A splashing sound woke him. Still sitting up with Drächen in his lap, muscles stiff as cured cement, he looked around to see Marie. She had her back turned to him, dressed in khakis and a camisole, the right strap cutting the tattoo on her shoulder blade perfectly in half. She was rinsing her face from a bottle of water, letting the runoff fall into a plastic basin. Her hair was long, brunette; were they in Madrid?

He felt muddled: he had never seen Marie wear khakis before. Saris, bikinis, maxiskirts, miniskirts, sarongs, leather pants, harem pants, his boxers, and—as often as possible—nothing at all. But khakis, never. His clearing eyes made out the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, with ribbon reading Semper Fidelis. He blinked in confusion. Marie's shoulder blade tattoo was flowers…

"You're a Marine," he said, recognizing that it was Kim. He glanced down at Drächen, but she slept on, still fighting the amoebae and bacteria inside her. He put the photo in its envelope and stuck both in his pocket. Rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. It looked like Kim kept up with her 100 pushups x 20 pull-ups daily; her upper body was all lean muscle.

Kim turned around, drying her face. "Good morning. Yes. Not active; I separated about two years ago." She pulled a kurta on over her camisole. She liked to observe the local customs. Was he sexist, she wondered. Affronted by women in his Corps? No matter; she had dealt with that plenty in the past, and could do so again.

"So, you feeling rudderless, now?" he asked, this second coincidence pricking him with unease and putting him on the offensive. "The Company replaced the Marines for you; what do you have now that you don't have the Company?"

"Sounds like you know what you're talking about," Kim observed. "But to answer your question: family," she said, regretting her sharpness immediately. She knew how very broken this man's family was; her comeback was undeniably cruel. She continued, dialing it back a notch. "Honor. Courage. Commitment. Those never go away. You should know that."

He grunted, got up, painfully. Found the diaper-changing supplies. So, she had read his file, or at least part of it. Yes, he knew. And he didn't know. He didn't know what honor he had left. Courage… Could you call it courage when fear had been programmed out of you? His commitment had been up in the air for over two years now, except when it came to Marie and Drächen, and his own survival. Drächen, Marie, himself; his family. So, no, not rudderless. Up to his elbows in baby poop, but not rudderless.

"I'm going down to the orphanage," she said. "You've got her covered, and they may need something. Father John will wonder about her. What should I tell him?"

He thought for a moment. "Tell him her father is here. Don't use a name. Take him these." He fastened a new diaper around Drächen's slight form, and, careful of the IV line, cradled her in one arm to dig in his pack with the other one. He separated all but a few IV setups, fluid packs, glucose squeezes, and injectable medications, and shoved the rest toward Kim.

She looked everything over: Flagyl, Cipro, Larium, Lidocaine, Vicoprofen… "What's this for?" She held some up.

"How long have you been off the grid?" he asked.

She looked at her watch. "Since December 27. I was on first recon."

"Haven't had any contact with anyone inside since… ?"

"My last day was November 3rd."

"You haven't talked to Landy? Anyone?"

"No."

There was too much to explain. Way more than she needed to know. He just turned around and pulled up his shirt. The black and blue spoke for itself, as did the angry red streak along his ribs.

Kim gave a low whistle. "Is that wound infected?" she asked.

"I think so, yes."

She tossed back most of the Vicoprofen and six packs of Cipro. "You need these as much as anyone else around here. That's looking swollen," she remarked about the wound. "I'll see if it will drain, later." She grabbed her daypack, starting stuffing supplies into it. "I can use these as I see fit?"

He nodded.

"Okay, thanks. I'll be back in a few hours to assess her. MSF is scheduled to land at 15:00." Checking her sidearm, shouldering her pack, she paused. "You will still be here? She can't travel," nodding her head toward Drächen.

He searched Drächen's face. He knew Kim was right about that. He nodded, and she was gone.

David, working one-handed, tore open two packs of Vicoprofen and swallowed all four tablets, dry. Mindful of the state of his newest bullet wound, he downed a two-pack of Cipro, too.

Looking at Drachen's IV bag, he saw that it was almost empty. He got a new one from his pack, and took her over to the cot to change it. Fresh fluids dripping into the line, he looked Drächen over. Her color was better and her skin was plumper, thanks to the fluids. Her pulse was down, almost to normal, and her respiration was less labored.

