Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! In the middle of trying to sell the house, move over 1 hr away, and find a job, so writing during the night is the only time I can fit this in. I didn't think anyone was reading this anymore, so I paused for a really long time. Looks like people still are reading it, tho! I'll try to post more regularly. :)


It took every muscle to lay her in the infirmary bed without any jostling to the incision. She'd fallen unconscious three hours ago.

"You need to prepare yourself for the very likely fact that surgery was done too late. Just because most of her thyroid is gone now doesn't mean she'll magically improve overnight. It can take weeks or months for the body to return to normal, and she doesn't have that long," the surgeon said and checked the bandage around her neck.

The thought of going on without her was unbearable. "You don't know my Tanya," he whispered and pulled up a chair to keep watch over her.

"For your sake, I hope I don't. Surgery in her state is going to be hard on her body. The slightest worsening of her symptoms, and we can try to do what we can to mitigate them but..." He set a hand on the shoulder. "Let me take a look at that leg. You were limping enough when you arrived to tell it's a prosthetic and you pushed your limits."

"I'm fine." It was impossible to look away from the weak rise and fall of her chest. All that mattered was making sure she made it through the night and then next day and then the next night and day and the next.

"I insist."

There was only dim awareness of the surgeon removing the leg and the sting of pain like a fresh ulcer.

Touching her hand, the flicker of hope died that perhaps her fever had eased. She needed to be kept cool, so he picked up a rag in the fresh basin and began to wipe her brow and arms to keep cool.

A slight hiss of pain when the surgeon cleaned the goddamn stump—the fucking stump that had prevented him from running faster to get her here. But it wouldn't be possible to watch after Tanya if he was laid up with a raging infection, so he bit his tongue and let the surgeon tend to the leg.

"Where did you meet?"

The words shattered thought. "I beg your pardon?" He paused and looked down at the man kneeling to wrap the leg wound.

"Your wife. You did a nasty bit to your leg. She must be quite the woman to have endured that kind of damage to your leg to try to get her here." The surgeon gave a sad smile, as if already offering condolences for her passing.

"An arranged marriage," he growled. "She's my everything, so you'll kindly keep opinions of her demise to yourself," he huffed. "And be quick about my leg—I need to tend to her."

"Arranged marriage? Good heavens, you could've fooled me." The surgeon then lifted her eyelids and ran his finger up her bare feet, causing an automatic reaction of her toes to curl. "Ah, good girl. In a coma, but not braindead."

Even though suspecting she'd slipped into a coma, hearing it, for some reason, made gut-wrenching sobs burst out.

A hand patted his back. "There, there. I can tell already that she's a fighter. We need to keep her brain cool." He pressed a rag filled with ice into his hands. "You work on her until you get tired, and then I'll take over."

With a numb nod, it did help to keep busy with positioning ice rags around her head and over her body.

Long into the night, the lantern still burned as he held her hot hand.

"Tanya," he whispered and glanced across the quiet infirmary where the surgeon napped, "I need you to keep fighting. Come back to us, sweetheart." Tears threatened. "I'll stay right here and wait for you, my lady love. I'll wait no matter how long it takes." He pressed a kiss to her hand. It felt like her fingers twitched. His heart sped up with hope. Looking down, though, they remained still.

And she remained still the next day and following night.


"You must rest," the surgeon insisted as he applied a fresh bandage on the ulcered stump. "This is starting to not look so good, and she needs you well for when she wakes up."

He simply stared at her. "Her breathing is shallower today," he croaked, his voice thick with tears that seemed to never end.

The surgeon simply looked up with a sad expression.

"Go away if you're going to be useless," he growled and switched out which hand held hers to roll the knot out of his shoulder. Then he slowly injected more water and food into the feeding tube he'd placed yesterday. She was so hot that she burned through water faster than it could be gotten into her. Her jaundice hadn't worsened, at least. "She needs sunlight to clear up the jaundice. It's early enough that the day won't be too hot for her. Her incision should be more stable today."

Pulling on the prosthetic that hurt to wear with the ulcer, he stood and gently gathered her into his arms. And ignored the surgeon's look of grief as he took her outside.


Another two days. Brigands and Teresa stayed with the children, and Lily and Tiger helped keep watch over Tanya.

He sat with her outside in his lap again, pulling up her nightdress to expose as much of her arms and legs to the sun as possible. She had less of a yellow hue but more of the white hospital pallor. He tucked her head under his chin and leaned back in the chair to help balance her unconscious body.

"I love you," breathed past his lips.

"I'm going to unwrap your leg to see if the sun will help with the ulcer," Tiger said and knelt in the grass in a small yard behind the hospital.

"I don't care as long as you don't disturb her."

In that moment, she released a long sigh. And didn't take another.

He shot upright at the same time as Tiger and leaned her back in his arms.

Panic and terror so profound made it impossible to breathe as Tiger set a hand over her heart. Waiting to hear that she'd gone, that his world was about to shatter in a horrific way, made tears fall and the next second seem like years.

"She's alive."

