi-chapters and all written, so hopefully I should get one or two up a week. I admit I took some liberties with the timings of certain events, like the Berkeley Square bombing (for example the entirety of Mayfair was hit very badly within the first week of the Blitz but I've set it nearer the end of the raids) and details of other events. Hope you enjoy!
"I may be right, I may be wrong,
But I'm perfectly willing to swear
That when you turned and smiled at me
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square"
~'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square' by Vera Lynn
It was a full moon that night. She'd noticed the moon, how it frowned down at the Nazi planes ravaging her beloved city and the grass-covered humps in back gardens, the beams of light searching out the offending birds as she helped pull survivors from the wreckage of 30 Berkeley Square. Her nurse's cloak was flung back over her shoulders to reveal the red lining that told people she was a trained nurse, and her white uniform was soon covered once again in plaster dust and blood as she yanked a heap of what used to be a green wall off a small girl lying unconscious in the rubble. After ascertaining that she was alive, if only just, she picked her up carefully in her arms and took her over to the waiting ambulance, loaded her onto the last stretcher and watched the vehicle drive carefully off in the red light of its headlights to the nearest hospital, where on-shift nurses and doctors would be rushed off their feet already, more injured bodies arriving than beds available.
More leaving dead than alive, no matter what they did.
Taking a breath before she turned back to help the other passers-by who'd seen the bomb fall, grounding herself and wiping her hands ineffectually down her skirt, she glanced around the square. It was all but empty, the only occupants being those who were cobbling together to help the strangers affected, no one daring to think that the favour might be returned if ever it were needed. All the ambulances that she'd managed to flag down had gone, full of too many bodies; the shouts of triumph and grunts of effort had slowed behind her.
"Nurse?" She turned, forcing herself back into focus. "I think that's all we can find."
"Any others?" Her meaning went unspoken: anyone whose families would need to be told? The men and women shook their heads, adrenaline now rubbing off. One woman was crying, another consoling her. The men had removed their hats in respect for the fallen, and the many more who would fall tonight.
"Thank you for your help," she mustered, as the only trained person there she had become the unofficial leader of the rescue. "Are everyone's hands all right?" After some quick application of the salve she kept in her bag for such purposes and instructions on how to keep the scrapes clean until they healed, she took a deep breath, looked each one in the eye in turn. "You can go home if you wish. Hug your children, kiss your wives and above all, be safe. May God help us all." She crossed herself just as a fresh wave of air raid sirens rang out and everyone ran to the nearest shelter, each for their own skins now. Regina stalled for a moment in the centre of the square, looking around for non-damaged shelters to run to. A cloud had drifted across the moon, and for now, the night was almost soothing, if she blocked out the raid sirens and bomb blasts. The April air was warm from the fires now raging across the city, though the day had been relatively cool. She'd only kept warm because every ward was crammed full of as many beds as they could fit in, and weaving around them all without knocking injuries kept everyone on their toes.
"Regina."
Her name, whispered so quietly, brought her out of her stupor and the sounds of war hit her once again before she turned to the source of the voice. Her beloved stood not four feet away; he'd snuck up on her whilst she'd been dazed, that fond smile on his face making one of her own break out for the first time in days.
"Robin," she breathed, jogging forwards despite her aching feet to throw herself into his arms. Her momentum spun them round; his arms fitted tight round her back and she buried her nose into the juncture between neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of machinery and sweat.
In a brief lull between sirens, a nightingale's distinct song could be heard and it filled the two lovers with some hope: if a nightingale was still here after all this damage, they could survive this.
Robin didn't ask her what she was doing alone, outside in a part of town she rarely went any more while the sirens were still deafening everyone; instead he set her down, laced their fingers and began walking. It was their thing: walking at night, listening to the sounds of a city going to bed, talking about their days or not talking at all, depending on how they felt. They'd had their most passionate arguments in the light of day, but they always met up at night and a fight had never lasted beyond that. It was an unspoken agreement to never let the moon rise on a fight and it had lasted them well the year and a half they'd been together.
"How was the hospital?" he asked after a few minutes as they passed Bond Street tube station, where, no doubt, everyone who'd helped in the bombing in Berkeley Square was now huddling against the cold walls and sleeping on the tracks.
"Same old story. Not enough of us, not enough supplies, too many bodies, too many patients asking our Christian names for something to hold onto in their last moments."
"It's funny how we ended up together. I build the planes that hurt people, you patch up the gunshot wounds they cause."
