It's hot. One month into his first tour, he'd thought he would be used to it. But the day he gets used to it here is the day he ends up dead.

"We got word from some locals of some activity here, Brightside." Sgt Coleman says to him, jogging up next to him as he walks back to the rest of his unit, getting ready to head back to the FOB. "Brass wants us to do another sweep."

"Another one?" He says, keeping the whining tone to himself, opting instead of it being a simple question.

"Won't take that long, Private. We're just concentrating on the next-" He feels his body lock with the sound of the air being cut, the warm splatter of blood against his face, blurring his glasses. His ears are ringing and it isn't until an explosion knocks him on the ground that he's able to react. He looks to his left and sees the vacant eyes of one of his commanding officers staring back at him, his neck blown open.

"Shortman! Take cover!" Someone yells over rapid gun fire. The ground around him rocks, sand and dust shooting up from the ground around him as bullets hit around him. He quickly clamors to his feet, grabbing the stock of his rifle and falling to cover behind a wall just as another bullet takes a chuck of the edge off.

He takes a few slow breaths, relaxing his heart as another explosion goes off up the street. He looks across the street and sees his unit taking cover in the alley across from him. "You got eyes on the sniper?!" He yells over the gun fire.

"Twelve o'clock high, roof top!"

He hears some loud voices yelling in Arabic down the street as Sgt Roland lays out short bursts of fire. "I need cover! I'm getting Coleman!"

"Hold position, Shortman!" Roland yells.

"I'm not leaving him!"

Eddy moves from behind Sgt Roland, laying on the ground and laying out fire down the street. Shortman is quick to react, knowing they can't keep cover fire down for long. Their guns can't handle this dust. He strides out, siting the roof top a hundred yards ahead. He gets to Coleman, slinging his rifle around and then picking up Coleman over his shoulder, then moving to the alley in front of him as quick as he can.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Some one from his squad yells, indistinct over the sound of the fire ringing in his ears.

One more step, and he feels an intense, sharp pain in his side and himself hit the ground. He groans loudly as his squad pulls on his flak jacket to get him to cover. "Brightside's hit!"

He groans through gritted teeth as someone pushes against his side, his side erupting in an intense fire. First time wounded, he knew it would be bad, just didn't think it would be like this. He opens his eyes and finds the eyes of Sgt Coleman, his friend, the commanding officer he's been with for a month into this hell, staring back at him, a gaping hole in his neck.

He looks to his helmet that fell off when he hit the ground and finds a picture of his son stuck in between the straps.

"RPG!" Roland yells as he dives over him.

"No!"

"Arnold!"

He feels himself fall then quickly scramble across the floor, his body still pumping with adrenaline. He feels his back hit against a wall and his eyes quickly skirt around the dark room, his hand pressing against the long gash in his side, not realizing he doesn't feel blood. His mind shakes with everything gripping him, keeping him from settling. The gun fire, the blood he felt on his face, the heat and the dust in the air, the intense ringing in his ears from the explosions knocking him around as if he was nothing, the dull thud of the gun fire afterward. Just... everything.

"Arnold, it's okay." A soft, angelic voice says. "It's okay, it's just a dream." It says again as he feels a pair of small, almost dainty hands on his heaving chest.

He feels his eyes open and the immediately find the dark figure kneeling in front of him, their hands on his chest.

"What's your name?" It asks in a soft, slow voice.

"Pvt Shortman first class, 75th Ranger Regiment, 2nd battalion, Charlie company."

He hears a sigh and feels the figure... her... move next to him, scooting closer to him. Her hands move from his chest to his jaw. He knows those hands. "Arnold... it's me, it's Helga. Do you know where you are?"

His eyes focus, blips of reality beginning to filter through the memories of that hot day. He lets out a long breath and relaxes himself against the wall. "I'm clearly not in Iraq." He says, his mind realizing who it is and where he is now as he presses a hand against his forehead leaned back against the wall.

She chuckles lightly as her hands move off his jaw. "No, you're not."

A silence falls over them and he doesn't want himself to feel embarrassed. He's sure that she's awoken from nightmares before. But he's supposed to be stronger than this. Stronger for her. Her seeing him this vulnerable, he doesn't know what to do now. If there's anything he can say or do to bring back that man that she sought comfort in the day before, the arms she felt safe in. "So," She begins again, "bad dream?"

He takes another breath, still trying to force the adrenaline to fade. "No, just... just memories."

There's another pause as she situates herself next to him, moving to sit next to him, leaning against the wall next to the sliding glass door out to his small patio. "You want to tell me about it?"

He wants to just throw her off, tell her it was nothing. It was nothing. "We had gotten word from one of our translators that there a few insurgents in this town we were sweeping, so we had to do another sweep before we headed back to our FOB. A sergeant had just come up and told me when he was shot by a sniper. I was thrown to the ground by an IED, and had to rush to cover through a cloud of hot dust with bullets flying at me. When I got to cover, Coleman, my sergeant, was just laying there. Eddy laid down cover fire while I picked him up and carried him to the alley where the rest of my unit was. I was almost in cover when I was shot in the side."

"You were shot?" She asks, her voice small, a little shaky even.

"It was just a flesh wound." He dismisses. Still hurt like hell. "I didn't notice I still had his blood on my face until we got back to base."

There's another silence between them as he finishes retelling his memory. His looking ahead of him, toward the door to his apartment, his eyes now acclimatized to the darkness. "I had no idea you've seen so much." She says, probably trying to pick her words carefully.

