Author's Note: I did a lot of research on the medical and patient side of this chapter. It seemed that half and half of patients actually name it (you'll see what I'm talking about).


"He does not need an amputation, he needs fluid drained!" She shot up from the bed when the professor dug in his medical bag.

The man froze and blinked at her. "You delay the inevitable and make him suffer," he said gently. "With an amputation, he won't be in this much pain. Medicine progresses every day. We'll figure out some kind of prosthesis that will work - "

"Just like they promised a brace that would work?" Her eyes flashed and fists clenched at her sides. She turned to Mark. "Tell him," she begged.

Each day brought more blinding pain than the last. This week had only been two days at the clinic that had caused him to crawl into bed for days. The swelling hadn't gone down for two weeks. Mr. Price threatened to cease salary until full hours could be done at the clinic. Tanya was a nursemaid more now than she would be to an amputee. At least it would bring an end to the pain. He caught her hand and pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed.

Her face crumpled with tears, as if knowing the answer. Seeing her this scared was harder to bear than his own fear.

"I can't even function anymore." His voice shook with fear of the pain, of the risk of sepsis, of the risk of hemorrhaging...but mostly of the risk that she might never look at him as a man again. "We knew this would eventually come. I can't stand the pain anymore." The tears burned and finally broke free, no longer caring who saw him weep like a babe. "You have to promise," he hicupped, "that you won't stay out of pity."

"No." She cupped his face and pressed a firm kiss to his brow before holding his eyes as her tears poured out. "I'll always stay because I love you." Brushing at her eyes, she looked at the professor. "I need a minute with him." When the man stepped out, she sniffled and stroked his cheek. "We have to talk. A lot. If you're frustrated with something I'm doing, you have to say. If I'm overwhelmed and need a break for a couple hours, I need you to trust me that I'm not having second thoughts. And when you're well enough..." her voice broke and the pain in her brought newfound tears to his eyes, "I don't want you scared of coming back to our marriage bed. You will please me just as much as before, and I won't think you any less handsome."

He pressed his fingers to his eyes to hide the tears. The marriage bed was the part that was most terrifying, the aspect where she'd truly find out he was less of a man. The inevitable point where, try as she might to stop it, she'd shatter his heart because no woman could look at such a broken man again the same way.

Those slim arms wrapped around in an embrace far stronger than they should've been capable of. "I love you. And I'm only going to love you more for your strength and bravery. I'm so sorry." Her body shook with the depths of her sobs. "This is because you came after me when I was kidnapped."

With a deep breath to steady the tears, he held her tight. "This is instead of your life. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

She pulled back, her eyes red with tears, and cupped his face. "Then you have to believe me that I love you so much that I couldn't possibly see you as anything but more of a perfect man. You sacrificed to save Charles and I. Your scars can only be beautiful to me."

Catching her hand on his cheek, he hicupped as the tears came even harder. It was so terrifying that his stomach threatened even though he hadn't been able to keep anything down the past two days because of the pain. The thought of waking up to a nightmare of being less in her eyes...it made the trembling worse. "S,stay til I'm o,out," he gasped in a choked sob. Never in a thousand years had he thought he'd ever be coward enough, but he whimpered, "I'm scared."

A fierce hug offered protection from some of terror. "It's alright to be scared. I am too," she sobbed. "I'll stay the whole time. I'll hold you when you fall asleep, and I'll hold you when you're waking up. We'll get through this together."

This was a woman worth walking through Hell for. This was a woman who promised to hold his hand and go through the fire with him. This was a woman for whom this all was worth to sacrifice even if in the end she walked away. But his Tanya would stay and fight. Because she had taught that's what true love did.

Being held in her arms gave sanctuary from the fear. As it became hard to stay awake from the chloroform, the last glimpse of her was those beautiful eyes holding his as she brought his hand to her lips and whispered words of love.


The heaving wouldn't stop at the sound of the professor sawing off Mark's leg.

"My lady, come into the sitting room until he's done," Brigands begged.

"I promised to stay." She clutched Mark's limp hand as she retched again at the horrible sound and the stench of so much blood that made the room spin.

"He wouldn't want you to stay through this," the professor said and stopped sawing for a moment.

But if she let go of his hand, the hysteria would set in at the thought of letting Mark be mutilated.

Two hours later, she laid beside Mark's sleeping form, so weak from retching that she could barely move. The stump of a leg far too short under the sheets wouldn't let her look away. Oh god, what if he hadn't needed it done? What had she let the surgeon do to him? Covering her hands over her mouth, hysterical sobs exploded out.

