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

Wherever You Are

It was an early Thursday morning. The residents of the neighborhood would be awake shortly, if they were not already up and about. Now, if one were to have chanced a look out of the kitchen window, they might have seen a black sedan with tinted windows rolling slowly up the lane. As it so happened, nobody was quite awake enough to bother doing so. It was little surprise, then, that no prying eyes watched as the car stopped outside one of the cookie-cutter homes. The only inhabitant of the house conscious enough to respond to the ring of the doorbell did not do so gracefully. After several moments of attempting to miraculously produce coffee from the ice machine, the man abandoned the futile task with a muttered curse and trudged for the door. Light, unfettered and unrelenting, forced the man's already bleary eyes further shut as it gleefully flooded the dimly lit room. Before he could verbally flay any impertinent interlopers, he stopped short. The sight of two uniformed men at the doorstep made it evident that this was no social call.

"May I speak with Mr. Robin?" An officer inquired.

"Speaking," said Mr. Robin, suppressing a yawn.

"You are the father of Captain Calvin Robin, correct?"

"Yes, that's my son," Mr. Robin's jaw shut with a click. "Has something happened?"

The officer sighed. "I'm afraid that I have an important message from the secretary of the Army. May we come in, sir?"

Calvin's father waved them in halfheartedly. Mrs. Robin, who had been waiting at the balcony, thundered down the stairs and stood by his side. They looked at the men with apprehension on their faces.

"The secretary has asked me to express his deep regret that your son, Calvin Robin, has been reported missing in action, presumably killed in an ambush near Ghanzi in South Africa on June 17, 2011," the officer said, "On behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you and your family my deepest regrets for your tragic loss. The casualty assistance officer will contact you within twenty-four hours." He handed an envelope to Calvin's father.

The officers gave the couple several moments to absorb the information, attempting to provide a comforting presence and some token sympathetic words. After some time, they left, leaving Calvin's parents still weeping and clinging desperately to each other like leaves buffeted by the winds of a rainstorm.

The funeral was held five days later. Calvin's father was an iceberg in a sea of well-wishers. His silence was no surprise to anybody; he was known to be a calm and controlled man. In truth, there was no way he could have expressed the depths of his loss if he had even wished to. The hole in his chest that made him feel as if he were forever falling could only be described with one word: emptiness. Calvin's mother painted a very different picture, and her shoulders shook violently as she sank deeper and deeper into her husband's arms.

"He was a good man," a man with short hair was saying. "When we were ambushed on a patrol, Captain Robin took machine gun fire meant for me. His actions allowed me to escape, but he and the rest of my platoon were killed. I only wish we could have recovered his remains. He should have been able to come back home." There was a catch in the soldier's voice. "We all respected him. He was a great man who truly cared about us. He always put us before himself and fought for us as if we were his family. I know nobody who knew him can ever forget him."

Calvin's empty coffin was lowered into the ground as the gathered looked on solemnly.

Calvin's father sat with Hobbes on a tree stump at the top of his son's favorite sledding hill. He surveyed the sprawling forest below. He craned his neck up at the gray weeping clouds and then gazed down at the rippling pond where he had so many times retrieved ruined toboggans and soggy tigers.

A deep ache throbbed in the pit of his stomach. His hands were stretched out in front of him, clenching and unclenching, grasping at empty air. "Why did this have to happen," he ground out, "to my son?" He rose stiffly. "What did we do to deserve this?" There was only silence. "Why? Why Calvin?" He howled, "Why my son? No body, no answers, the only thing I have is his damned stuffed toy!" His face was a twisted mask and he turned to the sky with a curse on his lips at a god who did not seem to answer. "Why did you take him from me?" His only reply was a mocking echo that floated up from the forest. With a shriek that belonged more to a beast than to a human, he spun about and began to tear apart a nearby tree.

