Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! Have been busy so have been slacking on individual thanks, but I have read each review.
Listened to Sara Bareilles's Breathe Again while writing this first scene...again, mostly for the melody/emotion more than the words.
"I'm glad you convinced him to try this." The physician stood near the young technician running the hyperbaric chamber. "Most bacteria have trouble thriving in such high oxygen concentrations, so it should help with the fever that started this morning."
She glanced at Jason lying on a bed inside the clear cylindrical chamber to her right. Instead of the doctor applying new bandages after the dressing change this morning, he'd left them off so the oxygen would saturate from the outside, as well as from inside as Jason breathed in. Keeping her arms wrapped tight around herself, she nibbled a fingernail and stared straight through Jason. Worry and stress chewed her stomach.
"It's a minor fever that could just be his body reacting to the trauma." The doctor set a hand on her back. "The antibiotics we switched him to are broad spectrum and strong. If anything is taking hold, we're going to knock it out."
But Jason's cheek still burned pink from the one-hundred-one-degree fever that had come on at sunrise.
"Studies have shown that oxygen saturation from the chamber will help capillaries form, thereby increasing blood flow to the tissue for cellular generation. The down side, as I told him, is it also stimulates collagen formation, which could create worse scarring. At this point, though, our main concern is getting skin to regrow. He's at a pressure of forty-feet below sea level and at one hundred percent oxygen concentration - the air in the atmosphere generally contains twenty percent oxygen."
Jason, himself, finally registered as she stopped staring. Instead of watching the TV for the ninety-minute treatment session that had just started a few minutes ago, his eye remained on her. When she offered him a forced smile, he remained solemn and concerned. A blue shadow had taken up residence under his eye, making him look more ill too.
She turned to the doctor, needing to pretend the hospital pallor and exhaustion in Jason weren't there. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to convince him to come daily for three months."
"Even daily while in the hospital and a couple times a week after will help."
She glanced. Jason only offered his profile and his brow wrinkled. The physician had pumped him full of pain killer again before the bandage change, but it shouldn't be wearing off yet. Squatted to be more eye level, she laid a hand against the glass. Do you hurt? She mouthed the words for privacy rather than use the intercom.
He pressed his hand against the glass on the other side, lining up his palm with hers, and gave a slight shake of his head. Sadness filled his eye. Miss you, he mouthed.
Tears pricked and she laid a hand over her heart to keep from crying. I'm staying right here. With his hearing loss, maybe he would be able to lip read well enough to talk. He still had awhile to go in the chamber. Can you tell what I'm saying?
He gave a slight nod.
This is going to be a one-sided conversation because I can't lip read at all. She smiled.
That won a smile from him - the best that he could without causing his face pain.
"Would you like a chair? You look like you're going to be there for awhile." The doctor's voice cut in.
Looking over her shoulder, she stood. "Sure."
"I'm going to check on a few patients. The technician will be here if there are any problems." He pushed a desk chair over. "I'll be back when he's coming out." Then he headed to the door.
"Thank you." She sat down. Looking at Jason, she scooted the chair a fraction closer with a smile. He said he'll be back when you're coming out. Then she looked around for a clock to see how much longer he had.
The physician stood with one hand on the door but his eyes on her, with a smile. "I'm always amazed at how much faster patients go home who have support versus the ones who don't."
"How long do you think he needs to stay?"
"If everything continues to improve, perhaps three weeks. I'll be back." Then he left.
Her heart dropped and she stared at the door. With Jason's eye ordeal, he'd been in the hospital for almost a week. He wouldn't do well staying nearly four times longer.
Tap. Tap.
Turning her head, she looked at Jason.
He lowered his hand from tapping on the glass. What's wrong? A wrinkle formed in his forehead.
It'd be better if he got through a few more days before he learned of the timeline. She shook her head and smiled, lowering the chair to be low to the ground. Setting her hand against the glass again, she mouthed, Do you want to play cards when we get back to your room?
He raised his hand to the glass again but drew a line across her ring finger with a frown. Then he pointed to his own naked ring finger where he'd had to remove his wedding ring before going in the chamber.
I had to take off all of my jewelry too. The tech said no jewelry or anything with batteries in the room just in case. Just like how Jason had to remove his hearing device and put on a special cotton gown before going in the chamber. Any kind of spark would cause the pure oxygen to explode. Are you feeling okay? He said you might get lightheaded getting so much oxygen.
