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They arrive at the 'hospital' grounds in the early hours of the morning. She can't tell if it's her nerves or lack of sleep that cause her to feel light-headed. The smell of the area doesn't help; it reeks of sweat, blood, and alcohol.
The doctor shows them around briefly; the amount of soldiers and civilians coming in is overwhelmingly persistent, and they're brought to their quarters quickly. It is a decent sized tent, with makeshift-looking beds and other poorly made furnishings.
"Here's your home away from home," he says, an attempt at a joke, but his gruff voice doesn't help bring a comical ring to the poorly executed quip.
When he leaves, Sara collapses. Urey catches her in his arms, cradling her to his chest as she sobs on the barren desert floor.
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There isn't enough time in the day or night to sleep. Doctors are scarce, and despite the fact that surgeons are supposed to take twelve-hour shifts, everyone is working twenty-four hours a day. Breaks only occurred when soldiers aren't pouring in on stretchers, and that is next to never.
Her body aches for sleep, and her heart aches for home. When she looks above her at the faded tarp, she wants nothing more than to tear it down; to end the senseless need to be where she is, saving people that didn't need to be in the position to be saved. She can't understand why this war is happening, but until every soldier can go home, and until every Ishvalan is safe from a gun or a dog, she will stay and help. They deserve to be home, too, and she'd be damned if she and her husband turned their backs on them now.
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More doctors came to help the cause, but the amount of injured and dying that flow in is still overwhelming. There are barely enough beds to rest the soldiers and civilians, so many of the doctors offer their own, including Sara and Urey.
During the nights when they had time to rest, they would lie on their blankets placed upon the floor, grasping each other tightly. Some night they sleep, some nights they make love, but every time they go to rest, Urey whispers to her that this isn't permanent, that someday they'll be home. She clings to him tightly, praying that he is right.
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The war feels endless.
The amount of death and blood seems infinite. Every doctor in their unit has gone numb, and it drives Sara to the brink of insanity. It doesn't matter how many people come into their surgery room, they are all people, and dammit they need to be helped! It rips at her heart to see her comrades wave away dying men and women, even children, claiming that 'there is nothing that can be done'.
This war has claimed so many, but it won't claim her. This battleground is not going to take her. It will never be her home. For home is a place where brilliant blue eyes and a smile as bright as sunshine are waiting for her.
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She is late, nearly three weeks late, and she is terrified.
Her body is frail; she's lost so much weight since arriving at this damned place, she doesn't know if she can safely carry a baby. She tries to calm herself, to rationalize that her high-stress levels and lack of body fat are the cause, but something inside of her whispers she is wrong. She needs to talk to Urey. Perhaps, if she is, they can go home. The war is supposed to be ending, maybe the injured will stop pouring in, maybe they really can go home.
She's helping a patient. The poor man's face...and his arm... She tries to bandage him the best she can, hoping he doesn't bleed out. She knows once this round of injured is taken care of, she and Urey can switch off with the other doctors that stayed to help. They can go back to their tent and she can tell him.
The man wakes up. She tries to calm him down, telling him his wounds are too bad for him to move.
She calls for Urey, he looks him over, and they call for the other doctors to start working on him immediately.
As he goes catatonic, Sara makes a quiet prayer for him to pull through.
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They're explaining the patients' conditions as they prepare to leave, and Sara can't stop thinking about what may be next, about the possibility of going home.
But someone calls their name, Urey pulls her to his chest, and, God, she hurts. She hurts so badly.
She is dying, she knows she won't make it.
Urey is already gone. She tries to weep for him, but only blood comes out.
The war won, despite her never-ending fight, despite her prayers to see home once more, she is going to die in a wasteland of lost hope. She tries to lift a hand to her stomach, but she can't move.
Whatever might have been there, be it a baby or a dream, is dead.
She lets out her last breath, thinking of blue eyes and a laugh that could only belong to an angel.
Her last thought is of her daughter.
Her last thought is of home.
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