Brigands came in and pulled her into his arms.

"What did we do? Oh god, what did we do?! What did we do to him?!" Hysterical screams wouldn't stop. "I let him be chopped up!"

"Shhh," he cooed and rocked her. "He needed it. This is a normal reaction. You let this panic out before he's awake to see it. He'll have a better quality of life now." Brigands didn't leave her side while Mark was kept sedated for pain control the next twenty-four hours...and while she lost her mind from guilt.


His eyes fluttered open, a bit groggy and unfocused. It took several minutes for him to comprehend the questions the professor asked. As promised, she reclined in bed with an arm over his chest and her other hand held his. All the panic had subsided last night, leaving behind the courage to be strong for him now.

"Leg hurts," he slurred, his eyes squinted in pain. He shifted, but only one leg moved.

"Do you remember that you had surgery?" the doctor asked.

She swallowed hard when Mark tried to shift again. "Honey, do you remember how bad your knee hurt? We couldn't do anything for it anymore." The doctor said to be ready for hysteria or anger or sobbing from Mark. Her heart thundered in dread, waiting for his suffering to hit.

No movement, not even a breath. His throat convulsed in a hard swallow, and then his eyes shifted down. And stared where the sheet didn't have a lump underneath anymore. Then his chest rose and fell in deep breaths like he struggled to not weep. "Did...you see?" His eyes shifted to her.

Pressing a kiss to his hair, she clutched his hand. "No. I'll look only when you say I can."

He pulled his hand free. "Go." The words came out in a whisper and he turned his head away.

It stung, but it wasn't unexpected. Swallowing hard, she slowly got up. "I'm going to sit outside the door only because you want time to grieve alone. But I love you, and I'm coming back in a bit." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and her voice cracked. "All I care is that you're alive to spend Forever with. I love you and couldn't care a goddamn rat's ass if you have one leg or two."

His face crumpled, and he reached up and wrapped his arms around to pull her down onto his chest. "You shouldn't cuss," he sniffled. And he didn't let go as he sobbed.


A few hours later, he sat up on the edge of the bed. She sat on his good side and kept a hand on his back in comfort. "Are you dizzy, or does it hurt?"

"It hurts less than before. I still feel it," he added quietly and stared down at heavily bandaged bump under the nightshirt.

"The phantom pain will go away in time." But he knew that.

Without another word, he reached for the two canes that Brigands had brought in. Then he hesitated, as if afraid. In bed one leg made little difference, but this would be when it really hit him what had happened to his body, that things would never be the same.

"Do you want me to go?" She stroked his back and glanced at the surgeon and Brigands. He was a prideful man, and learning how to walk again would be hard for him to have witnesses.

"No," he replied quietly. "Don't help - I have to learn to do it."

One of the hardest things ever done was pulling her hands away and letting him struggle to stand. But he did it all on his own, with Brigands and the surgeon ready to catch him. She stood.

"Go over there," Mark ordered and nodded toward the doorway.

"Let's get you back in bed. That was quite good," the surgeon praised.

But Mark set the canes forward, as if to try a step.

"That's enough for your first time up," the doctor protested.

The words fell on deaf ears because he took an awkward step, his body trembling from surgery or pain or fear...or maybe all three. Then he glanced at her and down at the canes that he set forward again.

"My lord," Brigands pleaded.

"I'm not getting in that goddamn bed until I figure out how to damn walk!" he snapped, quite breathless.

"Alright, alright," Brigands said in a placating tone. "Don't get your blood pressure up right after surgery."

The surgeon walked over to her. "Go talk some sense into him. He could make his leg swell being upright too long yet."

She took a step forward.

"No! Stay there," Mark snapped. His brow furrowed, and he struggled to balance taking another step.

"I'll come walk with you, and the doctor will stay - "

"No, you," he ordered.

And then it dawned. He wanted her as his goal. He wanted to walk to her. It pulled heartstrings so hard that tears welled and her voice grew thick. "I'll wait for you."

He looked up, and tears shimmered in his eyes at that promise. Fierce determination etched in every line of his face. Perspiration glistened on his brow by the time he finally made the last step. Then he looked down at her, vulnerability and fear in his eyes...almost as if his whole world hung on her reaction.

A smile broke free and she cupped his face. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered and let the tears fall. "I love you."

His lower lip quivered and a smile touched his lips. "I love you."

