'It's normal you know, for them to be like this, especially following a big defeat. He'll need some time to get adjusted to the idea, to get past the guilt of survival and the tedium of bedrest. Just wait,' said the healer.

And she had. It had been six days since he was returned to her side, four since he had regained full consciousness. There was a gash under his arm that had torn through his side, and the medic had plied him with opiates, swathing him in the fog of medicinal drugs.

She had never wanted to leave the room while he was out, and though it was recommended for her to retreat and rest, she stayed put, keeping his hand in hers, staring at his nearly still form as if looking away for a second would convince her he wasn't breathing.

Her most treasured human had been returned to her, but in the throes of a hellish ordeal, face wearied from combat even in sleep. They had woken her in the night to tell her that he had been found, a day after battle had concluded, half-buried under what looked like a landslide and that they were carrying him back home now. She knew immediately this meant a blast had propelled him backwards and he had blacked out. The intensity of that explosion had likely dislodged earth from the crags above him, concealing him from view and saving him from the enemy's sword.

She had watched as the doctor treated him, seen the bloody gashes and angry bruises that bloomed over his ribs and hip like cannon's flare.

It hurt her profoundly to see him wounded. But he was alive, he would live. He had to pull through.

But when he did wake up, he barely seemed aware of his surroundings. He didn't look at her, sitting at his side. When he sat up to face her, his gaze was hollow, unmoved. She had approached him hastily but gently, unwilling to startle him, wrapping him in her arms and kissing his cheek. She whispered what she had always whispered in his ear, her love for him and gladness to see him in one piece. His posture was more rigid than usual, she noticed, but didn't question it-he was riddled with aches and bandages.

When she pulled back, however, cold black eyes surveyed her. The look shot at her made her feel like she was some obstacle, a missing cart on the list of supplies for move-out. He gave no sign of being able to speak or hear anything she said until he muttered thanks to the doctor, who left them with an order of bedrest, unguents, and plentiful hydration. He pushed her hand gripping his forearm off him before lying back into bed on his side, his scowl now boring a hole in their bedroom wall rather than into the furthest recesses of her chest.

She sat there in a chilled shock, tears slowly forming in her eyes as she waited for any sign that he might engage with her before leaving the room. She was unwanted there.

Shang's mother was in the hall, ghostly pale. It was evening, and the first time she had been able to visit without doctors scrambling around her son's motionless body. She walked briskly towards her daughter-in-law, her inquiring mouth closing in confusion when she saw the evident misery etched into the girl's face as though by acid rain.

As time had gone by, Li Yin had grown quite fond of what had at first seemed like a very wayward young woman, and felt motherly inclination for her daughter-in-law extend towards her in waves. She took her hand.

'Is everything alright?'

Mulan blinked back the tears in her eyes and steadied her lips, forcing them into a half-hearted smile.

'He's awake and seems healthy. I think he just needs time. Don't mind me.'

'He's saddened you somehow.'

'I don't expect him to be in great spirits after his ordeal. But I've been in that room for the past few days, and now that he's conscious and coming to terms with what happened, it might be best if I didn't stay at his bedside the way I have been'.

She felt bitter. All she wanted was to soothe him, make him feel the love she had that had been raging inside of her like wildfire as she missed him and then feared for his safety. The lack of sleep felt like weights had been attached to her tear ducts, making her so sick and tired of everything. She had to believe this cold front was temporary. If he thought for one second that she was going to stand for being ignored and rejected when his injury had made her frantic, he was in for an awakening of a different sort.

'I'm going to get some sleep too. I think it will help.'

Sympathy showed in the eyes of the Li matriarch. She put her remaining hand on top of theirs. Mothers always agreed with sleep didn't they? She supposed it was because they spent so much of their own children's childhoods exhausted themselves.

'I was just about to suggest that. Sleep will give you relief, I'm sure. I will keep a manservant on hand to attend to Shang and make sure that he is well looked after. You have been very attentive, my dear. I thank you for it.'

Mulan's returning smile didn't quite convince her. She continued.

'And I think in time he will be grateful for it too.'

She nodded, bowed and left. She realized with a pang that, of course, she had asked for Shang to be brought to their bedroom. It reminded her that that was where she belonged, where she wanted to sleep, next to him. She had dreamt of when she could have him back in her bed, the warmth of his love as well as his body.

But for her it would have to be a guest room, then. On top of being hurt, she was too proud to go right back in there at the moment.

All this was different before, she thought. Normally, after a period of absence, we couldn't wait to be together. This emptiness and hurt wasn't in the way.

And now she was at a loss, so thrown off that she was even unsure of where to sleep. She sighed, and decided she would retire early and read a little. She would ask a maid to retrieve fresh clothes in the morning.

