We won't be caught up

The setting is planet Earth, the city of Chicago __________________________________________ Early in the morning, she was awakened by a persistent knocking on her door. When she opened it, she was greeted by her security chief. "Good morning, Miss Deloren," he said. "Good morning, Walter," the girl greeted, sleepily rubbing her eyes, letting him enter the room. It was noticeable that the girl had not slept well. "Your secretary asked me to give you the action plan for today," the man said, putting the tablet on the coffee table in the hall next to the economics textbook. He noticed the edge of an envelope between the pages of the book. "Wait, I'll get myself together, and we'll see..." she said, heading for the bathroom. Walter knew that she wouldn't be back for about an hour. His eyes kept darting to the envelope. He knew that he might be meddling in something that wasn't his business, but his professional habit of double-checking things overcame his moral ethics. He removed the envelope from the textbook and opened the letter. His eyes filled with concern as he read it. Could the strange behavior of Flora be related to this mysterious savior? When he heard her coming out of her bedroom, having already changed her clothes, he returned the envelope with the letter to the book. Flora persuaded him to have breakfast with her again, and he had coffee again in the restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel. The man occasionally watched her, sitting next to her in the car, and sometimes noticed a gentle, thoughtful half-smile on her face. It was all disturbing. By lunchtime, after taking a tour of the facilities, they returned to the hotel. This time, Flora wanted to have lunch in her room. Walter's presence during the meal had become a habit. "Why don't you order something for yourself?" Flora asked in surprise. "I'm not allowed to," he replied. "Come on, Walter. You've been in my security team for ten years, and you still act like a stranger," she said with a slight hint of reproach. The man looked away thoughtfully. He remembered the day he opened the door of the Delors car, which had been riddled with bullets, as if it were yesterday. The mortally wounded guard had managed to fire a few shots, but it was too late for Joseph and Gwenaëlle. When he saw them and the blood-soaked interior, he thought at first that they were all dead. It wasn't until he was pulling the bodies out that he noticed that Flora was waking up and that she was only unconscious. The blood on her body didn't belong to her. He quickly took the girl to another car and drove her to the hospital so that she wouldn't see her parents' bodies. He stayed by her side in her hospital room for several days, fearing that she might ask where her parents were. However, after the incident, Flora barely spoke, which added to his concerns. Despite this, he believed that he was doing it out of a sense of duty or guilt, as it went against his strict rule of not personalizing professional relationships. This had been the case for the past ten years. And now something had changed in her, as if she were waking up from a long, heavy sleep. "Is this related to him?" Walter wondered, as if the girl had a secret affair, it could significantly complicate her security. There was only one way to find out quickly. "Your savior... who is he?" he asked directly. The girl looked at him in shock. "I wish I knew," Flora replied, regaining her composure but avoiding his gaze. She finished her meal and went to change her clothes. "So you left the balcony open?" Walter asked when the girl returned to the room. The girl froze in surprise and looked at him with a slightly frightened expression. "So you did," he guessed. "I don't understand what you're talking about," Flora protested. "You understand perfectly well. You realize that your reckless actions are making my job more difficult," he chastised her. "Well, I've been locked up all my life waiting for you to let me out of the cage," she defended herself. Walter realized that he was limiting her freedom too much. "Very well. Who is your superman? What does it look like, what's your name?" he began to ask, not hiding his irritation. "His name is Cross. What it looks like... Tall, athletic build, medium—length dark hair," Flora described. "Is he working or studying?" Walter continued his interrogation. "He works as an auto mechanic," the girl replied. "So he's a poor bastard. He needs money again," Walter made an unflattering remark. "I offered, he didn't take it," she replied. "He probably wants even more money," the bodyguard concluded. "Why do you think so? I don't think he needs them too much. You should see his bike," she said enthusiastically. "What?! A bike? Are you out of your mind? You're involved with a biker, and your parents' fate hasn't taught you anything," he exclaimed. "Walter, not all bikers are murderers. And it's none of your business," she replied sternly. The man paused, realizing that his statements were more akin to paranoia. "Well, indeed. Who am I to interfere in your personal life? I hope you won't be disappointed," he said, and left the room. "Walter," Flora said, trying to stop him, but she didn't want to argue with him, even though she was angry with him for interfering in something that didn't concern him. However, she could understand his perspective. Cross was finishing up the repairs on his motorcycle. "I'm going to test it out," he said to Charlie. "Come on," the girl smiled. She was already getting used to his silent presence, often watching his confident movements. He handled the repairs quickly and efficiently. The clients were pleased with his work. And now she was smiling as she watched him put on his jacket and helmet and mount his newly repaired bike. Terrestrial motorcycles were much lighter than Martian motorcycles and easier to build. He was driving through the evening city, and he was incredibly pleased with the steady hum of the engine. Cross then drove around the outskirts of the city for a couple of laps and returned to the garage without noticing any problems. "Is everything all right?" the girl asked. "Yes, everything is working properly," he said as he got off the motorcycle. "You're really good at this. I don't know what I'll do without you when you return to Mars," Charlie said with a sad smile. Cross tried to smile, although the girl's words made him think. And his thoughts were not happy. During all this time that they have been dating Flora, he never thought about what would happen when it was time to return. How he would explain his disappearance to her and what would happen to him after that. He sat with a sad look on his face when the other mice returned to the garage after another "fun" day. "What's the matter?" Rimfire asked when he saw his friend looking upset. Cross didn't respond, remembering that Flora was waiting for him. He put on his jacket and helmet, started his bike, and left, this time carrying his guitar. This time, he rode his bike at full speed, barely noticing the beauty of the rapidly changing landscape around him. His