There's a free clinic in downtown run by an old friend, and I navigate us to the alley behind the building in record time. I hop out, pound on the back door, and then jog to the passenger side to gather you up.

The door opens and light streams into the alley, momentarily hurting my eyes as I push past the nurse in my way. "I need to see Gary, ASAP," I growl. I think my urgent voice scares the nurse a bit, but it's her job to ask useless questions. "What is the nature of her injury, sir?"

I want to throttle something. Can't they guess? Am I not communicating the emergency here? The corner of the blanket falls away from your bare body, and your mottled purple-blue-green left breast shows. "She's been gang raped," I spit, letting my anger at myself give it sting.

The nurse inhales sharply. "Step in that room, I'll get Doc Gary now."

Laying you on the table under the bright flourescent lights, I get a good hard look at just how terrible you are. The hut was dim, the plane was dimmer, and my lights are always going out. Now, on your clean body, I see every bruise and gash. I really want to throttle something.

My damn heart hurts as I smooth the hair back from your face. It's long, wavy, lighter than your skin suggests it ought to be, and still damp. I shouldn't have waited. I fucked up my priorities. Getting you help should've been first, and your cover story second. I vow viciously not to let it happen again.

You moan and your eyes flutter. "Barney..." you murmur, your lips barely moving.

"Right here, Meera. I'm not going anywhere."

You squint as your eyes adjust to the harsh light. "I slipped," you say groggily.

"Yeah. We're at the free clinic now, getting you checked out."

You wince, and one tear escapes your eye. "Don't leave me."

I run a thumb over the wayward droplet. "I won't."

There's a knock on the door I forgot to close, and Gary's haggard and sleep deprived face greets me. "Hey, Ross, long time no see." He takes in Meera, wrapped in a blanket and sporting bruises and cuts everywhere visible, and his jaw clenches, but he keeps the tone of a professional. "Who's our patient?"

You turn your head to watch him move to your side as I supply, "Meera. She's been..."

"Yes, my nurse told me," interjects Gary, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Ever the infantryman, cutting to the chase. The Marines lost out when he retired. He looks you in the face, and he speaks with respect that I am secretly grateful for. It saves me the trouble of slugging him. "Miss Meera," he says gently. "I understand you've been through a terrible ordeal. But I promise, you're safe here." He glances up at me. "Between Ross and me, you'll be square in no time."

Your eyes flit to my face, and I give an assuring smile. I am hoping deep down that he's right.

A nurse comes in with a tray of surgical implements and dressings, and I say, "Close your eyes, it's okay." I turn away, mindful of your dignity as the nurse guides your knees up and out.

You bite your lower lip anxiously, but do as bade. My heart soars at the trust that one little action shows. The nurse and Gary peel back the blanket and get to work. Somewhere between the dressing of your ankles and the stitches between your legs, you flip your hand palm up and I cover it with mine. Your grip is tight as the necessary hurts are carried out, so I try to keep you occupied. "How old are you?" I ask in Nepali.

"Twenty-three," you reply in the same language. I feel Gary look up at me curiously, but I don't care. It's nothing personal. The less he knows, the better.

"How do you know English?"

"My father was a missionary. My mother was a native Nepali."

"Are they alive?"

"No. They died in a rebel attack when I was a baby."

I frown. "I'm sorry."

You move one shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "I have made my peace with it."

That may be, but how will you make peace with this? Not even twelve hours ago, you were tied like an animal and being consecutively raped, beaten, and raped again. I can't say I fully understand the horrors you faced, but my experience and imagination help. My heart hurts for you. So terribly young, terribly scarred, terribly tough. Every tug of the stitches between your legs makes you wince, and causes a new tear slide to down your bruise-shadowed cheek, but you don't cry out. Damn, so tough. I catch the tears, but I know that so many more are to come.

Gary obscures your twitching face for a minute, and when he's done, your nose is cast and there are stitches in your temple. Your eyes are stinging even harder from the realignment of your nose. This is just the start of a long, long road. I wonder if you can make it. Then I think back to that dark hut, and the hellfire in your eyes when I saw you for the first time. You'll make it through, but what shape you wind up in on the other side is up to you.

I am brought out of my thoughts by the nurse clipping a thread definitively. "All done." I help you sit up, and you wrap the blanket around yourself more securely.

