Safe Harbor

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The morning light filtered in through my half shut window curtain, and I woke groggily. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, so school was out. I got out of my bed lazily, stretching my sore muscles tenderly, trying not to aggravate my still aching back and legs.

After making my bed, I threw on my night clothes, stuffing my dirtied uniform into the hamper secretively, hoping Mum wouldn't notice. The scent of toast and eggs came wafting up from the kitchen, startling me. Mum absolutely hated eggs.

I bounded down the stairs half curious, half nervous. My watch read the time as a quarter to 6. Mum wasn't due at the hospital until 8. Who would be up at this godforsaken hour?

I tiptoed past the foyer and into the kitchen and got my answer. It was a man, enveloped in casual pyjamas. He towered over the stove, at a commanding height of what was definitely taller than 6 feet. He had raven black hair that perched messily on his head, but he didn't seem to care. He was whistling an old show tone, flipping the eggs over without a care in the world.

"Dad?" I asked, astonishedly.

He turned, and at the sight of me, positively grinned. "Alex, my boy! Just in time for breakfast!"

I was too mind boggled to form a coherant response. I simply stood there for a good moment, gawking. After all, I hadn't seen him in ages.

"When did you get home?" I asked, when I finally get over my initial shock. He ushered me over to the table and slid a portion of scrambled eggs onto my plate and then his, before taking a seat across me, himself.

"Just last night," he said conversationally, popping some of the eggs into his mouth with a content sigh. "Ah, the last time I had homemade scrambled eggs..."

"What are you doing back?" I asked nervously, after trying some of the eggs myself. I knew what his arrivals usually meant, but I refused to believe it until he said it himself. There was always some room for doubt.

His eyes twinkled. "You're making me feel like I'm on trial, son. Hows about we finish this lovely breakfast and then I sate your endless curiosity?" He proposed.

I shot him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Dad. It's just that you haven't been back in such a long time," I explain, digging into my eggs once more.

Dad grinned, his soft brown eyes swimming in mirth. "I missed you too, Alex."

A quiet moment of understanding passes between us comfortably.

"You seem to grow more and more every time I see you," he commented, appraising me with his eyes. "I can't believe you're already 16. Two more years, and you'll be off to university."

"Or the army," I countered. Last night's conversation with Marco made me realize something. I could never let him go off to war by himself. He'd go off and get himself killed, without me- and I wasn't exaggerating. If he truly wanted to fight, then I'd be right there, with him.

Father's eyes flashed with unease for the briefest of seconds before reverting back to normal. "Alex, I thought you hated fighting."

"I do. But I hate oppression and dictatorship even more. I can't just sit around and be content, knowing that people are losing not only their rights, but their lives with them, Dad. Freedom is a good thing to fight for," I said, making my case.

Father's eyes shifted, as if he was looking at me with new eyes. "Spoken like a true soldier."

Immediately I can tell there's something wrong from his change in tone. "What's wrong?"

He looked up at me with blazing eyes and opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but then closed it, losing his words. He shook his head slightly and put on a fake smile that I can see right through. "Nothing, son. So, how do you like Bournemouth?" He changes the subject quickly, confirming my suspicions. But I choose to just leave it, waiting for him to tell me rather than pestering rudely.