When he hadn't heard from Stephanie as the battling became more fierce and the higher the potential to die, he had decided he wasn't going to die with regrets. He had written her a letter telling her of the hard times, the good times he had with her, and ending with the fact that he had feelings for her. He hadn't minced his words, aware that it was important to them both that he be honest because he didn't expect to come through this alive and reality was better to accept in the face of this war. He had left the note with the officer who sent mail home, though he advised the man to only send it if he was dead.
He hadn't expected to live too long once they were captured, especially when he was chosen at random for the isolation room. It had been one of the more painful moments, but it had also faded to a coldness that numbed his body and stretched his mind to where he thought it easy to lose himself.
Stephanie had come for them all, had come for him. The letter was long forgotten in the face of the escape, the fighting and the march back to the US military base of operations. He had not been any worse than most of the other officers, so he had walked the distance without complaint despite fatigue and dehydration. They were all in need of a little medical patch-work aside from Stephanie who had seemed to thrive in the opportunity, and he knew then that he loved her more than anyone else. He probably always would.
Once the wounded were taken care of, they were all forced to be examined and patched up, though most of his injuries were simply bruises and shallow cuts. He was forced to drink a vile liquid to rehydrate him more quickly, and he managed to sweet talk his way out of staying in the medical tent to go and stay in another that was empty. There he slept as long and deeply as could be allowed a man in the middle of a potentially life-ending war. There were not actual real sleeps, but he got by.
Sleeping on the cot was like sleeping in heaven after all. No rocks pushing into his back, not cramped quarters like in the Hydra nest, no straps across his body holding him down. It was wonderful. He was almost sad to wake up feeling more well-rested than he had in weeks.
For eleutheria
He hadn't expected to live too long once they were captured, especially when he was chosen at random for the isolation room. It had been one of the more painful moments, but it had also faded to a coldness that numbed his body and stretched his mind to where he thought it easy to lose himself.
Stephanie had come for them all, had come for him. The letter was long forgotten in the face of the escape, the fighting and the march back to the US military base of operations. He had not been any worse than most of the other officers, so he had walked the distance without complaint despite fatigue and dehydration. They were all in need of a little medical patch-work aside from Stephanie who had seemed to thrive in the opportunity, and he knew then that he loved her more than anyone else. He probably always would.
Once the wounded were taken care of, they were all forced to be examined and patched up, though most of his injuries were simply bruises and shallow cuts. He was forced to drink a vile liquid to rehydrate him more quickly, and he managed to sweet talk his way out of staying in the medical tent to go and stay in another that was empty. There he slept as long and deeply as could be allowed a man in the middle of a potentially life-ending war. There were not actual real sleeps, but he got by.
Sleeping on the cot was like sleeping in heaven after all. No rocks pushing into his back, not cramped quarters like in the Hydra nest, no straps across his body holding him down. It was wonderful. He was almost sad to wake up feeling more well-rested than he had in weeks.