She wasn't ready to wake up, David could see that. He took his Glock in his right hand, Drächen in the crook of his left arm, and lowered himself back onto the cot. The baby melted into his chest. This sleeping stuff is pretty good, he thought as he closed his eyes.

He was curled up in bed with Marie, his body wrapped around hers, both of them folding their arms around the tiny form of Drächen. The baby began to fuss and cry. "Shhhh," he said to his two girls. "Shhhh." He was getting up out of the bed, baby in his arms, a dry diaper his aim. "Shhhhh, Papa's here," he told the baby, but she didn't settle the way she usually did. The crying just grew louder.

David awoke with a start. Drächen was crying, flapping her arm, trying to shake the strange tubing loose. Pushing at him, not recognizing him. Terrified. He sat up, dropping his sidearm to the cot. "Ladybug," he said, softly, "Ladybug, it's Papa." He looked at her worried eyes and saw that he had only a few moments before a full-blown meltdown was underway. He quickly removed the needle from her arm, peeling the tape back and ditching the whole apparatus into the cot, pressing a gauze pad to her arm in its place.

David stood and, cradling the bereft child in his arms, began walking, humming, then tried the words:

Little birds will sing along in time,
Leaves will bow down when you walk by…(1)

Drächen gasped and sniffed, quieting slightly. Her father looked into her blue eyes, mirror images of his own, and saw recognition there. He kept singing, the little girl quiet now. When the song was done, she reached up a hand to touch his face, as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "Papa," she said. Her eyes were tired, but clear.

"Ladybug. Yes, Papa's here." Consumed with gratitude. Marie, she's back!

"Mama? Ich möchte Mama jetzt sehen…"(2) Drächen looked up at him, confident in his ability to deliver what she wanted.

"Mama…" David paused, searching. "Mama ist ein Engel jetzt. Du siehst sie in deinen Träumen."(3) His throat closed around the words.

The child's expression did not change. "Ich möchte Mama jetzt sehen," she repeated.

"Ich weiß, Ladybug." And he did know just how she felt.

Drächen's face was crumpling. "Ich möchte Mama jetzt sehen." She started to wail.

David fumbled in his pocket, pulled out the envelope and shook the photo loose, held it up in front of the small, tear-streaked face. Drächen paused, mid-sob, and brightened a bit.

"Mamapapa," she said, taking the picture in her hand. She pressed it to her chest in a hug, and David felt his heart break, tear apart inside his chest.

There was a gentle cough, and Kim walked into the tent. If she had overheard anything, she didn't indicate, expressing only delight to find a conscious little girl and a relieved father. With his child in his arms and gratitude flooding his face, what she saw was all man; the myth dissipated.

"Kim!" cried the little girl, sadness forgotten, wiggling to get down and run to the visitor. The young woman had been the source of much interest among the children at the orphanage, and Drächen had been as intrigued as the rest up until the time she got sick.

"Hi, Sweetcakes!" Kim caught her up in a hug and balanced her on her hip. "I'm so glad you're feeling better." They had a short chat, in English and German, and then Kim set her down and gave her a bottle of rehydration fluid to drink on her own. The little girl handed her the picture to take the bottle in both hands, drinking big swigs of the saltysweet liquid.

"Um—" Kim did not know what to call him.

He looked at her light hazel eyes for a moment, made a decision. "My name is David."

She hesitated, adjusted. "Hello, David."

He nodded.

"The MSF detail is here. Do you want her to see a physician?" Kim glanced down at the picture in her hand, then handed it to him.

He didn't even have to think about it. "No." The fewer people to see her, to see him, the better. He looked around for the envelope and ziplock, carefully put the photograph away.

"Okay," she said. "I have to go help now. I'm glad she's up and around; the fluids really did the trick. For some other folks, too." David nodded, looked away. She was heading out the door. "I'll look at your wound when I get back."

(1) For Baby/For Bobbie, words and music by John Denver

(2) "I want Mama, now!"

(3) "Mama is an Angel now. You'll see her in your dreams."

Author's note: I find it interesting that the German word for "dream" is Traumen; same root as "trauma."