The train station was alive with the sounds of celebration. Families gathered in clusters, their laughter and chatter blending into a symphony of joy. Children darted between the crowd, waving tiny Marleyan flags, their cheers punctuating the air. The train whistle blew, signaling the military’s triumphant return from the Battle of Fort Slava. The clash with the Mid-East Allied Forces had ended in Marley’s favor, and now the soldiers were finally home.

You stood among the throng, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The air buzzed with excitement, but beneath it all, you felt a nervous energy thrumming in your chest. Beside you stood Finger, Pieck’s father, his expression a mix of relief and apprehension. His wrinkled hands fidgeted with the brim of his hat as he scanned the horizon for the first sight of his daughter.

"She’ll be fine," you murmured, half to reassure him and half to convince yourself.

He nodded absently, his gaze never leaving the train tracks. "She’s strong," he said, his voice low but steady. "Always has been."

You didn’t respond, your thoughts racing as you imagined her. Pieck. The thought of seeing her again after so many months filled you with both relief and dread. Relief, because she was alive—at least, that was what the telegram had said. And dread, because you knew how dangerous the battle had been, how close she had come to not making it back.

The train pulled into the station with a screech of brakes, steam hissing as it settled. The crowd erupted in cheers, families pressing closer to the platform. Soldiers began to disembark, their uniforms tattered but their faces bright with relief and pride. Some walked unsteadily, leaning on comrades for support. Others moved with a stiffness that spoke of wounds not yet healed.

Your heart leaped as you searched the sea of faces, your breath catching when you finally saw her.

Pieck appeared, her familiar frame unmistakable even from a distance. She leaned heavily on a crutch, her steps slow but purposeful. Her dark hair was tied back, a few loose strands framing her face. Despite the visible limp and the exhaustion in her eyes, she wore a warm, radiant smile—the kind that made your chest ache.

"Pieck!" her father called, his voice trembling with emotion as he stepped forward.

Her face lit up at the sound of his voice, and she quickened her pace as much as her injured leg would allow. When she reached him, she released the crutch, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. Tears glistened in her father’s eyes as he held her, murmuring words of relief and love into her ear.

You stood back, giving them their moment. But Pieck’s eyes found you over her father’s shoulder, and her smile widened.

"Volkov!" she called, her voice bright despite the weariness that clung to her.

Before you could react, she released her father and practically launched herself at you. Her crutch clattered to the ground as she wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you into a fierce embrace. You stumbled slightly under the sudden weight but quickly steadied yourself, your arms encircling her slender frame.

"Pieck," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion as you buried your face in her hair. She smelled of smoke and earth, a reminder of the battlefield she had just left behind.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes shining with unspoken words. "I missed you," she said simply, her voice soft but earnest.

"I missed you too," you replied, your hands resting gently on her waist. "More than you know."

Her smile faltered slightly as she glanced down at her leg, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping her lips. "Sorry about the dramatic entrance," she said, gesturing to the crutch lying forgotten on the ground. "I guess I’m not as graceful as I used to be."

"Stop," you said firmly, your gaze locking onto hers. "You’re here. That’s all that matters."

Her eyes softened, and she rested her forehead against yours, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t think I’d make it back this time."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you forced yourself to stay composed. "But you did," you said, your voice steady. "You made it back, Pieck. That’s all that matters."

She closed her eyes, her arms tightening around you as if she were afraid to let go. For a moment, the noise of the station faded into the background, and it was just the two of you, holding onto each other like lifelines.

Pieck’s father cleared his throat gently, breaking the moment. She stepped back reluctantly, her hands lingering on your arms before she turned to him.

"You should sit down," Finger said, his concern evident. "You’ve been through enough."

Pieck waved him off with a small smile. "I’m fine, Papa. Really."

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the matter. Instead, he bent to retrieve her crutch, handing it back to her. She accepted it with a nod of thanks, leaning on it lightly as she turned back to you.

"Come on," she said, her smile returning. "Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of crowds for a lifetime."

You nodded, falling into step beside her as she led the way out of the station. Her father followed close behind, his watchful gaze never straying far from her. The cheers and chatter of the crowd faded as you moved away, replaced by the quieter sounds of the city.

As you walked, Pieck leaned into you slightly, her crutch tapping softly against the pavement. "You’re quiet," she said, glancing up at you. "What’s on your mind?"

You hesitated, your thoughts tangled. "Just… I’m glad you’re okay," you said finally. "I was worried."

She tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Worried? About me? Volkov, I’m hurt—don’t you have faith in my survival skills?"

"Of course I do," you said with a faint smile. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry."

Her expression softened, and she reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I’m sorry," she said quietly. "For making you worry. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, your chest tightening at the sincerity in her voice. "Good," you said, your voice steady. "Because I’m not letting you out of my sight again."

She laughed, a light, melodic sound that eased some of the tension in your chest. "Deal," she said, her smile widening.

The three of you reached Pieck’s home, a modest but welcoming space. As her father fussed over her, making sure she was comfortable, you lingered by the window, watching the fading light of the sunset. The shadows stretched long across the city, but the warmth of the moment lingered.

Pieck joined you after a while, her crutch leaning against the wall. She slipped her hand into yours, her fingers warm and steady. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft.

"For what?" you asked, turning to look at her.

"For being here," she said simply. "For waiting. For caring."

You squeezed her hand gently, your gaze meeting hers. "Always," you said, and you meant it.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, you held onto her hand a little tighter. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain: as long as you had Pieck, you could face anything. Together.