Protector #4

Standing in the doorway of the antique, my eyes stalk the man in the blue suit, a sack of paper envelopes swinging by his side.

"Just a little closer." I whisper to myself. "Just close enough so I know you're coming." Then he steps forward on the cobblestone street, just past the bakery, so that I know the only place he can be walking is towards the antique store.

"Sir!" I run towards him, almost barreling the poor guy over. Hands on his shoulders and eyes wide, I ask the most important question of all, "Is there a letter for me?"

He tilts his head towards the ground, and my heart drops, my arms return to my side. This is what he does every day when he doesn't have my letter. Any second he's going to say, sorry, miss, none for you today. Maybe tomorrow.

"Sorry, miss." He sighs and I clasp my eyes to prevent myself from screaming. I hate my job, I hate it that John is still out of my reach. Every day away from him makes me feel worse and- "I should've run down to you the minute this came in." His hand reaches into his sack and my heart starts racing a marathon. A grin spreads across my face and my cheeks flush red, this has to be it, this has to be John calling me home. "Here you go, miss. Enjoy." A pristine white envelope is placed in my open palms.

"Thank you." I stare at the letter, not noticing that the postman has already walked away. This is it, this is what I've been waiting for. I wedge my little finger between the layers of paper and open the envelope, out comes a piece of writing paper. And a train ticket. But the words, they are his words in his own hand. I can't help but tear up, it wouldn't be right if I didn't cry a little bit.

...over, we are all free now, hopefully things will return to normal now. Not everything though. I've still got your necklace, it's been around my neck every second of every day. Come back home so I can give it to you. -John.

---

I'm sitting in the train, on my way home. Everything is silent except for the soft churning sound of the wheels on the track, it seems people understand what has happened; the destruction and loss. They are not like the residents of the town which I worked in for almost a month, which I'm all too glad to be leaving. But of course, why would those residents be on this train? They wouldn't leave their safe-haven.

The fields have turned green in the morning light, yellow flowers appearing every now and then. John's letter is safely in my hands; I imagine him standing amidst the fields, opening his arms to welcome me home.

Maybe he will be waiting that stables, the place where we parted, and it will become a symbol of our reunion. Our special place. Yet I know our special place will always be the clean, colourful walls of the haunted underground residence; the place where we connected for the first time, no matter how briefly. I wouldn't put the stables past John though, it's just the sort of thing he would do, romantic, sentimental.

Then it hits me. I think as if I've known John for years, as if we were kin. But the truth is that I know nothing about him. We've never really talked; I don't know his favourite colour, the music he listens to, I don't even know his middle name. The war has thrown us together, in the most bizarre circumstances which I'm sure won't make it to the history books intact. A simple hug, a few muttered greetings, that is all we've shared. If my situation was different I wouldn't be allowing myself to fall for him so.

But I tell myself that the situation is different, and it always will be. The crystal necklace in John's keeping, that was my only possession. Now he is mine also, not in a sense that I own him, but I will never, ever be separated from him once we are together again. We are the same, we want the same things, and we love each other. That will never change.

---

Tap. My left foot touches the station platform, my hand clinging to the rail. Tap. I'm completely off the train, I'm home. My eyes scan the station, searching for my other half. In front of the little ticket building is a crowd of people, each welcoming home their relatives and friends. I see the smiles on their faces, the relief in their eyes, the longing on their lips. But where is my welcoming party? I am pushed away from the train and turn around to face a man who seems to be in a hurry.

"Sorry." He mutters, still pushing past me. I watch him walk down the platform, not bothering to nod or acknowledge any of the people who stare at his passing figure. I desperately hope that I will not leave the station in such a manner.

I hear a cough from behind me and turn back to the crowd, but I cannot see them. My heart leaps, my eyes watering for joy, he is directly in front of me. His hair oiled but messy, that cow-boy grin and eyes which share my emotions. John is here!

I fling my arms around him, he need not ask permission to hug me. He wraps his own burly arms around my back, not daintily taking my waist like in films, he really grips onto me and I feel safer than I ever have before. I let myself fall into his chest and his chin rests on my shoulder. He smells like leather and curry, cowboy and chef, John. I could stay here forever, fall asleep in his warm, gentle arms. Our hearts beat together, creating a rythmic melody that only we can hear. I feel his grip lesson, and something cold touches my neck.

"I believe this is yours." He pulls away from me, only slightly, and the crystal drops on my chest, our crystal. The rainbow that brought us together in darkness. The war is over now, all fear and frustration cleansed by the loving look in his eyes. The war is over and we are the survivors, and absolutely nothing is going to separate us.