That beautiful blue eye seemed perpetually dilated from the drugs lately, but his movements seemed more in control since the doctor had changed to a lower dose drug combination. Jason cracked a smile and cocked an eyebrow.
Relief swept through at seeing him feel well enough to joke a bit. She cracked a smile. Alright, stupid question for a SEAL.
A one-shouldered shrug was his answer and he winked. When he smiled a genuine smile, he looked like his usual, healthy self.
Her smile grew and she laughed, hope gleaming for the first time today. If he felt well enough to joke, he would get better. He had to.
Such a tender gaze overcame his eye, making her heart beat faster. If the glass hadn't been in the way, he surely would've overcome any dizziness to stand up from that bed to steal a kiss. Instead, he laid his hand on the glass against hers. Then his lips moved slow and distinct for her to follow. You look so happy and beautiful when you laugh from your heart like that.
An intense ache swept over with the need to touch his hand, to be in his arms. Her heart wrenched and the smile faded. Not caring about the germs or dirt, she knelt on the floor to be closer to him. It suddenly seemed so unbearable to have this divider. I love you.
I love you too -
The door to the waiting room opened. She looked over her shoulder.
A tech poked her head in. "Mrs. Port?"
"Yes?"
"Will you come with me for a moment?"
She frowned. "Can it wait until my husband - "
"I'm afraid not, ma'm. The security officer needs to speak with you."
She got up and glanced at Jason, his eye searching her face in concern. A security officer needs to talk to me.
His brow snapped together, and he paid for it with a wince of pain. He started to sit up but she held a hand out for him to stay as she got up.
Outside the door, a security officer stood with the tech, both of their faces solemn. "Mrs. Port, I need a description of the items you left with the technician." The officer pulled out a notepad.
She blinked and looked at the tech with whom she'd left her wedding and engagement rings.
The woman swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry. I set them on the desk behind the counter in a small bag. I was labeling it to put in our lockbox but the marker ran out. I turned around to get a new one out of a cabinet right there. When I turned back, they were gone."
Shaking her head, the tears welled. "No, they just fell behind the desk or something." If Jason didn't make it through this, the rings he'd given when he promised forever, the engagement ring he'd designed himself...they'd be all that was left of him. "Oh god, the ring from Scotland was in there too." She held a hand over her mouth as the tears fell. She turned to the officer. "Please, you have to find them. If he doesn't get better..."
"We'll search anyone leaving the hospital. What do your rings look like?" He remained calm and ready to take notes.
When the officer left a few minutes later, she shuffled back inside with a broken heart and barely holding back the tears. Jason would take it hard if she cried. She swallowed harder. The officer would track down the rings before Jason came out and he wouldn't have to be any wiser.
He sat up the minute he saw her. "Emma, what's wrong?" His voice came over the intercom anxious and worried.
In his concern, he turned to look at her straight on. The bloody, raw gore of wounds that refused to heal added to the fear of never getting the rings back. Of not getting him back.
Sinking to her knees, she laid a hand on the glass and the sobs burst out. "Someone stole my rings."
He set a hand on the glass, as if to touch her, and looked at the tech. "Turn it off."
"No." She looked at the uncertain tech. Jason needed to be in there for another hour if he had any chance of getting better.
"Emma," he begged.
She turned to him and shook her head as more tears fell.
Distress carved in every line of his face, as if it ripped out his heart to not be able to hold her. "Don't cry. I'll have identical ones made, sweetheart. I'll find you another Scottish stone ring too. Prettier. One we can add birthstones to for each baby."
The right side of his face glistened from the destroyed flesh still refusing to quit weeping. The whiteness of the most bottom layers of tissue - unable to bleed because the skin bed had deteriorated so far - spread with each bandage change. Only a couple drops of blood stained the gown near his neck. The physician said only layers remained between the air and bone, increasing the risk of infection. If things didn't turn around fast, there wouldn't be babies. There wouldn't be time to find another ring. There wouldn't be replacement rings to have as a piece of him. As if on cue, not blessed blood but a drop of fluid from skin too far lost dripped onto the neck of his gown. Her face crumpled and the words came out as a devastated whisper. "I want the ones you gave me. I need pieces of you."
