Disclaimer: Still don't own it…
Notes: Big shout out too my sister for helping me with this chapter and to Luna Lovegood5 for her fantastic suggestions. Thank you!
O.K, so you may think I'm looking at this too deeply, but I've got a muse and I have to write it. This is just my take on what happened. If you have a different view, feel free to review and tell me what you think. I'll be happy to discuss it with you:D
"The Soldier, haunted by the eyes of his wife…"
She was beautiful.
A goddess, alluring and tempting.
And completely forbidden.
But John Jefferson, along with every other man in that place, was transfixed.
It was one of the rare nights out that his legion got; you had to make the most of it. So, after, nearly ten years in the army, Jefferson thought he had visited every bar and club, of every type, in the west of China.
But never, ever had he been unfaithful. He loved his wife, despite the number of miles between them. His visits home were few and far between, but that just made them even more special.
But as the exotic beauty danced in front of him, he realised that was about to change.
She took his hand. He didn't stop her.
Jefferson drank straight from the bottle. Maybe it would numb his pain.
John Jefferson had very few regrets. He was a soldier; he assessed every situation so that a logical decision could be made.
He stared at the ring on his finger, a simple silver band. He now realised that it meant nothing.
Jefferson was an old-fashioned man in a modern world. His mother and father had raised him a catholic, and while many of his beliefs had been forgotten, he still was a firm believer in the values of marriage, much to the ridicule of his men, many of whom were married themselves. But too often he had seen them in the arms of another woman, and while he never said anything aloud, he silently disapproved.
Jefferson took another long gulp of his drink. What he had done went against all his morals and beliefs. How could he be angry with his men when he had done it himself?
But the fact that killed him the most was that he had betrayed his wife. His wonderful, loving wife, always waiting patiently for his return. The guilt he felt at that was unbearable. How could he ever forgive himself?
How could she ever forgive him?
Eighteen months later, Jefferson found himself at the same bar. He had to get away and, for some reason, he had been drawn here. It was his church, a place where he could silently confess his sins.
A few weeks after that night, he had been given a six month break. He had still not managed to get rid of his guilt and he had no idea how to face his wife.
So he did the best he could.
He smiled. He told her she was beautiful. Bought her gifts- roses, chocolates, took her abroad. It eased his guilt for a while but it was always there, at the back of his head. Still, he tried to ignore it; he had served ten years in the army, but he still didn't have the courage to tell his wife.
And as the compliments and gifts grew, in both size and number, a tiny voice popped up in his mind.
How could she?
And then Jefferson noticed. After every smile he gave her, every time he said 'I love you', he saw her eyes. She may have blushed and smiled, but her eyes told the really story. She knew something was wrong. He could see pain and sadness. He could see suffering.
But above everything else, he could see love. After everything he had done, she still loved him. He hated himself for that.
Jefferson had soon been called back to China. The goodbye and been difficult to say the least, but for entirely the wrong reason. And they both knew it.
And then last night, Jefferson had received a video call from England. His wife had died. A heart attack. She was thirty-five.
"We found this, sir, in her hand. Do you know what it means?"
The man showed him a note, with just two words, written in a shaky script; as if the writer was in a hurry….or was writing their last words.
There was no name, no clue to reveal what it meant. But Jefferson didn't need any- he knew exactly want it meant. Those two words made his heart stop and his blood run cold.