heart was heavy. Soon, he reached the city center and, as was his habit, found himself in a traffic jam. As he stood in line with various vehicles, a melody poured out of a silver Jaguar XJ IV. Cross stopped his bike outside the hotel, under the balcony of Flora's room, and for the first time, he hesitated. Was it time to end it all and disappear from her life as suddenly as he had appeared, before they became too accustomed to each other? But as he watched the light curtains sway in the open balcony, he realized that it was beyond his control. He pulled away from the hotel wall and, pressing the jet boost button, sped back towards the building. It took him a few minutes to get to the balcony, and a few seconds to get into her restless arms. Flora hugged him, looking at him anxiously. "Something's wrong," he realized immediately, without breaking the circle of his arms. "Walter knows about you," she replied. "How? Did you tell him?" he guessed. "No, but he somehow found out that you asked me to keep the balcony open," she replied. "My letter," he realized. "You didn't destroy it." "No, I didn't intend to do that," the girl said. "So there won't be a trip today," he sighed with annoyance. "No, let's go, I don't want to change anything," the girl said firmly, putting on her jacket. She didn't notice the guitar neck behind his back right away. Cross smiled and picked her up. After climbing down from the wall, he put the tool strap on the girl, as it was not very convenient for him to carry her. There was no pursuit this time. At this time, sitting in his luxurious office, Limburger watched them from the security camera and smiled contentedly. "Well, Lady Deloraine, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I dare to break your idyll. Unfortunately, Romeo has to die," he said, bursting into malicious laughter. They drove out of the city and stopped near the forest on a small hill. The girl got off the bike and walked away from him. "Listen, Flora, I... someday we'll..." The words were difficult for him to say, and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. "Someday my time in Chicago will be over. I will return to my city, you to your country, and we will have to part," the girl finished for him, turning away, understanding the reason for his worries. "I do not want to part with you, Flora," he said confidently, coming up to her and touching her shoulder. "I don't want to either," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. "Let's not think about what will happen in a week, let's live in the present moment. And right now, I'm happy to have you by my side, to look into the most beautiful eyes in the universe," he said, his leather-gloved hand caressing the silk of her hair. "You are very dear to me, Flora," he thought, knowing that he would never say such a thing to her, under any circumstances, even if they were to part forever. And he felt the big tears running down his face, lingering a little on the short, light-grey fur. The girl was silent, taken aback by the unexpectedness of his confession. Cross's admission left her slightly perplexed. He looked at her expectantly, noticing her confusion. Did she not feel the same way about him, or had he rushed into making a declaration? "You can't imagine how nice it is to hear you say that. You're right, as long as we have each other here and now, no one and nothing can separate us, and after that, come what may," she said softly. He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped her in a careful hug. "You can fulfill one of my requests," she suddenly asked after a long silence. He almost blurted out, "Ask for anything you want." But he stopped talking in time. "Anything but asking you to take off your motorcycle helmet," he said, and he saw her smile gently. "No, I just want to hear your voice, the way it is. I don't know if the helmet distorts it, but I want to hear it," she said. "Swear you won't turn around," he said. "I swear," she replied. Cross turned her around, then slowly removed her motorcycle helmet, taking a deep breath. The rising breeze enveloped him in a cloud of her loose blonde hair. He inhaled her scent with a sinking heart—a mixture of blackcurrant and red grapes, with a trail of peony, jasmine, and rose, and the subtle, unmistakable scent of her body. Without realizing it, his hands rested on her shoulders, pulling her closer to his body. "Why are you silent?" Flora asked. Mouse took a breath to speak, but a lump caught in his throat. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to say," he finally replied quietly. "You have a beautiful voice. You must be a good singer," the girl suggested. "No, I only play," Cross replied, remembering his guitar. They stood there for a while. Cross spoke to her quietly, and Flora listened to the tone of his voice, as if trying to remember it. After that, he put his helmet back on and walked away from her, heading towards his bike, where his guitar was lying in its case. He picked up the guitar, and Flora turned around, hearing the gentle strumming of the guitar. He was leaning against his bike, focusing on the strings, trying not to make a mistake. Flora watched him for a while, and then walked closer to him. The melody was gentle, with long, lyrical notes. It was as if he wanted to convey his feelings for her through music. Something told Cross that Flora understood this. "That was great," she said when the music stopped. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he smiled, feeling more than ever that he couldn't tell her who he was. They returned to the hotel as darkness fell. "Good night, Flora," Cross said as he turned to leave the balcony. She grabbed his hand, pulled him close, and planted a hot kiss on the visor of his helmet. Cross almost fell off the balcony in surprise. "Good night," she said, and disappeared into her room. Cross was riding his bike down the highway, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions: on one hand, he was filled with tender feelings for Flora, but on the other, he was frustrated by the lies he was forced to tell her. As he was lost in thought, he didn't immediately notice that he was being followed, and it wasn't until he heard gunshots behind him that he became aware of the situation. Cross turned around. As expected, it was Limburger's mercenaries. The mouse pulled out a blaster and began actively firing back. He managed to hit two of the four jeeps. However, he failed to notice the attack from the front, only seeing the two missiles flying towards him when it was too late. In a desperate attempt to avoid the explosion, he swerved off the road, but it was too late. The sudden jolt and the scorching flames caused him to crash off the road, but he managed to remove his guitar and throw it far away. The hard landing caused pain throughout his body and a slight concussion. He felt himself being abruptly and rather roughly lifted from the ground by the collar of his jacket. "Mr. Limburger wants to talk to you, handsome," he heard the familiar voice of Grease Pit say, and a sharp punch to the face knocked him unconscious.