Moment

I sit on the terrace waiting for him to return. He knows I do this. He's asked me not to, asked me to go to sleep, promised he'll wake me when he returns. But I can't sleep when he's not there.

Eventually he returns. I go downstairs and take him in my arms. He clings tight, silently telling me that he is glad to be home. I lead him to the armchair by the fire, and, after kissing him softly, leave to fetch him a drink, and something to eat.

While the kettle boils I watch him staring into the fire. He looks exhausted. Every day he seems to look more tired. He used to return full of energy and life, but now he is always tired. Sometimes he does not even want to leave, he goes because he has no choice. Even in the warm firelight his skin is pale, and his face is drawn. There are dark circles around his green eyes.

He hugs his knees to his chest. He looks so small sitting there. I am suddenly reminded of just how young he is. Neither of us are old enough for this. But he is so young. And he has lived like this for far too long.

He turns, and lifts his head, and smiles at me. A brave, warm smile. It says that he can take this, as long as he can come home to me. I wish he would smile more often. I can't remember the last time I saw him really laugh. He catches my eyes, and knows what I am thinking. I turn away quickly, fumbling with mugs and milk. I carry our drinks over to the fire, and set them down on the hearth. I sit down, slowly, on the sofa.

Without warning he rises from the chair. He moves stiffly; he must be more tired than I had thought. He sits down next to me, and I take him in my arms, holding him tight. This is the life we have chosen. These are the fates that have chosen us. We must find a way, or else all is lost. He looks down at me, tired eyes full of light and hope, and I know that between us, we can make it. Come what may.

I walk slowly home, rubbing a bruise on my shoulder, trying to ignore the pain in my knee. The house comes into view, and I see a shadow retreating on the terrace. She knows I am coming home.

I open the door silently, and for a second I meet her eyes. She gathers me up in her arms, and it feels so good. I follow her to the fire, and sit, allowing her to look after me.

I gaze into the fire. Sometimes this is harder on her than on me. Our lives are no longer separate, no easy life for her, no hard life for me. It used to be that she would make my life easy, but now it just seems that I make her life hard.

I watch her, busy in the kitchen. She is so strong, so full of life. It is long after midnight, yet her dark eyes do not look tired. This is not her battle, but she chooses to fight it anyway. The flames in the fire flicker brightly, casting long shadows across the room. I meet her eye again, and smile, trying to show her how grateful I am. She smiles back, and my strength returns somewhat. There are happier days in our future. There have to be.

She brings me a warm drink, which he puts down on the hearth. She sits down on the sofa, and in that moment I want nothing more than just to be with her. I get up and join her, the night's injuries slowing me somewhat. She holds me tight, and at last I feel truly safe, truly alive. This is what I'm fighting for. I look into her eyes, and see strength and courage, but most importantly, I see love. And that is why we will win.