Regina laid her head on his shoulder as they continued walking, past yet another sorry-looking bomb site, another community Anderson shelter, another Tube station with big CLOSED signs across the entrances. She knew he hated making those machines, but if it meant he could stay here instead of enlisting, they were grateful.
"We're both helping the effort though. You build the planes that hurt the people who are hurting our people. I patch up our people."
Another few moments of silence before she spoke again.
"Someone from the Red Cross came in today. Asked a select few of us if we wanted to go to France, be field nurses."
"What did you say?" She could hear the worry in his voice, feel the tension in the brief clenching of his jaw against her head and the way his fingers gripped hers tighter, thumb caressing the back of her hand.
"I told them we had patients that needed urgent tending to but that I'd think about it. The others..."
"Murmured the same and followed the whirlwind that is Regina Mills out of there?"
"Something like that."
Robin chuckled, then fell silent for a few moments.
"They didn't conscript us so I suppose I'm all right for now."
"Will you go?"
"I haven't had a chance to think about it yet," she admitted honestly. "You saw that house in Berkeley Square? I was passing as the bomb fell. We spent the last hour digging survivors out."
"I didn't think I'd be running into you on Mayfair, of all places," he noted. "Thought you'd be home by now."
"It was almost lucky I missed the bus, wasn't it? I decided to go a different way," she shrugged it off. "But I helped those people, and I get to spend the next half-hour with you." She smiled up at him and he suddenly leaned down to press a kiss to her mouth. She sighed into it; two days without seeing each other was far too long, especially in this uncertain time. They stopped walking, his hand had come up to caress her cheek, her own fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape as it went from chaste to heated, love and desire pooling in her belly.
"I love you," she whispered when they broke apart, foreheads resting together.
"I want to marry you," he whispered back, a desperate ring to his voice as he gripped her waist more firmly.
They'd had this conversation before but it still didn't stop the rush of adrenaline and emotions that threatened to spill whenever he asked her. Her answer was always the same though:
"Ask me when this is all over," she whispered with no small amount of reluctance, the words her promise that, should they make it out of this alive, she would marry him without a second thought. Robin groaned with frustration.
"Why did we have to go and fall in love so soon before this horrendous war?" His voice was laced with more tangible emotion than his usual semi-teasing about their bad timing, and she grimaced apologetically, hoping her eyes could convey what she couldn't put into words.
Robin kissed her briefly once again before linking their arms and continuing on their walk through the streets of London. They were silent now, the weight of the mutual wish constantly hampered by her need to know she wouldn't finally marry the love of her life only to lose him, hanging between them thick as the fiery fog beginning to cloak all of London.
"I'm sorry," he told her when they reached her door. Half an hour was all they could spare most days, but it was so little compared to the time they'd spent together before the war, when she was merely an heiress and he a mechanic in training.
"I know. I'm sorry too." She didn't say that she would definitely marry him when it was over, for if she said something so certain, if she knew her lover at all he would quickly persuade her to the altar and then all she had left to protect would be laid on the line. She'd already lost her parents to the Blitz, the companions they'd had over for dinner and dancing in solidarity against the Nazis (and confidence that it would soon be over) all gone in the wreckage of their home in Grosvenor Square. Regina had escaped from the event as soon as she could, pleading a headache to be with Robin, and her mother hadn't even noticed her gone.
She and Robin had been blown down the street by the blast, and she'd joined the hospital the next day.
"You still love me?" she asked gingerly, a sudden fear clutching at her heart, needing confirmation that her constant refusals weren't diminishing his opinion of her. She would hold firm, but she couldn't lose him in any way.
"Forever," he whispered urgently, already moving in to kiss her with almost bruising force. She clutched at his shoulders; he tugged her close, one hand at the nape of her neck. She could feel her hair coming loose from its twelve-hour-old roll and he took advantage to tangle his fingers in the black curls, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
They broke apart breathing heavily, and Robin rested his forehead against hers, thumb brushing feather-light across her cheekbone.
"I-"
"I know."
"We should both get some sleep," she eventually said, breaking their little bubble. The air raid sirens had stopped, but the sirens of emergency vehicles still rang out across the city and everyone was on edge for the all-clear. He sighed heavily, pulling himself away from her with what seemed a Herculean effort, and she fished her keys out of her cloak pocket.
"Goodnight, Robin."
"Goodnight, my love."
He watched her go in, didn't leave until she'd appeared at the living room window, leaving the lights off and opening the casement just a crack so he could see she was there. They didn't want the Home Guard on their backs or, worse, a pilot to see them, and once their eyes had met once more he turned and walked back down the street, towards his own shared terrace house a few roads over.
The all-clear sounded a moment later.