Tears shimmered in his eye and thickened his voice. "Emma, I'm going to get better. It'll be alright. Please, don't cry."
The doctor seemed to begin worrying about the unspeakable - it showed during the bandage change again this morning when he'd seen the wounds and then had glanced at the nurse in concern as he'd switched out antibiotics for a stronger one. They didn't even know what was wrong with Jason. Jason couldn't go. He hadn't had a chance to enjoy marriage yet, to have a little daughter he'd be a hero to because he'd kiss her scraped knee, to become a grandfather... Laying her other hand on the glass too, the tears coursed down as nothing mattered more right at this moment than to touch him. To feel his strength and believe he was invincible.
Tears welled in his eye. "Emma, don't cry. It'll be alright. We'll find your wedding rings. If not, I'll take you on a romantic date or do something special when I give you new ones. We can go to church in a week or so and renew our vows when I give you your wedding band, sweetheart. Don't cry."
But it would be at least three weeks before he might walk out of the hospital - this was just the beginning of his long battle that he might not win this time. She bowed her head and leaned her forehead against the backs of her hands. And her shoulders shook as she wept.
The fever grew more prominent in his cheek and he grew quieter throughout the day as the fever climbed. She sat beside the bed and held his hand as his energy drained and he fell asleep a few minutes at a time several times an hour.
In the late afternoon, he woke up from another cat nap. He pushed himself up and held the bedrail for a moment, blinking hard.
She set down her cell phone quick, trying to hide the concern at the online findings about his symptoms. "Jay, you should stay in bed." Standing up, she set her hands on his shoulders.
He grabbed a tissue from the table tray. A wet, harsh cough wracked his poor body.
The blood drained to her toes. He was getting pneumonia.
When he quieted, he laid down on his stomach, breathless and pale. Then he stuffed a pillow under his hips, keeping the bandaged side of his face up. "Beat on my back."
Stepping up to the bed with a racing heart, she looked at his gowned back. Uncertainty made her heart race.
"Cup your hands. Two pounds a second...to break up the fluid." His words came out breathless and weak.
She set her cupped hands on his back. Taking a deep breath, she started the rapid rhythm.
"Harder."
Biting her lip in hesitation, she hit him harder. He walked her through the steps of beating on his sides and chest too. It seemed to help, if him coughing up so much was a good thing.
She woke up during the night, cold from not being in contact with his hot body and having thrown the sheets off earlier. Rolling onto her back, she yawned and looked up. He sat hunched over the table tray with a pen, the glow of his phone as his light source. "Jay? What are you doing?"
"Sketching your ring design."
Sitting up, she looked at him.
Fierce concentration overrode the pain on his face. He also wore an oxygen cannula that wove under his nose and over his ear. The other side was taped to the mask where an ear should have been.
Her heart pounded. A glance at the machine showed that even with the oxygen, his saturation only reached ninety seven percent. His heartrate was up either from the strain of trying to breathe or pain. "Do you hurt - "
"Don't." The tone left no room for argument, and his eye remained on the drawing. "I can't see well enough to sketch with the drugs." He seemed so determined. So he was foregoing the extra bolus of pain med he needed in exchange for being more coherent.
The phone said it approached three o'clock in the morning. "Did the doctor put you on oxygen?"
A slight sheen covered his brow when he glanced at her. Then his eye returned to the paper and the pen continued flowing. His voice flowed quiet and a bit breathless. "The fever is climbing. If it keeps climbing, he wants to sedate...or some bullshit excuse that it'll give me time...to 'rest.' I'm getting these done tonight." So much conversation led to a violent coughing fit.
WHen it passed, she took his arm to ease him down to sleep. "Jason - "
But he just shook her off. Sheer determination pushed him. A sickening chill ran down her spine. It was like he didn't expect to be able to work on the rings after the sedation, as if... She swallowed hard. "Should I beat on your chest again, Jay?" Tears quivered her voice.
He paused and looked at her for a long moment. Then he gave a single nod, as if understanding her need to try anything possible to help. Setting down the pen and pushing aside the tray, his hot hand cupped her cheek. "I won't go anywhere, Emma."
She kissed his hand and then helped him turn onto his stomach.
The fever seemed to keep him from falling into a deep sleep still. At sunrise, he woke up and pushed himself to a sitting position. "Let's go for a walk."
Sitting up in bed next to him, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What?"
"It might help the pneumonia."