"Shall we get them out of here, and I'll give you a sponge bath?" she whispered.

So much relief flooded his eyes, as if realizing she would still love him the same with one leg. The dear man gave a strained smile. "High on pain meds first."

"Oh, of course." She set a hand on his back as he turned, his poor body trembling. "He needs something strong for the pain," she told the surgeon. "You're doing so much better than I expected, Mark. I was scared that you might be screaming in pain afterwards." For just being upright after major surgery, he did well. For having a leg cut off above the knee, he did amazing. She set a hand on his arm too and walked with him. He showed so much courage that her heart threatened to burst. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and he cracked a smile like he soaked it up.

"Set out a chair," he panted.

Hurrying forward, she moved the chair from beside the bed out a little. He must want the sponge bath here. She held the chair firmly as he let one cane drop and leaned a hand down on the seat to lower himself.

"Easy," the surgeon coaxed and took his arm.

"I know how to do it!" he snapped. "Goddamn taught amputees how after surgery," Mark muttered.

She gave the doctor an apologetic look as he administered more medicine. "Thank you, gentlemen. I'm going to help him clean up and then have him rest." When they left, she knelt beside him. "You know what to do to compensate, but I don't. So I'll need you to tell me and not bite my head off for doing or not doing something - "

"Where's the babe?" he growled.

It took a second to follow the change in topic. "Downstairs with Teresa. I have to go nurse him soon."

"Bring him up here," he ordered.

"Honey, you look exhausted. I don't know that him fussing in here - "

Those blue eyes flashed to her.

With a sigh, she left.

When she carried in Charles, who cooed and turned his head to smile at Mark, it was a surprise when Mark held out his arms. She gave over the babe.

Mark cradled him close on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the soft brown curls. Charles shoved a fist in his mouth and cuddled against his father. "Ah, my boy, what do you think of your broken papa?" he whispered.

Charles pushed himself back and fussed for her.

Tears shimmered in Mark's eyes as he handed the babe over.

"He's just hungry, Mark. He's too little to possibly think anything of your leg." She unbuttoned her dress as Charles tugged the dress and kicked his legs in excitement. The babe took to suckling with fervor, his little eyes rolling back in contentment as his belly filled.

He simply stared at Charles with a broken-hearted expression. "Will you take me as readily now too?" Those blue eyes shifted up to her.

Moving to kneel beside him while Charles still ate, she set his hand on her bared breast and held his eyes. "I won't not desire you to touch me. You're the same man that you were yesterday. If I have to come to you naked every night for a year before you'll have the courage to touch me, I will. You forget, my love, that I'm blind to what others see because I love you so much."

Those once strong fingers now trembled as he touched her cheek. Instinct said it wasn't pain that made him unsteady right now. "Then I'm thankful for your blindness," his face crumpled, "because what's left would shame you."

"No," she sniffled and rose to knees to hug him around Charles. "You're just frightened and sad and painful." Then she pulled back and brushed his tear away. "We're going to figure this out together. Just like walking, when you're told you can't do something, you damn well do it. When you want to quit, you look at me and I'll give you another push. Once you're healed in a month or so, we'll figure out how to make a prosthetic that will free both of your hands. I'll talk with the blacksmith and the lumberyard workers who build the machines to figure out how to make you a fake leg with a knee. You won't hurt anymore like before. Things will be so much better. People will never have to know you have a fake leg, Mark. You bear this because of me, and I'm not going to let it put barriers on you. If you want to climb a mountain, I'm going to damn well figure out how you can climb a mountain! If - "

Warm lips crushed down on hers, and he cradled her face in his palms. Then his forehead rested against hers and whispered, "You're what's going to keep me grounded through this."

She cupped her hand over his. "I'll be right here through it." Charles finished nursing and squirmed in her arms as Mark's eyes started to droop from the pain medicine. "Let me just wipe you down quick before you sleep." She set Charles on the floor and then got a basin and rag. Charles fussed. "Hold on, babe. I'll burp you in a minute."

"Tanya, see to him." Mark gripped the edge of the chair, as if trying to keep upright.

"Let's get you on the bed at least." She handed him the canes and helped the poor man to the bed.

He hissed in a breath and sank back against the pillows. "I lied, it does hurt. God, Tanya, see to him quick," he panted when Charles started screaming.

Scooping up the babe, she patted his back and moved to help Mark get his damp nightshirt off. "Honey, let me - " She froze when Charles let out a burp and her shoulder grew warm and wet. Looking down, she let out a deep sigh to keep calm as spit up ran down her front. Charles cooed.