He pounded blindly at the trunk. His knuckles began to ooze blood as splinters flew away. Skin was flayed from his hands as bark crumpled like foil, yet Calvin's father showed no signs of letting off.

"You know, you really should stop, Christopher." A somber voice came from the darkness. Mr. Robin turned slowly. He had not heard that voice in a lifetime.

"Tigger?!" He gaped incredulously. He stumbled towards the figure and rested the back of his palm on its furry cheek. He then grasped its paw firmly with both hands as if he thought it would disappear. "Tigger, is it really you? What happened? Where did you go? How did this happen?" Questions tumbled out of his mouth. After a pregnant pause, "Why did you leave me?" His last words slipped through his lips unbidden, and he hung his head, embarrassed. Christopher's shoulders stiffened defensively at the sound of Hobbes's chuckle, but as he looked up, he saw sad fondness instead of ridicule glistening in his friend's black eyes.

"I was always here whether you saw me or not," the tiger said softly.

"But one day you stopped talking! I held on to you for a long time and gave you to Calvin! When he went on about you being alive, I hoped…" Calvin's father trailed off. "But I never saw you again."

"An unfortunate side-effect of growing up, Christopher Robin," Tigger said tenderly.

"Why did Calvin have to go off to fight?" Christopher kicked at the tree. "I told him it was too dangerous. I begged him and bargained with him. I even guilted him and threatened to disown him, but he still went!"

"He was a man of character like his father. He was loyal to his country. He believed in freedom and was willing to die in order to protect it," Tigger said steadily. "You raised him well. You should be proud of yourself, turning a terror of a child into an honorable man."

Christopher slumped down on the tree stump. "Thank you. I feel blessed to have been given the chance to raise such a fine young man."

Tigger nodded. "You know, he always loved and respected you."

"Even on my camping trips?"

Tigger smirked. "Maybe not right at that moment. But after having endured years of your vacations, boot camp was a walk in the park for him."

Calvin's father let out a short bark of laughter and the two old friends fell into a comfortable silence.

After a few moments, Christopher interrupted their reverie. "You know," he said slowly, "I always wondered why Calvin called you Hobbes."

Tigger let out a nostalgic sigh and looked up as if recalling a time long past. "It's a memory I'll always hold dear to my heart. See, it all began when you took Calvin to see the tigers at the zoo. He wanted to take one home. You refused. Remember when Calvin asked you what he should do if he caught a tiger? Well, he set a can of tuna out and rigged a trap. When he came back to check on his trap, he saw me bouncing madly about trying to escape. So he called me 'Hops.' Only, he had a runny nose and it came out like 'Hobbes,' so that's just what he's called me ever since."

"Wow," Christopher breathed, "An extraordinary story for an extraordinary friendship."

"Yes," Hobbes chuckled, "We were close friends. As close as can be. We were best friends."

The shadows, which had been lengthening gradually, had nearly engulfed the field, leaving a sliver of a pastel crown daubing the darkening sky. Christopher knew that time was running down. "Thanks for talking to me, Hobbes," he smiled tiredly, "I'm glad I could see you again."

"I'm glad too." Hobbes winked. "Now let's watch this sunset." The clouds had cleared away, Calvin's father suddenly realized. He had missed when the pitter patter of rain had faded. He gazed at the beautiful brushstrokes of color in the sky with a wide grin, and together, they sat in silent appreciation of nature's beauty. When the last sliver of orange had disappeared into the horizon, Christopher looked at the silver orb in the sky. "Come out, moon," he murmured. A flash of light caught his attention. Above streaked a comet, passing by on its eons-long journey through the vast expanse. His lips twitched. "Come out, wishing star." Glancing over at his old friend to point it out, Christopher opened his mouth but Hobbes was gone. In his place, an old, well-loved stuffed tiger leaned lopsidedly on a tree stump.

Christopher only smiled. "Come out, come out..." He gently picked up the little stuffed tiger and set off for the house with a lighter heart.

"...Wherever you are."