He chuckles under his breath, bitterly, and shakes his head. "It's probably better that way." He says lowly as he pushes himself up off the ground. He just sees her nod on the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"I was already awake actually. I just came out to check and see if you were awake when I heard you muttering, then saw you start shaking."

He stretches his strained muscles as he gets to his feet and looks to the clock on his cable box. just past four AM. He moves across the carpet of his apartment, just into the arch way into the hall way that leads to the bathroom and bedroom when he hears her get up off the floor and call for him. "Arnold?" He stops after turning on the over head light in the living room and turns toward her. "Listen, about Roy." She starts, walking forward.

"You don't need to worry about him anymore, Helga." He says with a soft smile, reassuring her that she's safe with him. She returns it, crossing her arms over her stomach tightly again. She took off her sweater and is now just in one of her tank tops. She looks pretty sexy right now. But it's not the right time. He looks away before moving down the hall way again.

He enters his bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face before bracing himself against the sink and looking at himself in the mirror. He has some pretty dark shadow, his eyes look tired. He sighs as his dream still skirts along the edges of his mind until he feels the pain from that day in his side. He looks to his side, pulling his long sleeved t-shirt up and running his finger along the eight inch gashed scar going across his side. He sighs heavily again and lets his shirt fall back down, hiding his scar. One of many.

He goes back out and finds her still standing in the same place, looking a bit awkward. Nervously shifting about, looking around his apartment. "Make yourself at home, Gorgeous." He tells her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he passes her.

He goes over to the couch and sits down, pulling his laptop open then waiting for it to power up. It's another moment before he feels the sofa dip from her coming to sit next to him, their legs just an inch apart from being smashed together. His eyes find her arm, nestled in her lap, and he reaches over and gently runs his thumb over it. "Does it still hurt?" He asks.

She shakes her head a bit, not moving to shake his hand off. "No. More emotionally than anything else."

"That's what I meant, Helga." He clarifies and meets her eyes. Her eyes look away, saddened, guarded by not wanting her shell to break in front of him. He's seen that before. "If you don't want to tell me what happened, I won't ask."

She lets out a breath, looking down at his hand still covering her forearm. "I had told him what happened between..." She closes her mouth after choking on her words, resolve coming to her again after a second or two. "Between us, at the bar. And what you said. He told me that he didn't want me seeing you again. I told him I couldn't do that, that you were important to me, no matter what you're going through." He probably shouldn't, but he feels his heart warm at what she's telling him. "We got into a fight and went back and forth for a few minutes. I told him I was going back to my dorm and to call me when he's ready to apologize."

She pauses again, her resolve harder than ever. He just keeps his thumb stroking gently across the warm skin of her arm.

"That's when he grabbed me and pulled me toward him. He told me that if I didn't stay away from you, he'd make me."

He sighs a long breath, trying to cast out his anger with it. After hearing this, maybe he should have left that bullet in the chamber after all. He closes his eyes and turns away. That would only cause more problems. Nancy is taking a look at the files when she gets into the the FBI field office here in the city, and it won't take them long to put it all together.

He opens his eyes again and forces a smile, for her. "I'm just glad you're safe, Helga."

She smiles, forcing it as much as he did. "Me too." She says in a small voice, crossing her arms again.

He moves back, leaning back into the couch with her, looking over to her. "That's your thinking face."

Helga looks over to him with a raised brow. "My what?"

"Your thinking face. You have something on your mind and you don't know if you should tell me or not." She chuckles lightly, fighting desperately a smile that's threatening to take over her face. "I don't know if you remember but... we used to date back in the day, Helga. I remember a thing or two."

She looks down to her lap, uncrossing her arms and starts to pick at her thumbnail. "It's just... the other night at the bar, you said..." She trails off.

"I was pretty out of it, Helga. Can you elaborate a bit?"

She lets out a short breath, hardening her shoulders, "You said that you used to love me."

His chest tightens with the breath being sucked out of him. After a few seconds, being able to gather his thoughts, he can only think of one thing. Used to? "Helga, I was..."

She looks back up to him for a split second, a heavy smile appearing on her face. "You were drunk, I get it." He lets out the breath caught in his throat and feels himself deflate. She's been through enough, telling her that he's still in love with her will only complicate things. "Arnold, before I left, I... left you a note." He feels his chest tighten again, knowing exactly what she's talking about and recalling her note word for word. "Do you remember?"

He cranes his head forward a bit and stands up without a word. He goes into his bedroom and goes to the top drawer of his dresser and picks up the note, gently nestled on top. It's old, wrinkled from being crammed in a duffel bag and brought through two tours in Iraq and from Op Huntsman. He goes back out, opening the letter when he's back into the living room. "You mean this one?" He says, looking back up to her, finding her looking at him with a bit of a wide eyed look.

She leans forward and reaches for it. "You kept this?" She asks, astonished as she starts to read it.

"I didn't have much when I was in the military. Reading that note was the only thing I had that reminded me of some kind of home." He watches her for a few minutes, standing a few feet away as she reads it. "I've always wondered if you managed to succeed." She looks back up to him with a raised brow. "Finding yourself."

She leans back again, letting the note fall back into her lap. "I think I did, yeah." She says with a smile.

"Good." He responds softly, going back to sit down next to her. There are words left out in the open, hanging. She read the last line of that note, as has he, multiple times. She will always love him. Then.

"Arnold-"

She's stopped with a heavy pounding on his door.