Piper's p.o.v.

"Happy Christmas!" I squeezed the shaking hand of the injured soldier as I passed around letters and gifts from home. It was a bleak holiday, to be sure. The gloomy skies unleashed an onslaught of precipitation on the hospital—a mix of rain and snow. The staff tried not to let the weariness of the day affect our moods, but it was our second Christmas here. The war continued on, and there wasn't to be any "Trêve de Noël" this time around. The Christmas Truce of last year was long forgotten.

I managed another smile as I handed a heavier letter to a man with a bandage covering his forehead. There were polite greetings here and there, unlike the usual standoffishness that accompanied normal, everyday life around the clearing station. Though there were still a few incoming injured, there were certainly less than normal. Fighting to kill was forgotten—at least for a couple hours. All of us on staff appreciated this. It felt like we just had to keep going and going. There is no rest for the weary, after all.

Annabeth passed me in the corridor as I came downstairs to the kitchen for lunch. Her hair was escaping her normally tidy plait, but she seemed in good spirits. I could tell just by looking at her that she had just come from a successful case. Annabeth—despite her no-nonsense exterior—had a clear countenance that proclaimed whether or not she was displeased.

"Will and I just pulled a piece of shrapnel out of this poor man's back." She proclaimed. "It just barely missed his spine."

"That's lucky." I jerked my head toward the dining area. Annabeth had already discarded her gloves and was tucking her hair back. Like usual, there was talk of news as people sat down for a meal. Most recently was the installation of a new commander of the British Expeditionary Force.

"They call him the 'Master of the Field'." One of the nurses announced. I rolled my eyes. They may be rejoicing now, but in a few months, Field Marshal Earl Douglas Haig would become like all the rest—resented for the loss of life and poor leadership—no matter how well the war was going by that point. That was what always happened. I wondered, briefly, how regarded my father was. I hadn't heard from him in over a year, when I had first left for Boisleux au Mont. I had sent plenty of letters, yet there was no reply.

Truthfully, I wasn't surprised. I had deliberately gone against what he wanted: my marriage to a total stranger. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused once more on the conversation at hand.

Mr. Laurent had come in and was passing out another bout of letters. These were mostly addressed to the staff. My heart picked up at hope of receiving something from Jason. Our correspondence had gone on for more than a year now, and we had already discussed marrying when the war was over. My father's opinion nagged at the back of my mind. It was my life, I reminded myself.

A letter landed in front of me, the script in the clear, blocked capitals of my love. I wiped my hands on my skirt before peeling back the seal. His messages were always short, him never having been much of a writer. I cherished every word.

Darling mine,

Thank you for the million kisses.

I smiled at his mention of my last letter.

I've only had one real one so far, but remember, a promise is a promise. I aim to collect. My regiment has passed through a town a few days back, which is where I picked this trinket up. I pray to God it fits.

I turned the envelope upside down and a ring fell into my palm. A ring. Without thinking, I slipped it onto my left finger. It fit perfectly and I felt tears prick my eyes.

I carry the photograph you sent me next to my heart and I look at it every chance I get. You are so beautiful.

I am ever yours,

Jason

I pursed my lips and looked at my hand in the dim light from the window. It was practically official now. I was truly engaged to be married.

"Is that—?" Annabeth caught me staring. I hardly nodded before she had pulled me into a tight embrace. She whispered, "Congratulations, Piper!"

Annabeth's hand had come up to clutch her locket. I don't even believe she knew how often she did it. Now we both had objects from which we could draw strength.

"I am so happy for you!" She grinned genuinely. "Merry Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas!" I replied naturally. We both shared another smile at our culturally different phrases. The clock on the wall chimed as the lunch hour ended. We all shuffled to our feet, clearing our dishes and discussing the rounds. I had to admit, I was distracted.

The afternoon was full of restocking, checking set bones, and removing sutures. Annabeth and I moved in sync from each cot, carrying on light conversation with each of our patients and each other.

One Frenchman spent the entirety of his injury evaluation telling us about his beloved in Paris. He was pleased to have people to talk to in his native language, which surprisingly didn't happen often. The hospital was run by so many different nationalities, many of them British. The soldier and I chatted lightly, however, I listened more than I shared. That was something most of the soldiers needed. Out in the trenches, there was no one to talk besides their fellow comrades. Many of the patients we treated just wanted to talk to relieve the constant stress of their lives.