"He can sleep with me while you wash." Mark tossed his nightshirt in the general direction of the laundry basket and laid down. Then he held out his arm.

She laid Charles in the crook of his arm along Mark's side and then got cleaned up. When she turned around, they were fast asleep together.


The next two days left Mark intermittently sedated to control the pain, and he battled a mild fever from surgery.

"How's my boy?" Mark reclined in bed and rested Charles on his chest, only relinquishing the babe for feedings and diaper changes. The babe lifted his head and smiled as Mark stroked the tiny cheek. "How's Mama?" His gaze turned to her.

"Wishing your fever would break." She wiped his brow with a cold rag again. "At least it's only a small one, which the professor swears is fine."

He nodded. "Common in major surgeries - "

A knock sounded at the bedchamber door. The professor stepped in. "It'd be wise to start exercises today."

She frowned in confusion. "What exercises?"

Mark looked away and cradled Charles closer. "To prevent muscle atrophy and hip contractures," he said in hushed tones.

Amputation exercises. That hadn't been mentioned in the medical textbooks. "I haven't heard of these. May I stay and learn how to help you do them?" It might be too soon - he hadn't let her stay to help with bandage changes or even let her touch that leg yet. He hadn't even let her see his leg without a blanket or something over it.

When he shook his head, she took Charles. It hurt to be pushed away every time he was about to deal with something hard. In the doorway, she turned with Charles on her hip. He laid in bed with so much shame and humiliation in every line of his face that it hurt to look at him. "If this was me, you wouldn't let me push you away. But with you, if I force myself, I know you'll just shut me out completely. You closed the door three days ago. I'm standing right on the other side waiting for it to open. And I'll keep standing there knocking even if it takes twenty years for you to get the courage to open it. You're not alone in this, Mark." Then she closed the door behind herself and sat in her now customary spot on the floor next to the door and waited with Charles.

The door opened a minute later and the surgeon stepped out. "He wants to talk to you." Then he held his arms out for Charles.

She got up and handed over the babe before stepping inside. Mark sat on the edge of the bed facing away. "Is everything alright?" Walking around the bed, she knelt quick upon seeing tears in his eyes and set her hand over his. "Do you hurt?"

"I'm so ashamed and scared. Putting it off is making it worse."

"Putting what off? What's wrong, honey?"

He started to pull off the nightshirt.

She caught his hand. "Wait. You don't have to show me anything. But if you do, being entirely naked the first time I see your leg is too much if you're nervous. There's sexuality that we have to deal with too, so small steps might be better."

His lip quivered and he shook his head. Then he jerked the nightshirt over his head and dropped it, his breaths coming slightly choppy with anxiety.

It came as a surprise to see the bandage around what was left of his leg and extend up to anchor around his waist several times. It looked terribly uncomfortable. When his hands darted down to remove the bandage, she stilled him. "Slow down. You're panicking and going too fast for yourself. It's alright." Those beautiful blue eyes dilated with fear. "Do you need pain medicine before the bandage change?"

"Just had some," he croaked, his voice straining from stress.

"Alright. I think you may need help removing the bandage. I don't know anything about this. Tell me where it hurts so I know where not to touch. I need you to teach me."

The distraction of teaching seemed to help his hands not tremble so hard. "The lower part being touched not even near the incision makes the nerves fire. The muscle..." he hesitated, "it isn't connected to a knee anymore to be taught. The muscles were severed half way, so they feel soft and will get softer as atrophy sets in."

"But the exercises will help prevent it some?"

"Some." He set her hand on the upper part of his thigh over the bandage and locked eyes with her. "Touching below here makes it hurt."

She nodded. "Do you hurt right now?"

"It always throbs, but it doesn't hurt right now."

Actually seeing him like this made it hit home what had happened and tears welled. "Mark? I'm scared. I'm scared if you're going to hurt for a long time or if there will be complications or if things are going to be hard for you that I don't even know about or if I'm supposed to be doing certain things. I know I'm not supposed to cry in front of you or tell you I'm scared because I'm supposed to be strong for you - "

He tugged her into a fierce hug and buried his face against her neck, simply holding tight for a moment. "You're my wife and are supposed to come to me. You're scared because you don't know. I don't know much more about this than you, but we'll figure it out." Then he pulled back and brushed away her tears. "You're a do-er who feels more in control if you can help. We watch for fever and swelling and redness and drainage just like any other surgery. Bandages have to be on at all times for a few weeks so everything heals as it should and swelling is controlled." As he melted into teaching as he removed the bandage, his courage seemed to grow. "Here, take the bandage roll while I lift my hip," he interrupted his teaching to lean a hand on the chair to lift the amputated side. "The wrapping goes up and down here to the wrap around..." His words faded into the background as his leg was finally uncovered.

