A/N: Hello my dear readers! I hope you are having a good Monday :) Here's another update, and this fic is turning into something bigger than I initially thought, but I'm enjoying it very much. I hope you are too. I know I've been late with the updates (too late) but I really can't work faster than I am atm. There are other stories to write and to plan for and when I finally think about the ones I have to update I realise a month or so has passed by. Time is moving so fast, it's almost ridiculous xD But don't you fret, I may take some time but I'll keep updating all my fics and working on new ones. Now, that's a promise :) Thank you all for your support!

Hope you enjoy this chapter. Wish you all a grand week!

Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1-9.

'Come on, let me help you.' Pierre helped John to a standing position on his hard mattress, and for the first time in days, maybe even weeks - he had lost track of time - he was able to see more than just the ceiling and the faces of those who had saved his life.

The house was a barn, really. Old and falling apart. A God forgotten place in the middle of nowhere. The bed he was laying on was no more than a gathering of hay, layered with sheets and ragged cloths. At the bottom of the room there was a rusty stove with a boiling kettle of water dancing on top of it.

'How are you feeling?' The frenchman spoke, his accent almost too heavy to understand.

'Alive,' he replied shortly, watching as the woman reached for the boiling kettle, taking it away from the fire. 'What...what day is it?' His head was ached, his ribs felt like thin shards of glass cutting inside him.

'Nadine?' Pierre looked over at his wife questioningly.

'January...twenty seven.'

'What? Oh no,' John cried, holding his stomach for a bit of relief, but nothing seemed to do. 'It can't be so late. How long...how long have I been here?'

'Weeks...' Pierre answered. Outside, the sound of laughter could be heard now. Children were playing, there was a dog too.

'Oh God! I need...I need to write to my wife. Please. She's…' Even words were painful, but not as painful as the possibility of… 'She's with child.'

'You can write a letter, but…' Pierre looked over at his wife again, both sharing a knowing glance. 'I don't know if I can post. It's dangerous, and we are far, far away. Everything went -,' the man gestured with his hands. 'Explosions, fire. There's nothing left.'

'Antoine! Amelie!' Nadine called and two children came running inside. A boy and a girl no more than six. They were scolded, perhaps for making such fuss outside, John didn't really pay much attention to it. His mind was elsewhere. On his wife, on his child, on his mother.

'Please…,' he implored. 'I want her to know I'm alive.'

Pierre nodded with an unsure expression on his face. 'I can try, next week only. But I can try.'

xxx

My Sweet Anna,

I hope this letter reaches you as soon as possible as I know how worried you all must be. I'm well, I'm alive. I'm in France. I was saved by a couple, Pierre and Nadine, and they've been taking care of me since then. I won't go into details of what happened to me or the others, for I cannot speak of what I don't recall. It was a time of panic and raw emotions, memories are still so...confusing, so all over the place. I was told I slept for a few weeks, moments of consciousness were rare and short, that's all I know. But I'm doing well now, don't worry. There's only a few bruises left, I'm in good and caring hands. After all, only the good die young. Isn't that what Mother says?

It's so difficult to write to you from where we are though, and poor Pierre will have to bike to the next village and find someone who will post this later for him. It's dangerous to be out there, but he's most kind, especially after I told him about your condition.

My dear, I do hope these words find you well and hopeful. I know you will be once you read this. I can see you, I swear, your smile lighting up and tears gathering in your eyes. You've cried for so much less, remember? I do. I remember every time you cried out of sheer happiness, and I did too. Those moments are my source of strength in this dark place, although I am among friends, you are the one who keeps my soul and body warm, sure. I think back on the night I asked you to marry me, on the morning I told you I had settled a date. I think back on the little moments too, our teas, our conversations, our walks in the park, our readings together, the both of us silent, each with a book, but so close at the same time, so in tune. And then, those nights, of you and I knowing each other as husband and wife, and one. Those nights that gave fruit, a fruit that's growing inside you, to be everything we always dreamed of together.

I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for not being there. I'm sorry for missing all the moments of you becoming a mother. Oh Anna, I can't help but cry thinking of all that I'm missing, of all that I should be witnessing and sharing with you. As days go by, I know I won't be there to see our child come to this world, but I tell you this, my love, I promise you, I will be there for everything else. Soon. Before you know it, I'll be there, rounding that street corner I told you to watch over. I'll be there, my sweet, walking to you and our child and my mother. I promise you that.

Until then, know that you are a constant in my thoughts, my heart, in everything that I do, in every second that I live. You and our family. Wait for me.

With all my love,

John Bates.

Thank you for reading :)