"I'll be back in ten seconds," I say. Only eight pass until I return with the gunny sack of clothes.

"Ma'am, I'll help you dress," offers the nurse.

"Can I talk to you, Ross?" Gary asks, motioning to the hall.

I'll be three steps away, but I look for your okay anyway. You nod, and I follow Gary outside to the alley. He taps out a cigarette and I supply him with my skull lighter. "Thanks," he says, smoke streaming from his mouth. He takes and drag and exhales it slowly before speaking. "She's in rough shape. No broken bones, which is a miracle, but the bone bruises are on fifty percent of her body. Trust me, they are less of a mercy. She's got five vaginal stitches, three in her temple and four on the underside of each wrist. I set her nose, wrapped her ankles, and gave her something for the pain." He glances at me. "My nurse is offering her a morning-after pill, if she wants it."

I stiffen. I hadn't even thought about if she might get pregnant.

"And I drew blood to check for STDs," Gary adds, taking another drag. "But Nepal is a hit-and-miss sort of place for that, so she might get lucky." He sees my narrowed eyes and explains, "I caught Nepali when you spoke, but I didn't understand it."

"What about mentally?" I ask, folding my arms and watching his smoke drift up.

"Hard to say," he muses. "I've dealt with rape cases before, and recovery is different for each one. The only thing I can do is encouage you to listen to her and be patient."

I nod. I could do that. And Gary is right to assume that I'm the only one that fits that profile.

"The stitches are dissolvable, and I'll call you with the test results." He finishes the cigarette and scuffs it out with his shoe. "Come back if you see anything unusual, or suicidal behavior."

"You think that's a possibility?" I ask as he pauses at the door.

Gary shrugs and replies carefully, "I don't know her, but if I had to guess, she's already decided to live."

That matches up with what I'm thinking. I give him a nod of gratefulness and he disappears into the clinic. I follow and meet the nurse at the door to the exam room, where she gives me a bottle of antibiotics. Gary must've forgone the prescription. Good man. The nurse gives me a pointed look and a surreptitious nod, I guess indicating that you opted for the morning-after pill.

You look a little brighter-eyed and a hell of a lot healthier, now that I have time to take you in. The BDUs are baggy on you, and the boots aren't laced because of the bandages, but your angular face is ruined by the nose cast. It makes your eyes look huge, like a baby bird's. The chocolate brown of them is stunning against the white of the tape.

"How you feelin'?" I query carefully.

You tip your head. "Better." You are adventurous enough to slide off the table and onto your own feet, mindful of your stitches. You wobble a little on your first step, though, and I'm there to steady you.

"Let's get you home." I support you by the hand and waist, just in case.

"Home?" You echo quizzically.

"Yeah," I say, attempting levity. "I've got a spare bunk with your name on it."

The digital clock in the truck informs me it's past midnight, but we both are pretty awake after the sleep on the plane. I wheel us through downtown, and you eat up whatever passes by the windows with hungry eyes.

"Never been to America?" I ask casually.

You take a moment to answer. "No. I have seen pictures, though. Read and heard stories." You turn in your seat to get another look at a group of Goths outside the movie theater. "Does not even compare."

I can't help but smile. Then your stomach growls and I want to kick myself. "Hungry?"

You nod sheepishly.

Minutes later, we've made it through an all-night drive through. I pick some bland food, because I'm willing to bet your stomach will reject the first few bites. You tear into the soupy mashed potatoes with gusto, and I munch on something wrapped in a bun. Water bottles are quickly emptied.

We make it all the way out of town and onto the backroads before you have to stop and heave. I hold your hair as you lean out the open door, but nothing comes up. Apparently, your body views the nutrition as more important than those painful awakenings of a starved stomach.

When you're ready, we move on, the stars over the fields occassionally obscured by the wafting clouds.

"How long are you going to keep me?" you ask, still staring out the window.

I frown, but my answer is truthful. "As long as you want to stay."

"I am - " you sniffle like you're trying to hide it. "I am not good company."

I drop my hand to yours on the seat. "'S'alright. Neither am I."

You half-sob, half-laugh, and it breaks me inside. "I will not be for a while," you continiue. You sound like you're about to go on deployment, and don't know when you'll be back.

"'S'alright," I repeat. "I'm here."

You shudder with a fresh sob, and finally, finally start your journey.