Months later, behind the rusty steels of the barracks walls
Xavier was halfway through stripping his gear after a night patrol when his name was called—sharp, official, final.
"Hernandez. Command wants you."
He felt it immediately.
That quiet shift in the air.
The kind that preceded either punishment or relief.
---
The commander didn't waste time.
"You're being granted leave," he said, eyes scanning a tablet. "Thirty days."
Xavier didn't react.
He had learned not to.
"For family reasons," the man continued. "And because you've been running yourself into the ground."
That earned a flicker of something close to concern.
"You leave tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
The word echoed.
"Yes, sir," Xavier said, voice steady even as his chest tightened.
He saluted.
Turned.
And walked out.
And only when the door closed behind him did he stop moving.
Thirty days.
A month.
It wasn't long.
But it was everything.
---
He called Isabella that night.
The line connected faster than he expected.
"Xavier?"
"I'm coming home," he said.
Silence.
Then—a sharp intake of breath.
"For how long?" she asked carefully, afraid to hope.
"A month."
She laughed.
Cried.
Did both at once.
"That's—" She stopped, steadying herself. "That's enough."
"For now," he agreed softly.
---
The journey back felt unreal.
Airports.
Crowds.
Civilians complaining about delays while Xavier watched exits and scanned faces out of habit.
But beneath the discipline, something lighter stirred.
Anticipation.
He pictured her standing behind the counter at the shop, hair tied back, flour on her cheek she didn't notice.
He wondered if she had changed.
He wondered if he had.
---
Isabella didn't sleep the night before he arrived.
She cleaned the shop twice.
Rearranged shelves that didn't need rearranging.
Lucia noticed.
"You're pacing," she said gently.
"I'm excited," Isabella replied.
"And afraid," Marcello added from his chair, smiling knowingly.
Isabella didn't deny it.
---
When Xavier arrived
Andrea was the one who spotted him first.
"He's here," he breathed, peering through the shop window.
Isabella's heart slammed against her ribs.
She turned.
And there he was.
Standing across the street.
Still. Solid. Real.
Uniform gone.
Civilian clothes instead.
But the same posture. The same presence.
Xavier Hernandez didn't blend into rooms.
Rooms adjusted around him.
---
For a moment, neither moved.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Isabella stepped outside.
Slowly.
Like approaching something fragile.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," he replied.
They smiled—awkward, disbelieving.
"I thought you'd be taller," she teased weakly.
He laughed. "I thought you'd be calmer."
She shook her head. "Impossible."
---
Lucia cried when she hugged him.
Andrea punched his shoulder lightly, grinning. "You took long enough."
Marcello clasped his hand and held it for a second longer than necessary.
"You're welcome here," Marcello said simply.
Xavier nodded. "I know."
That meant more than thanks.
---
That first evening, they walked.
No destination.
Just movement.
The city felt different with him beside her—safer, steadier.
"I replayed that night a hundred times," Isabella admitted. "The car. The sound. I kept thinking—what if I hadn't stepped back?"
Xavier stopped walking.
Turned to her.
His face tightened—not with anger, but fear held too long.
"I nearly lost my mind," he said quietly. "I wanted to come back then. Immediately."
"But you didn't," she said softly.
"I couldn't," he replied. "And that will haunt me longer than any battlefield."
She reached for his hand before she could stop herself.
He froze.
Then gently—carefully—intertwined his fingers with hers.
No rush.
No claim.
Just confirmation.
---
Days passed like stolen gifts.
Morning coffee together.
Evenings helping in the shop.
Andrea arguing with Xavier over homework like it was the most natural thing in the world.
At night, Xavier lay awake listening to the sounds of the building—the hum of life continuing.
Normal.
He hadn't realized how much he missed normal.
---
One night, sitting on the apartment steps, Isabella finally said it.
"She won't stop."
Xavier nodded. "I know."
"She tried to kill me," Isabella whispered.
"I know," he repeated, jaw tightening.
"What happens when you leave again?"
The question hung between them, heavy.
Xavier took a long breath.
"Then we stop pretending this is something small," he said. "I won't let you be unprotected anymore."
She looked at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said slowly, "that when I go back, I don't go quietly. I make it known that you are not alone."
"And if that makes her angrier?"
He met her gaze without flinching.
"Then she makes mistakes."
---
On the twentieth day of his leave, Otilla D'Este learned he was back.
She stood very still as the information was delivered.
"A month," she repeated calmly.
Her lips curved.
"So he thinks distance is the only weapon," she murmured.
She turned toward the window.
"Enjoy it," she said softly. "Time tastes sweetest right before it's taken."
---
On the thirtieth night, Xavier stood on the same street where he had once walked away.
Isabella stood before him now.
Not crying.
Not begging.
Just steady.
"I don't know how many times we'll have to do this," she said.
"Neither do I," he replied.
"But I know this," she continued. "Whatever she throws at us—she hasn't won."
Xavier cupped her face gently.
"No," he said. "She hasn't."
Their foreheads touched.
No kiss.
Not yet.
Some things deserved patience.
As he walked away again, Xavier didn't feel the same hollow dread.
Because this time—
He wasn't leaving something unfinished.
He was leaving something claimed.
And the month they shared—
Would carry them through the war still waiting ahead.