"Really? Is that what the doctor said?" She got up.
"No, but I'm willing to try anything."
She helped him on with his robe that had been in the suitcase and reconnected the IV as he directed. He needed quite a bit of support to stand. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
His arm around her shoulders held tight. "I just need a moment for my blood pressure to catch up." As his vitals on the machine evened out, he leaned on her a bit less.
A nurse walked in. "Where on earth are you going?"
"For a walk." He pulled the pulsox off his finger and hit the button for it to stop screeching as it showed him flatline on the screen.
"No, you still have a fever. The doctor will be here in an hour or so for sedating. You need to rest." The woman took his other arm and tried to make him sit on the bed again.
"He's not sedating." The man planted himself like an impenetrable fortress even in his condition.
"Just let us try and see if this helps." She gave the nurse a pleading look.
"He's weak and dizzy. The only walking he'll do is in a wheelchair or with a walker."
The poor thing had a living fit about having to use an 'old man' walker. He shuffled and was breathless like he needed it, though, as she pushed his IV pole. THe moment the nurse was distracted in the hall talking to another nurse, he shoved the walker against the wall, draped his arm around her shoulders, and took the IV pole himself - either for balance or so she wouldn't have to push it.
She cracked a smile and held him around the waist. If he felt well enough to spite the nurse, then he must not be at death's door. He seemed to be doing well enough without getting winded, so she didn't scold.
It only took a few seconds for the nurse to notice. "What are you doing?!" The woman caught up and stood in his way with the walker.
Sheer stubbornness in his eye couldn't be dulled by the pain or fever. He glared at the nurse.
"Take it." She pushed it closer and folded her arms over her chest.
Not a muscle moved except for his chest rising and falling a hint more than usual from the exertion.
Oh dear. The nurse didn't know what she faced. "Perhaps we go to the end of the hall and then you use it on the way back."
His glare didn't waiver, and he either didn't hear her or chose not to.
"You are too unsteady and weak. I can have security escort you back to bed, or you can take the walker." The nurse wasn't going to give in.
Oh no. That was the wrong thing to say.
"Try me," he growled.
"Alright, you two. We aren't going to have a showdown. We'll turn around and go back to the room without the walker, Jay." She gave a gentle tug on his waist and he followed, although he gave the nurse a final glare.
He got in bed as complacent as a child. The moment she stepped back and the nurse stepped forward to check the IV, he tensed and pulled his hand away. "My wife will do it."
The older woman clenched her teeth. "Your wife is not a nurse on staff."
The man's eye narrowed with anger. "Pull that syringe out of your pocket."
Heaving a sigh, the nurse pulled out a syringe that he'd somehow known was there. "The doctor ordered it - "
"And I refused!" Shouting sent him into a coughing fit.
She stepped around the nurse, grabbed the oxygen mask, and turned it on when he had trouble catching his breath. He didn't resist when she put it on him and guided his arms up to lay over her shoulders to open up his lungs more. "Easy, Jay. Deep breaths." She held his eye and laid her hands on his sides to feel how much he struggled. "Can you go without the inhaler?" He needed to sleep rather than get the jitters.
He nodded but a second later launched into another coughing fit. The man couldn't catch his breath, but he leaned forward and patted a hand on his chest as a signal. Then he grabbed the bedrail. His body was trying to get the infection out.
DRawing a deep breath to not panic, she beat hard and fast on his back like he'd shown.
His poor body wracked with a cough so hard that it might've made a non-SEAL faint. He snatched a nearly empty cup of water on the bed tray and got rid of the infection that had come up. Both of his hands leaned on the bed as he heaved in air.
"Do you need more?" She rubbed his back that was probably black and blue now. When he shook his head, she helped him sit back and happened to glance up.
The physician stood near the door with his hands in his pockets and the nurse nowhere in sight. "Couldn't have done it better myself, Mrs. Port." He walked around the bed and looked at the vitals on the screen. "Are you a nurse?"
She raised the bed and helped Jason lie back. The poor thing was so breathless, but he cracked a smile when she spoke. "No, I can't stand the sight of blood."
The doctor became quite serious. "Jason, I understand your reluctance for sedation and to go on a ventilator - "
"No."
