WHEN
When it happened, they were fighting.
On his couch, watching the TV but really seeing nothing, John thought about all the things he had done wrong. He knew he started the whole argument, and therefore he also knew it was his fault.
He shouldn't have yelled at her, he shouldn't have even brought it up, even though it was bothering the hell out of him, and he definitely shouldn't have brought up her mother, even if it was in the heat of the moment, by accident.
John put his head in his hands, and thought about how it could have gone better, all the "maybe's" that were nagging him, tearing into his very soul.
Maybe if had just counted to ten, maybe if she wasn't so stubborn, maybe if he wasn't so stubborn, maybe if he had called her just one more time...
Maybe...
When it happened, she hadn't come home in two days.
Instead, she stayed at her old apartment, away from him, even though she knew in her heart that the only place she would ever want to be was in his arms. She knew she had provoked him into yelling, and she knew the whole argument was her fault. She sat in one of her old armchairs, watching the TV, but not really focusing on it. She was bored of just sitting around, staring and brooding, thinking about all the "why's" and "maybe's", so she went for a drive.
When it happened, John watched it on his television screen, pure horror and utter, hopeless sadness gripping him. It was a mistake, an accident, it was a tragedy, a horrible one at that, but it wasn't planned. No way in hell was it planned!
When the second plane hit, he thought differently.
When the second plane hit, he called her, twice.
"Liv, did you see what's happened? Oh my god Liv, you're not outside are you? Liv, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean any of it. Liv, I love you, I'm sorry. Pick up damn it! Olivia..."
When she didn't answer, he was sure she had died.
When it happened, she was only half a mile away.
When it happened, she called him, terrified.
"John! John! Where are you?! Have you seen what's happened?! I- I'm outside, I'm not hurt, but I saw it, and - Oh my god. It was horrible. John, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done what I did. I love you, I'm sorry, I love you. Please pick up..."
When it happened, she was halfway to his apartment, to home.
Against her better judgment, running on nothing but pure instinct and adrenaline, she drove the rest of the way there, running up the steps like a madman, frantically knocking on his door until her knuckles were bruised and bleeding.
When she saw him, alive and well, his coat half on and an open cell phone in his hand, she nearly cried.
John didn't even have to move an inch to get to the door, because when she knocked, he was already there. His hand was still on his first speed dial, ready to call her again, beg her to come back. He had already thrown his coat on, he was ready to run out the door and search the streets for her, but she came to him.
When he saw her, he thanked the god he barely even spoke to any more for bringing her home, and while he was there sent up a silent, desperate plea, "Don't let too many die, god. Don't let everyone be dead."
When he saw her, he pulled her close, held her tight, and after a brief moment she finally let a tear slide down her cheek, before pulling his face toward hers, and kissing him.
She kissed him for so long that time seemed endless. He kissed her and let all his relief, sadness and fury spill from his mouth to hers.
When she kissed him, it was almost an apology.
When they kissed, it was long and desperate and angry and yet full of love, and they pulled away gasping for air, tears in their eyes and lumps in their throats, as if it wasn't hard enough to breathe already.
THE END