I don't own Calvin & Hobbes or any other things I allude to.

Kapang! Kapang!

It was a routine patrol for Captain Robin as he made his rounds through the outskirts of Ghanzi, a strategic checkpoint in South Africa. The day had been unassuming and he soon found the soothing purr of his engine lulling him into a state of peace. A sudden flash accompanied with a rattling bang jerked Captain Robin to attention, and he watched in disbelief as the jeep in front of him burst into a ball of fire. Reacting immediately, he barked, "Move out! Watch your three!" to his men and rolled out of his vehicle with his weapon ready. The cries of his men as bullets ripped through them were acid on his ears but he could do nothing. He turned and saw that most of his soldiers were on the ground, dead or dying. He saw another of his men firing bravely at the enemy. The man's head jerked suddenly back as blood sprayed from a hole in his throat, and as Captain Robin saw the light of life leave the man's eyes, a dark, ugly beast reared its head deep in his chest. Snarling, he hocked a stringy glob of phlegm on the dusty road and sprayed lead toward the source of the fire, killing as many of the enemy as he could. Then, he saw a machine gunner emerge from the hill and take aim at one of his remaining men.

"Oh no you don't," he growled to himself. Knowing it was too late to get the soldier to safety, he flung himself in the path of the bullets. "Run! Get to safety, soldier!" He ordered. He felt the strength drain from his body and coughed blood onto the sandy ground. "Looks like this is it for Spaceman Spiff," he murmured to himself. Then it was dark.

Calvin Robin had always wanted to be an architect. To build and create, he felt, was what it must feel like to be a god. But his family, being as poor as it was, could never afford to send him to college. Calvin's only option was exchanging military service for free tuition. Some people might have had reservations with such a deal, but he was more than happy to take it. Calvin believed in America. If he died to protect his nation, he would. Still, he hoped that events would never come to such an end. He wanted to build instead of destroying, and when he finished this last tour, he hoped he would become an architect.

Calvin was accepted into the University of Notre Dame. He completed school, and began his military service. His rapid ascension through the ranks was notable but not surprising; many of his superiors were impressed by his discipline, strong character, and quick thinking, and he soon became a captain. Some time later, he and his platoon were deployed in South Africa. He remembered the heated arguments he had had with his father. His father had not wanted him to go, but Calvin had to go and he wanted to go. He felt obligated to serve and protect the country he loved.

Calvin woke up groggily. He was on the dirt floor of a dark room. The only light filtered in through a small, high window and an open door. He tried to push himself upright, but pain shot up his side and he collapsed with a grunt.

"Easy, easy, son." A gentle voice said in accented English. "You were shot many times in the chest with a big gun. It would be best to lie still."

"Urgh…" Calvin groaned. "Where am I?"

"You're in the village of Ghanzi." The voice came from a middle-aged man with a long, course beard and coke bottle glasses. "We heard gunfire and went down to help after the terrorists had left."

"Thanks," Calvin tried to smile, but it hurt to even do that. "What can I do to repay you?"

"We are not a people who think of ourselves," the man responded with a genial smile, "We will care for your injuries and you can leave whenever you like."

"Well, thanks again," Calvin nodded gratefully, "But I still you owe you."

"Nonsense!" The man insisted, holding out both palms, "You owe us nothing!"

"Well, when I get better, I'm going to help around the village at the very least." Calvin said firmly. "Oh, and by the way, I never caught your name. What was it?"

"They call me 'Daktar,'" Daktar smiled. "You really should rest now." With that, he turned and left Calvin to sleep.

Within six weeks, Calvin had recovered enough to help around the village. He was good with the children–they were fascinated by his exotic hair, and they loved his playfulness. He was always willing to stop and lend a hand or an ear, and before long, he had won over the hearts of everyone in the village. He knew that he would eventually have to return to the States, but for now, the village was his home and he was content. He figured that when he made a full recovery, he would leave. But it might be unsafe to leave so soon. That he had come to love the village had nothing to do with his decision.