A sob of relief.

Then a soft hum came from her.

"Tanya?" Shock led to speechlessness, every fiber focusing on her breathing.

Her chest rose and fell, only slightly deeper than before. Another soft hum.

"Tanya, we're right here," Tiger said and took her hand. Then his eyes flew up. "Her finger twitched."

He snatched her other hand. "Sweetheart, squeeze my hand."

One finger barely moved, but it was a deliberate move.

His cry of joy mixed with Tiger's.

"It's alright, sweetheart. You're weak. You had surgery four days ago, but the surgeon said it can take a long time for your body to return to normal." When he looked up, Tiger was already putting on the prosthetic leg.

As soon as it was on, he shot up and ran with Tiger to take her inside.

"Extraordinary," the surgeon said as he examined her. He lifted her eyelid and she tried to look, the most movement she'd shown yet. "Hello there. I need you to try to focus on me so we can check your reflex." He brought a candle closer to her eye. "Good, good. Normal pupil reflex on that side. Very promising of no substantial brain damage from the fever." The surgeon checked the other side. "Good."

Her breathing deepened as the surgeon moved on to listen to her heart.

"Good, she's asleep. It's a miracle that she came out of the coma, so I'm not surprised that she's so fatigued she can barely move. But we need to watch her closely that it's not because of brain damage."

"Shut the hell up," he snapped and put a fresh bandage on her incision.

"Mark, he only means to prepare us for the possibilities." Tiger looked over at Lily on the other side of the bed as she wiped Tanya's damp brow.

"How much of a possibility?" Lily looked up, with tears in her eyes again.

Lily had always seemed like a fortress of strength, but she'd been on the verge of tears the past two days, as well.

"It's not impossible that she'll be unable to talk or move much," the surgeon said softly.

"It's Tanya. There is no possibility of that!" he snapped. "If none of you are going to help me get her well, get out! Just get out!" he roared and threw a basin of old water against the wall.

Tiger's arms wrapped around in a hug, and the more he tried to fight, the tighter Tiger held.

"She's fine! She didn't come back just to suffer like this for the rest of her life! She'll get better!" The fight drained away, leaving grief and fear to hit like a tidal wave. "I wouldn't have made her come back just to suffer! She's fine!" Sobs threatened. What if he'd done it again? Prolonged life to only leave her suffer a long and painful death like Anna? What if she never got well? The thought of causing her pain only to lose her anyways was too much to bear.

As he sank to his knees and held fistfuls of the back of Tiger's shirt, Tiger didn't let go. Clinging to him didn't ease the despair as sobs took over.

"Grandson, she fought this hard to come back to us. She's not done yet. The Spirits tell me she'll be alright. Have faith and be strong for her just a while longer," Tiger promised.


Mark's eyes seemed to have permanent red rims, as if he wept between the moments there was enough energy to wake up and look at him. It had been days, perhaps longer, since waking up. But it proved too strenuous to even speak.

His voice broke through the haze of exhaustion trying to wake up from yet another nap.

"If I hadn't moved us to America, we would've been near the surgeon when she started getting sick." He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "How did I goddamn miss this?"

"Mark, it came on so suddenly. Even the surgeon said it can be subtle until all the sudden it overwhelms the body. It's not your fault. You didn't know she would get ill, and there was no way to predict it," Grandmama said from the other side of the bed.

"I should've tried to do the surgery myself when she started getting so weak. What if she can't recover from this? What if—"

"What if's won't help," Grandfather said in a stern tone when Mark started to get hysterical.

Resisting the need to slip back into sleep became too strong. There was no way to even communicate with Mark to tell him none of this was his fault. Oblivion came, with the hope that next time waking up would be easier...that there would be a next time.


Heartbeats grew so slow it was as if it sucked every ounce of energy that would've been left to open the eyes. The tension vibrated from Mark, as if he was terrified her heart would finally give out.

One hand rested over the heart, seeming to will it to beat stronger.

The bed slowly flexed and his body curled around hers, as gentle as if handling a China doll.

It felt so peaceful, despite the pain from surgery and the profound weakness, to be close to him like this.

His forehead rested against her temple and his arm wrapped around in a soft hug. "Tanya," he whispered, his warm tears falling onto her cheek, "you can let go if you need to. I don't want you to suffer. You've been fighting for almost ten days since surgery. The surgeon doesn't know how you've survived." He sniffled and almost choked on tears. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you help sooner." He pressed a long, slow kiss against her temple and then rested his forehead against it again. "I don't want you to go, but I understand if you can't anymore."

A tear leaked out. It would be easy to just slip away, to stop fighting this impossible battle to come back to him and the children. He suffered so much from the agony and terror of waiting for death to come. Trying to open her eyes or move a hand was beyond the capabilities of this body anymore.

He seemed to take the tear as a sign of relief for his blessing to go—he softly wept and held her closer. "I'll always love you," he whispered. "Don't be scared, my Tanya. I'll be right here to hold you." His head bowed in unfathomable heartbreak as he wept and didn't let go for hours.