Jason hadn't mentioned a ventilator, but he apparently knew about it. Her eyes flew to the doctor. "Why? He already has pneumonia that came on fast. A ventilator increases the risk for pneumonia. The heavy sedation would decrease his respirations and make the pneumonia worse. He's strong enough to walk, why in God's name would you put him on it?"
"Mrs. Port, calm down. It would allow his body to rest for a couple days - "
"And what about the toll the sedation would take on him?" Her heart pounded with irritation. "Even when he wakes up, he'll still be out of it for many days. What about the confusion and agitation afterwards? Are you going to drug those symptoms away?"
Jason set a hand on her arm. "Em, settle."
"May I see you in the hall?" She swept past without waiting for an answer.
In the hall, she turned to the doctor, her eyes narrowing and voice quiet so Jason wouldn't overhear. "He knows exactly what's involved with all of this because he's done it before; don't make him do it again. You figure out what antibiotics are going to work. Get a respiratory therapist in there to have him do breathing exercises and figure out how often I need to do chest pounding. And figure out some pain meds that won't make him groggy because he's refusing them right now and wearing himself out."
His eyebrow rose. "Are you finished?"
"No. He needs better nutrition than IV feelings and shakes." She set her hands on her hips and looked at him expectantly.
He cracked a smile. "I see you will be a handful. I will see what else I can figure out for pain management, and we can try your methods for a day as long as he doesn't drastically worsen. I'll send his secretions to the lab and make sure he's on appropriate antibiotics. Do whatever you can to get him to sleep. The nurse tells me that he naps for less than an hour at a time. He must be on liquids in case we do have to sedate him."
She gave a nod and turned to go.
"Mrs. Port?"
Turning in the doorway, she looked at him.
"My apologies about your rings, but he's going home. He's not going to give you up without a fight, and believe me, he fought like hell the last time around." Then he walked to the nurses' station.
"I can't." He panted to catch his breath after rolling onto his side for the bandage change.
She sat in a chair at eye level beside the bed and held his hands. "Yes, you can. You're done with the most painful dressing changes. These are a walk in the park now."
"Beat on my...chest so my face...won't seem so painful."
"Jay." She cracked a smile and kissed his hand. "I don't want you to hurt, but I'm glad you feel well enough to be sarcastic." Leaning in closer, she whispered, "I promise to give you a sponge bath after this."
He just closed his eye and grunted. "I want more...than that."
The poor thing was in such a sweat during the bandage change. "Let me...see." He tried to sit up when they took off the last of the bandages.
"Jason, lie down." The doctor set a hand on his shoulder.
"Jay." She shot up and tried to hold his arm.
"I need to see...what Emma sees." A violent wet cough wracked his body.
She glanced at the doctor, the same reluctance in his eyes. "When you aren't so sick, Jay. Now lie down." Gripping both of his upper arms, she used all of her strength to keep him from sitting up more.
He didn't have the strength to resist and sank back down. "Show me." His eye drifted shut from being so exhausted. It only took a few seconds of stroking his arm for him to fall asleep from being so drained.
"Well, now I hate to finish," the doctor whispered, holding the fresh bandages at the ready. "But, he has to have it wrapped."
"Let me wash and shave him before you put the final wrappings on. It'll do him a world of good in feeling better, I think."
Thankfully, he slept three hours. When his eye fluttered open, his cheek wasn't as pink. He offered a weak smile when his eye landed on her.
She smiled and took his hand from her seat beside the bed. "Hi, sleepyhead. The culture came back and the antibiotics should be working. Your oxygen levels stopped falling. How are you feeling?"
His eye closed for a moment. "Like a thousand...years old." The poor thing still sounded breathless. "Is the male nurse...on yet?"
"No, sweetheart. Do you need the bathroom?" When he gave a half nod, she got up and fetched the urinal.
"I'm sorry."
She turned around and frowned before reaching the counter. "Whatever for?"
He turned his face toward her just a bit so as not to disturb the bandages on the back of his head. "For taking that stupid mission and making you...lose your rings and...have to take care of me like an invalid."
Grabbing the container and walking back to him, she held his eye. "You are not an invalid and you should not be sorry for saving dozens of lives. I'm not going anywhere, Jay." Then she pulled down the sheet.
The man caught her wrist. "I can do it." When she opened her mouth to protest, he looked at her. "I need some of my dignity back."
"Alright." She kissed his bare cheek. "I would help if you want, though. Do not get out of that bed. I'll get things ready for giving you a sponge bath."