She had allowed herself to sleep late and had persuaded herself out of the house to the fruit market and agora. Having taken off her house clothes and bathed with less haste, she felt some relief as the breeze outside caught her floaty lilac dress and lifted her damp hair. She realized how little she had seen of the sun and thought of Khan, how she rode him almost daily and how he must feel now that she had been cooped up indoors without explanation or visits.

She chatted with the women at the stalls, acquaintances out running their errands. It felt like she hadn't had proper human contact in ages. Her body felt better after a break from that muggy room, though she could not pretend her mind felt any more soothed.

'I'm glad you took a reprieve, dear.'

'How is he today?'

Reaching into her bag, she handed a fresh mandarin to her mother-in-law.

She scorned herself for feeling guilty about not seeing him. He had all but shoved her away! But the truth was, she craved being by him, particularly when he was in pain. She couldn't help those feelings. Nor should she have to, she reminded herself.

'He is very morose. More than I would have expected, truth be told. But as you said yourself, it is hard to fault him, no matter how unpleasant it may be.'

'And his health? His…comfort level?'

'You mean the degree of pain he is in? I think given the successful administration of those draughts it is relatively stable. He is definitely one to conceal vulnerability, I think he would consider it a weakness to express it. I asked him myself, and he mumbled something to the effect of 'tolerable'.'

She observed her daughter-in-law curiously. The girl's eyes were fixed on the house in the direction of the bedchamber, but she remained kneeling on the porch with hands clenched in her lap, as though something enormous and invisible lay in her path. She believed that every inch of Mulan's being wanted to be immediately transported to her wounded officer's side. What was holding her back?

It was this more than anything that had won Li Yin over, following her eldest's son engagement to the notorious heroine. Teapots and posture and resisting sneaking moon cakes into bed were of a certain order of propriety and honor, and instinctively she had wanted to thoroughly groom the girl. Then she caught a glimpse of what fueled the child's stubborn recklessness and dismissal of tradition- in her heart lived a furor of devotion, an instinct to love and protect so deep that it lived in her very lifeblood.

And her son was the first person in line to receive that passion.

A civil war had been waged, skirmishes forcing families to sacrifice many things. Toeing the line and sitting gracefully in long skirts had begun to count for nothing, and the young mistress' virtues glowed anew.

She could find many young brides who wanted her son for his fortune, his fine face and pedigree. They knew how to bow well enough to please both the matchmaker with their grace and the men with their posteriors. They weren't troublemakers in the same sense. But what mother could sneer at a woman who adored her child enough to follow him to the ends of the earth and then off a snowy cliff for good measure?

'You want to go to him.'

Mulan caught herself and snapped out of her bitter daydream.

'I do…'

The older woman smiled at her, announced she would be talking an afternoon walk, and briskly left. Peonies and sweet blossoms lined the delicate pathway, looping around the grounds of the house, and she made her way towards them. A few minutes later, she turned and looked back at the porch where she had left the girl. A satisfied, not un-mischievous smile spread across her face as she found the porch empty. She could be as crafty as Mulan's grandmother when she wanted to be, knowing when to leave the young people to their troubles.

Mulan had reluctantly approached the half-open door to the bedchamber, steeling herself and smoothing her hair. She had brought the small basket of fruit as a pretext, an excuse to see him in case he spurned her again.

'This is ridiculous', she muttered. It was her room too.

Strengthening her resolve, she pushed the door all the way open and entered their quiet room. He lay on his back now, his hands at his sides. He didn't move, the room was silent, but she knew he was awake. These strange instinctive truths were so natural it was impossible to doubt them, she had slept with him for over a year now.

'I'm not here to disturb you, but when you've rested I want to talk. I'm not going away next time.' There-she had been firm.

No answer. Their room remained quiet. She opened a closet door for good measure, wanting to demonstrate some ownership over the place, her things. She rifled through some hung up gowns, cursing herself inwardly as one fell.

She sighed, finally setting the basket on a table at the foot of the bed.

'I…brought you these.' Idiotic.

A scratchy voice emanated from the bed.

'Mulan…'

She looked at him sadly. He had sounded imploring just then, almost tender.

'Yes?'

He made to get up. 'No, don't you're not meant-'

But in no time she was looking up at him as he rose to his feet, the movement rippling air through a few of his locks. She blinked gently, unsure of herself.

He gingerly walked a few steps. His shirt was open and she saw how his breathing was different, the muscles above his collarbone straining. His skin was clammy, shining with sweat.

He looked down at his feet then up at her, as though he too were a bit startled by this course of action, his state of undress.