It was like a bad dream seeing a huge part of him missing and a huge incision in its place, like at any second she'd blink and it'd be back.

"Tanya?" His nervous tone broke into the thoughts.

"I didn't expect to get emotional seeing it," she sniffled and gave his hand a squeeze.

"It's normal," he said softly.

"I wish I could make it all go away for you." Sobs threatened and wouldn't do him any good. "I have to go check on Charles. I'll be right back." She got to the doorway.

"Please," he begged, "I can't chase after you." Unshed tears thickened his voice.

His words stopped her.

"I know you feel guilty, and it's sometimes harder watching someone go through something than doing it yourself. If I'd lost you and Charles, or you had been harmed because I didn't have a chance to absorb this evil from you, I'd be going mad. I wasn't there to protect you from the rape, and I get so much rage because of it. I know the guilt you feel, but I don't want you to feel it. There has not been a moment where I've regretted this or blamed you. I'm going to be alright because I have you. You need to forgive yourself, Tanya. I don't know how because I haven't been able to for what happened to you, but I want you to."

But the guilt was unbearable. Seeing him chopped apart was horrific. She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands to try to quiet the sobs. "I shouldn't have let him mutilate you either. There had to be something we didn't try. There had to be a surgeon somewhere who would've been able to fix your knee. I shouldn't have let him cut off your leg. I should've protected you." Words faded when the sobs took over.

"Tanya, come," he sniffled. "Please."

She'd done this to him, and the guilt was a thousand times more awful now than ever before. "You have every right to keep me shut out. You - "

A hand leaned hard on her shoulder, and she looked up in surprise.

Mark struggled to sit beside her, landing a bit hard on his bottom for the last couple inches. He hissed in a breath of pain. But then he pulled her into his lap and held tight. "Stop it. This is not your fault." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

"You're not supposed to be the one hugging."

"Hush, woman. I'm not a good patient and feel better looking after my wife anyways. Don't move your feet, or you'll kick my stump."

"It's not a stump," she protested.

"Then what is it?"

"It's perfect, just like your other leg. It's your badge of honor. We'll call it Hero." She brushed at her eyes, feeling so much better in his arms.

A soft chuckle answered. "Alright, my lady love. We'll call it Hero if it makes you happy. No more tears. I'm content with my lot if you'll still have me."

"Of course I will! What kind of thing is that to say?" The tears started again.

"Woman, I know you will. Enough waterworks," he said crisply, seeming to know a gruff manner is what was needed to calm the emotional rollercoaster. "We are tasked with figuring out how to get up being you insisted on being a damsel in distress. I daresay I've earned my new name - few men would love a woman so much he'd hop across a room naked and fresh from surgery to rescue his lady love from drowning in her own tears. Go fetch my nightshirt. Glad to know you not only enjoy making me speechless and having heart attacks but making an arse of myself naked too."

She cupped his beard and pressed a kiss to his lips with a smile. "A very precious rescue it was that you were so worried you came over naked." A breathless sigh escaped. He was so beautiful in many ways.

He cleared his throat. "Go before you make me weep like an old woman," he huffed. When she got up, a playful swat hit her bottom.

With a giggle, she looked over her shoulder and snatched his nightshirt from the bed. "You don't seem at all drugged."

"God bless your grandfather - tree bark works wonders without the terrible side effects of pain meds. Although, I might need some food because I have a stomachache from the four sticks."

"Four?! Grandfather said not more than two for patients."

"The professor is somewhat familiar with the drug and has used up to four on large men after major surgery. Thank you." He took the nightshirt and pulled it on.

Kneeling beside him, she looked at his poor leg. Somehow it didn't even resemble what had been. "Does it make your other hip hurt? I seems that not having equal weight would tilt your hips and put more strain on your other side."

"Not so far." He guided her hand down on the bare flesh of his upper thigh. "You can touch," he said in all seriousness.

Just a soft touch for fear of hurting him. "It's softer than I imagined." She frowned. "It...it doesn't feel the same anymore. Is some of it swelling?" Her gaze met his.

He nodded. "It's very swollen right now. It will eventually look significantly thinner than the other side from the atrophy and also because the other thigh will get stronger having to compensate."