Several weeks later, disaster struck. He had been jogging with one of the girls to bring water from the well when he dropped the clay jar and collapsed. The girl, upon seeing Calvin's frantic attempts to speak, immediately rushed toward the village, leaving her own empty jar behind. Within minutes, one of the village's dusty pickup trucks pulled up. Calvin's chest was heaving as he struggled for air. With enormous effort, he wheezed, "Can't… breathe…"

Daktar leapt from the truck and hefted him into the back. "I am taking you to the nearest hospital. I do not think my skills can help you with this." He maneuvered the vehicle to the road, then tore off to the city, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, they saw Red Cross vehicles everywhere with workers scurrying around like ants, tending to the wounded. "There must have been a major skirmish here if the Red Cross is in these parts," Daktar remarked grimly.

A harried looking relief worker bustled up to the truck. "Do you need help?" she asked distractedly.

"My friend here collapsed and is having trouble breathing." Daktar replied.

Without a blink, the worker was grabbing Calvin's arms firmly but gently. "Grab his feet," she ordered. Daktar lifted his feet, and the worker wove through the maze of bodies until she reached an open patch of ground.

Turning to Calvin, she asked, "Where does it–Calvin? Calvin Robin? Is it really you?"

Calvin opened one eye. Then his pained expression morphed into one of surprise. "Susie? Susie Derkins? His eyes were wide with astonishment.

"It's Pevensie now. I thought you were dead, moron!" She cried joyfully.

"I thought you were in Harvard or something learning to be a doctor!" He shot back good-naturedly.

Their banter was interrupted by a cough, "This is quite nice and all, but I believe we have more pressing matters," Daktar said drily.

"Of course," Susie nodded. "She knelt over Calvin, listening to his heart, and Calvin couldn't help but drink in the sight of her chocolate brown hair. 'She's cuter than ever.' He thought to himself.

He was pulled from his musings with a start when he was prodded on the shoulder and a worried voice asked, "Where does it hurt?" Realizing Susie had been trying to get his attention, he hastily pointed to the area on his chest opposite his heart.

An hour later, Susie plunked the last miniscule shard of metal on the ground. "You must have overlooked this when you took care of him," she informed Daktar. "This bullet shard had stayed in Calvin's chest for weeks when his exertions had caused it to migrate inwards, collapsing his right lung. It's extremely fortunate that you were so quick in bringing him in, or he would have permanently lost his lung. As it is, Calvin still needs to be flown in for medical attention in an established hospital."

Calvin spent several months in a hospital in Chicago before he was released. Those months were the best in his life. His parents had visited him, brimming with happiness. His mom had been unable to speak; her joy was too great and her sobs of relief had permeated the room even when she had left to calm down. His father had only smiled. Calvin had never seen him so happy.

In response to his son's nod of greeting, Christopher reached in his jacket and brought out a present. "Your tiger comforted me when… well, when I thought I'd never see you again." He said as he lay Hobbes on Calvin's pillow.

"Thanks," Calvin smiled.

You wait outside the hospital, scanning the crowd. It's been a half hour and the engine has been off to save gas which is unfortunate because you can literally see your breath in the cold December air. Finally, through the mild flurry of snow, you spot a shock of blond hair. You start up the car and shout, "Calvin!"

He sloshes over, grinning widely. "Hey Susie!" He can't stop bouncing on his toes. "What are you doing here?"

"Your parents couldn't come. They asked me to pick you up." You privately wonder if his excessive energy is a result of being stuck in bed for months or if it a way of keeping warm. Maybe he just never stopped chugging at full steam ahead since he was in grade school.

"Cool, thanks!" Calvin slides into the passenger seat. "Brrr it's cold!"

"Sure is," you nod absentmindedly as you pull out of the lot.

"Oh by the way, who's the lucky guy?"

You look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when you saved my life, you said you got married, I think. Maybe I heard things wrong."

Understanding dawns. "Oh! No, I just changed my last name to my mother's maiden name," you laugh. "I love my dad to bits, but my mama's name has a special place in my heart."

Calvin's face turns speculative, and the two of you lapse into a comfortable silence. When you drop him off, he thanks you and asks if you'd like to have Christmas dinner with him and his parents to talk about the old days. You say yes.

When you drive away, your lips twitch involuntarily upward.

A/N: Calvin was born in November 1985 and this story begins in early 2011, which means he's twenty-five, almost twenty-six.