Little Charlie is almost six years old now, and growing like a weed. I read him your letters all the time, and he tells all his friends about how his uncle is off fighting in the war. You have quite a group of followers back home waiting for you! So you had better get home quick to see them. I mean it!

All my love,

Anna

Carter smiled as he finished reading his sister's latest letter. He tucked it into his footlocker and made sure to place it where he could see it so that he would remember to write a reply later. After he tucked the footlocker back beneath his bunk, he glanced up to see if the other guys were finished reading their own letters yet. They were supposed to go out and play volleyball once everyone was done with their mail.

Kinch still sat at the table, engrossed in what appeared to be a letter from his mother. LeBeau was sprawled out on his bunk, lips curled upward slightly as he read from a letter which was so strongly perfumed that Carter was beginning to feel nauseous. The Colonel was still in his office, which generally meant that he had received another lengthy letter from his parents. The other men were all at various other stages of finishing letters or getting ready for the game. All except Newkirk, who Carter couldn't see as he was on his bunk directly above him.

Then, suddenly, Carter could see him, as Newkirk landed in front of him with a small thump. Before Carter could ask if he had finished reading yet, Newkirk was moving away from him, towards the false bunk that led to the tunnel. Carter's eyebrows drew together from curiosity, as did many of the other men's. Almost immediately though, Carter's expression changed to one of concern. He knew that Newkirk had family in London, which was still being heavily bombed. Could something have happened to one of them?

Before Carter knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and moving towards the trapdoor. Newkirk was his friend, and whatever was bothering him that he wanted to get away from everyone else, he shouldn't be going through it alone.

"André," LeBeau said, sitting up in his bunk, "I think Pierre wants to be alone right now."

Carter paused, considering this. Would Newkirk be angry with him for following him?

"Whatever it is," Carter replied carefully, "He shouldn't have to go through it alone."

LeBeau looked back at him for a moment before shaking his head and muttering something that sounded like "It's your funeral."

Carter ignored this, and followed Newkirk down into the cold tunnel.

He found Newkirk in his sewing room, standing in the middle, surrounded by various colours and sizes of uniforms. For a moment Newkirk didn't notice his presence, and Carter saw such a lost, sorrowful expression on his friend's face that it frightened him a little. Then Newkirk sensed Carter behind him, and his face closed off as he turned to face the American.

"What are you doing down here Carter?" the Englishman asked tersely.

Carter cleared his throat nervously, suddenly wondering the exact same thing.

"I just- I just wanted to- to make sure that…you were ok."

Newkirk sighed, and shocked Carter when he walked over and slumped down on a trunk full of clothes, patting the spot beside him. Carter immediately moved to sit next to him, wondering what had gotten into the normally standoffish Englishman.

"M'all right Carter," Newkirk said, a little sadly, "But thanks for asking."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Carter worked up the courage to say something.

"Did something happen to your family?"

Newkirk's face twitched in confusion, then just as quickly, apprehension dawned in his eyes and he smiled slightly.

"No Carter," he answered, "They're all fine. I just got a letter from Mavis saying how well everyone was doing."

"Oh," Carter said, even more confused now, "Then why did you come down here?"

Newkirk looked away from him, staring at the ground.

"You'll think it's silly," he said, embarrassed already.

"No I won't!" Carter exclaimed, "I promise, whatever it is, I won't think it's silly at all!"

Newkirk looked up and smiled at him thoughtfully.

"You know Andrew, you just might be right."

Carter smiled back at him encouragingly. Newkirk took a deep breath, and Carter thought that he was mentally steeling himself before he said three simple words.

"My cat died."

It took a minute before Carter was able to think of something to say. Whatever he had been expecting Newkirk to say, that hadn't been it. Not even close. The Englishman had just never seemed like the type to have a pet.

"You mean your cat back home?"

"Yeah," Newkirk nodded sadly, "I found her when I was just a lad, probably ten or eleven. Feels like I've had her all me life though. Me and Mavis used to watch her catch mice in the street behind our house. When I, err, moved out, I took her with me. The old man apparently developed a sudden dislike for cats."

Newkirk's eyes hardened and his story drifted off when he spoke about his father, and Carter decided he didn't want to ask.

"Anyways," Newkirk said, snapping out of his reverie, "When I enlisted, Mavis took the cat to her place till I got back. But she just sent a letter saying how the poor thing went and got itself hit by a car."

"I'm sorry," Carter said quietly once Newkirk finished his story.

"For what?" Newkirk asked sharply, "It was just a ruddy cat. I don't know why I'm getting so worked up about it anyways."

"Because she meant a lot to you. She wasn't just a cat. She was your cat. You've had her for a long time, and she meant a lot to you."

Newkirk stared at Carter, his emotions locked away in his personal safe.

"What?" Carter asked, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny, "Its true isn't it?"

Slowly, very slowly, Newkirk nodded. He turned away from Carter, looking at his feet once again. When he spoke, it was so quietly that Carte barely heard it.

"She was steady."

Carter couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he saw a tear slip down Newkirk's cheek.

Note: Dedicated to Billie, the cutest darn cat you ever met. Miss ya already little buddy!