Once he was settled and propped up in bed, she lathered his face with an old cup and lathering brush. His eye closed as he relaxed. "I have never used a real strope razor, and I'm not about to practice and slit your throat now. I have an extra razor, so you'll just have to be content with having a pink one."
He cracked a smile. "There are worse ways to parish than...at the hands of a pretty barber."
A flush crept up her neck. "I wish you'd let me watch you shave. There's something homey and serene about watching a husband shirtless and lathered."
His eye opened and remained solemn. "There's nothing homey about looking at gross deformity." He didn't seem as breathless, although he spoke a bit slower than usual, as if to not lose his breath.
She just shrugged and brushed the cream down his neck. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
Such a sigh of disagreement came from him, but he didn't comment.
"Hold still." Biting her lip, she ran the razor down his neck.
With a gentle touch, he cupped her hand and guided with stronger pressure. Then he let go. His eye burned as she focused on not slitting his throat. "Why do I not frighten you? It must be grotesque if no one will let me look. You touch me without hesitation, as if you do not see the beast."
Her hand stilled and she scowled. "I'm not going to dignify that with a reply, and this is precisely why I don't want you to look until you're more healed. Now, how do I get about your mouth?"
He opened his mouth a bit to pull his skin taught.
"Thank you. After this, I'll give you a bath."
"Pity bath? Well, if my pretty wife wants to give it, who am I to deny?"
She got a warm basin of water and returned to start the bath when someone knocked on his door. Setting down the water on the bed tray, she answered it.
A young girl stood there with a fleece blanket of an American Eagle and flag. "Hi. I'm part of a volunteer group who gives blankets to injured vets. The doctor said that there's a vet in this room."
"Oh. Yes. Give me a moment to make sure he's decent." She left the door cracked and went back to him. "Jay? We're going to postpone your bath for a moment. There's a young girl at the door with a group who gives injured vets blankets." She pulled his gown up to his shoulders.
"Jason Port is not a vet, Emma."
Her hands stilled and she looked at him. His face offered no expression. "The doctor told her that you are. You're ill and hurt, and if nothing else, you deserve a measly blanket from your country."
He shook his head and pressed his lips together to hold his composure. "I'm not a vet." And how those words seemed to rip out his heart.
Anger bubbled up. She clenched her teeth to keep her voice down as tears welled. "You sacrificed not only in the war but every day. A few days ago they were in a pinch and you suddenly were good enough for them again." She thrust a finger at the bed. "You don't even get a bullet dug out on their dime, and now you're in here fighting for your life and they've done nothing. Goddamnit, someone wants to give you a token of appreciation for everything you've done to keep terrorists out of our country, and the government has you convinced that you can't even accept that." She spun on her heel.
"I do this to protect our family from lunatics finding out that I'm not dead," he hissed.
She looked over her shoulder. "And I do this for you." Stepping into the hall, she looked at the girl. "This is for my grandfather, Peter Hoplin?"
The girl blinked. "We don't get a list of names, ma'm, just room numbers. It just needs to get to a vet."
"Thank you. He doesn't want anyone in the room - he's still adjusting to his injury. I'll see that he gets this. It'll mean a lot to him."
"Thank you, ma'm." The girl handed over the blanket and left.
She walked in with the blanket and his eye narrowed. "Hush, Jay. I told her it was for my grandfather, who also happens to have the same name as my father - just in case anyone asks her. She said they don't get names, just room numbers. My grandfather was a vet, so I do not feel one ounce of guilt in taking this for you."
He shook his head and looked away. "Take it back." His palpable ache sliced right through her heart. He wanted to accept the simple gift that meant so much but he didn't think he deserved it.
Holding the folded blanket in her arms, she searched his profile. "She said I just need to make sure this gets to a vet." She swallowed hard to choke back the tears. "Not as your wife but as a citizen, I choose to give this to a veteran who is a hero to those whose lives he's saved and this country he protected." Spreading the fleece over his sheet, she smoothed it out over his legs and pretended not to see the tear that fell in his lap. Her voice grew thick and she whispered, "The words are so inadequate, but thank you for your service and your sacrifice to our country." Then she brushed a kiss over his cheek.
His lip quivered and he turned his face away to the far window. He laid a hand over the blanket, and a tear rolled down his cheek.