She was so tentative, sad, and confused as she anticipated his next move.

He gazed at her, his expression caught between sadness and hope in this moment of reunion and pain. He held out his hand and suddenly his eyes were imploring too.

She hesitated at first. But within two beats she had sailed into his arms.

He clutched her to him. It hurt his wounds, but felt good somehow.

Muffled, throaty words reached her from the crook in her neck.

'I missed you so.'

'I've missed you too, ai ren.'

She could feel the tears begin to swell in her eyes. 'So much.'

She kissed his neck, his jaw. He moved to kiss her, drawing on her lips over and over and even then she made no move to pull away. He grinned ever so softly against her mouth. It felt like his first smile in months, like the opening of a flower after a cold winter. His body was tattered, but at least he could still kiss her the way he needed to, damn it, the way she deserved. She pressed one last kiss to him before pulling back gently.

He spoke first.

'I'm sorry for how I've been acting. I- I have no idea what the state of it is, where my troops are…these wounds could mean the end of…I felt that I had failed everyone, left you for nothing, thought that everything would have more meaning than this…'

He was neurotic, pacing about in the space in front of her, his back always turned to her. It was almost as though their reconciliation made him nervous. Relief began to trickle into her system.

Guilt. He was struggling with the guilt of a thousand things. He didn't resent her.

'Shang.'

His shoulders slumped as he sighed, putting his head in his hands.

'Listen to me', she whispered, walking over. She kissed his back.

He turned around slowly and took her in, the person he had been pining for since the first night away. He had seen red when he first awoke, helpless and stuck. Or maybe it was more like seeing black, everything dyed by the dirt and muck, the billowing black smog of explosions tinting everything a doomed shade. All those dreams of home that a soldier cherishes on his long lonely treks turned to mud as he felt the pain in his side and the shame of defeat. He knew he would be out of circulation for a while, his cuts jagged and deep enough to prevent any brusque movements or labored physical activity. He was fucked. And, as of this moment, so was his career.

She had just gotten in the way of a very bad jolt of frustration. Of rage soured by shame and self-pity, and prickled with pain. Mulan had simply wanted to comfort him. He felt how much she had missed him, had seen her fighting tears when he left for this particularly risky military campaign. She couldn't come with him because of her new duties in the Imperial City. He remembered how at night she sat cross-legged on their bed with lists spread out all over the covers as she desperately looked for a way for her to accompany him. He was grateful that she had not, terrified of losing her on the battlefield. She was afraid their goodbye would be their last.

And when, in some ways, miraculously, that time did not turn out to be a farewell, he had repaid her love and longing hatefully, with a heart full of lead and a tongue burned by acid healing solutions. Of all the things he regretted now, his lost army, his mutilated side, the pain he caused her hurt the most.

She had moved close to him and gripped his forearms with her hands, a meaningful expression on her face.

'You are going to heal and then you are going to find your men and figure this out. But in order to do that, for now, you must let yourself recuperate. We're going to do that together, alright?'

He still looked distraught, but he nodded, lifting one of her hands to kiss, embarrassed by his actions.

She lifted that hand to stroke his cheek.

'Let's get in bed?'

Her request was so gentle, hesitant and still a little bruised from his earlier spurning. But the murmured words were his idea of heaven.

'I would carry you there if I could.'

The first joyful smile spread across her face, and they both knew all was well. She released herself from his arms with a bounce in her step.

'You don't have to carry me.'

He sat on the side and gingerly laid himself down again, bolstering his head with a cushion. He slowly exhaled, a grimace on his face.

She sauntered around the other side of the bed, pulling the covers around and over him and giving him another cushion to rest his back. As he shifted it behind him, trying to get comfortable, she untied her dress and threw it to one side, now in nothing but her underwear and the short, cropped silk undergarment that covered her breasts.

Smiling, she jumped into bed next to him, cocooning the covers around her too and stretching her arm over his chest as she nestled against his side.

She noticed that a smaller bandage on his neck had come undone and she flattened it back into place, reaching up and over him so her chest brushed against his. He put his hands on her waist, grinning, feeling her warmth radiate against his bruised and broken body as though he were being enveloped in liquid gold.

He wished he was strong enough to really embrace her, do a little more than just lay there like some invalid. Surprisingly, though, if this was the life of a soldier on bed-rest, it was a lot more enjoyable than he had first realized. Love had surged through him with a blaze that outstripped even that of his own bile. Holding Mulan swept the demons away with one fell swoop.

'I'm going to need you in our bed every day in order to heal fully, you do know that.'

He kissed her forehead contentedly, a grin growing on his face.

She smiled, settling against him.

'Yes, sir.'