She shrugged. "All that matters is it heals so you don't fall ill. I suppose your arms will get stronger needing to use canes." A shy smile tugged.

A hearty laugh burst out. "You have an insatiable weakness for strong arms."

The grin spread. "Then it works out well that I'll want you even more as a result of your leg."

"Yes, I suppose it does." His eyes twinkled underneath the veil of pain. "Alright, how do we do this?" He made it up onto his knee and accepted her help with the canes.

"Give resistance right here." He set her hands on his thigh and then laid on his side in bed.

"Are you sure you want me to help? You don't have to let me do everything all at once."

"The longer it's put off, the more I'm going to panic about letting you see."

She held firm as he tried to flex his thigh forward for the exercises. "Your hip is shifting like you're using that instead." Holding his hip to lock it steady, she used that leverage to give his thigh resistance. He almost sent her tumbling over him. "Alright," she laughed, "even your half muscles are stronger than me. Here." Getting up, she dug out his pants suspenders and tied it to the bedpost. "Here, scoot down and we'll put this over your thigh for resistance. I still think resistance is too much this soon after surgery." But when she glanced up, he looked so tired. "Maybe we should take a nap."

"I'm tired of being tired." He rolled onto his back with a sigh. "I get tired just trying to get across the room."

"Because you're using muscles in ways not used before and you're still fresh from surgery. It'll get easier. Let me get the surgeon to help bandage you quick."

"Fuck the bandages," he muttered to himself and yanked a pillow out from behind his head with sudden anger, hurling it across the room. It was like a switch flipped and the grief and rage suddenly unleashed. He snatched the glass of water off the nightstand and whipped it against the far wall. It shattered into dozens of pieces as he covered his face with his hands, lying flat on his back. His chest heaved in a temper that died as fast as it'd come.

She sank onto the edge of the bed and waited. He needed to have outbursts like this. "It will take time to accept the new normal. Until then, I have a stack of ugly teacups that you can smash."

He snorted and then brushed at his eyes. "I'll clean up the glass."

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll get the bandages from him, and we can wrap Hero ourselves."

That name won a watery laugh from him.

"Like this?" She carefully pulled the bandage taught and then did another slow wrap around the end of his thigh. He only interfered to pull a little tighter or help smooth the wrap.

When he nodded, he lifted his hips for her to go around his waist. "You're gentler than him or I," he said quietly while his eyes squinted a bit in pain. "It feels good when you ease the bandage on and then graze your fingers over to keep it smooth."

She glanced up and caught his eye. It was the closest he'd admit to needing her to do the changes not because it physically felt good, but because it felt good on his heart to have this intimacy, this safety of being vulnerable and still loved. "I'm glad that you're letting me do this. I felt a bit crazy not being able to help you with anything."

"Kind of how I want to help when you're getting mastitis from the scars."

It made more sense now why he was so eager to help her nurse or tend to the mangled breast - it was a way of helping shoulder the burden, of building a stronger marriage.


A couple days later, she returned with a lunch tray and nearly dropped it. "What are you doing?!" she screeched.

He startled with a syringe in one hand and an ink dropper in the other as he leaned over his leg. "Just a tattoo, woman."

"What?! You have a fresh wound, and why the hell are you getting a ta...too..." The words faded when she stormed over and saw what he tattooed just a few inches above the end of his leg, facing him.

Rescuing, he earned this cane. Protecting, he won her heart.

The words she had ingrained on his old cane. Her throat grew tight.

"I hate looking at this damn ugly thing. I won't hate it if it's a part of you," he said in a thick voice without looking up.

"I won't deny you if you want it, but maybe it'd be better until it's healed before you introduce a new infection risk," she said carefully.

"You don't try to make it bleed. I sterilized even the ink and am not going another goddamn day trapped in this damn house on those damn canes..." His voice broke and faded away. He kept his eyes firmly locked on dotting the needle into the flesh and then dropping ink over the punctures.

"May I do a letter?"

He looked up and nodded. "Would you do the rest? In your handwriting?" Those eyes were so big with hope.

Minutes later, she finished with a line underneath.

Your Tanya

She frowned when tears shimmered in his eyes. "Mark?"

His lower lip quivered, and his finger stroked just below her name.

"Don't you like it? The ink is still wet. I can take it off - "

"No." He caught her hand, his gaze still on her permanent mark on his body. "Don't change anything," he whispered in a thick voice. "It's perfect."