Sometimes it was difficult to listen. Stories of the chemical attacks nearly brought tears to my eyes. I squeezed their hands as Annabeth used a pair of scissors to cut the careful stitching, forceps to pull out the sutures, and finally a damp piece of gauze to clean up any bleeding.

Our last patient of the day was soon to be sent back to the homeland. He didn't talk all that much as Annabeth and I cared for him. Annabeth prepared her equipment as I sat on the bed next to the man—his name was Clovis—as I unwrapped the bandages around his head. His wounds were enough to warrant an honorable discharge from his position in the military. While his body was healthy, his eyes were another story.

The bandages were removed, but Clovis didn't open his eyes, almost making him seem like he was asleep.

"Can you open your eyes?" I asked gently, brushing his hair off of his forehead. I felt a slight tremor run through his body. He knew he wasn't going to see anything when he opened them—a terrifying idea for someone so young. "It will be alright."

Annabeth inspected the wound around the upper section of his face. Though all of the shrapnel had been removed upon his arrival, Clovis's eyes, now wide open, had formed serious cataracts that clouded the front of his pupils. Annabeth shared a silent look at me as she packed up her tools. Medically, he would be fine. Psychologically, recovery might be difficult. She moved away as I began to explain what was going to happen to him.

"Your other senses are going to get much stronger." I said, and he tightened his grip on my hand. "Your vision may get better in the future, but it may not."

He nodded without a word, staring right through me at the window across the room. The sun was setting, casting a golden light through the glass windowpanes. He closed his eyes and settled back against his pillow. Again, he seemed as if he was asleep. I squeezed his hand again before I left him with his thoughts. Cases like his were sad to see because there was no telling how he would cope with recovery.

I twirled my engagement ring around my finger, contemplating my life once again. These days, I would often forget how easily I could shift gears, moving from patient care to the bigger picture of my life. Rationality told me that I should write a letter to my father and notify him of my engagement. However, with no reply to any of my previous letters, I had some doubt as to whether not he had even read them. Surely there would be some retribution if he were to know I was engaged, especially if he had already promised my hand to someone else.

It was no matter. I would send him a letter. If he had so much of a problem with it, then he could enter the active warzone of France and come find me himself. The thought brought a slight smile to my face. Tristan McLean, the face of the English war effort, had only seen a fake battleground in a studio. I wondered how he would take to the real thing. It was almost shameful to say that I would cherish the look on his face if he were to walk a day in my shoes; up to my elbows in blood, aiding in surgeries, and praying for an end to the war. Most everyone wished for the war to end, though.

The end of the war would mean the end of his career. Would he share the same hopes as the rest of the world then? I shook my head to clear it. Of course he was. Being away from him made it easy to villainize him in my own mind, and there were surely enough villains in the world; many of them located a few miles from the hospital on the other side of No Man's Land.

Christmas came to a close as Annabeth and I prepared for bed.

"Did you receive anything for Christmas?" I asked her as she combed out her blonde hair. The curly locks became more of a mess as she did so, but she didn't seem fazed by it.

"I got a letter from Percy a few days ago. I waited until this morning to open it." She replied, a smile coming over her features. I smiled in reciprocation. In a war-torn world, it was nice to know that someone out there was thinking about you, praying that you were alright. Annabeth and I understood this without having to say it aloud. The serene look on her face waivered and she said, "I haven't heard anything from Clarisse."

I pursed my lips before attempting to console her, "She probably doesn't want to risk drawing any more attention to her than she has to."

"I tell myself that too, but I still can't help but worry." Annabeth replied. She shrugged her shoulders and began tying her hair back into a loose braid. "Then again, she's lasted this long without being discovered, so maybe she knows what she's doing."

"You just have to trust her." I encouraged her positive thinking. Annabeth nodded and our conversation ceased. She crawled under the sheets of her bed as I retrieved a piece of paper to write a letter.

Father,

I implore you to reply to this letter, at least to give me a sign that you have read any of my missives in the past. I have important news that you must know. I am engaged. He is a soldier in the British military, and if he is still alive by the end of this war, we will be married. I still do not intend to return to England until then. You must understand that I am needed here. I am doing my part to aid the war effort, just as you are.

Hoping you are well,

Piper

I signed and dated my short message. I hoped to God that he would actually respond to me this time, and that he wouldn't do anything drastic like coming to find me. I rolled my eyes subconsciously. That would be dramatic, even for him. Without another thought, I blew out my candle and went to bed.