A/N: Here's chapter three. Just a few things to mention. One, I hate A Farewell to Arms with a burning passion. But it's about a war, and the relationship between a soldier and a nurse, so it fits. Two, I do not hate anyone of Japanese descent (and for the record, neither does my friend Sam). I just want to make it clear that all the feelings towards the aforementioned group that are addressed in this story and are historically accurate to the time and the situation—nothing more. And that does not mean that I agree with them in any way. That being said, thank you again to those who have followed/favorited/reviewed this story, and, as always, reviews are appreciated. Also, 'ahi' means 'fire' in Hawaiian, and 'kiapolō' means 'demon'.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive, except for Petty Officer 1st Class Samuel Collins. He is mine.

"Champagne, my lady?"

Sansa laughed quietly and shook her head as Sam poured himself a glass of brandy from an old, cracked wine bottle.

There was a brief moment of silence as he drank before he set his glass down again and smiled at her. "Thank you for this, Miss Stark. It means more to me than you realize."

She looked away, a pretty blush rising to color her cheeks and she murmured quietly in response. "It's Sansa. Call me Sansa."

"Very well...Sansa. What is it that you've brought for me?"

Meeting his gaze again, she lifted the book from her lap and smiled slightly. "A Farewell to Arms. It's a classic."

He raised an eyebrow. "I think a farewell to legs would be more appropriate, don't you?" He gestured vaguely toward what was left of his right leg and then sighed when Sansa frowned at him. "Alright, I'll stop with the amputee jokes. I suppose you get enough of those as it is."

"It's alright," she replied. "Better that you all have a sense of humor about it."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Speaking of things you've had enough of…" He glanced around then leaned toward her with a smirk. "What do you say we get out of here? You spent far too much time beneath this roof, Miss Stark."

She raised an eyebrow and considered the implications of his statement for a moment, a familiar voice echoing in her mind. "The blond in the wheelchair. Have to go back and tend to his...needs?" The embarrassment she had endured at that sentiment helped her to make her decision. "Sure."

His smile growing, he let her help him into his wheelchair and then whistled cheerily as she wheeled him out of the hospital and toward a secluded spot on the beach.

So what if I have a relationship with Sam? she thought rather viciously. It isn't any business of his. And of course, the fact that he had described Collins as "the blond in the wheelchair" was evidence enough that he had had the nerve to watch her while she was on duty. The full realization of that fact brought a blush to her cheeks and she huffed indignantly to herself.

When her patient was settled comfortably in the sand, facing the dark expanse of the Pacific, he reached back and took her hand, a smile gracing his full lips as he led her around to stand in front of him. "Come here." He pulled her down into his lap and she blushed fiercely as she felt his face nestle in her thick auburn curls before his chin came to rest on her shoulder.

"You were going to read to me?"

She nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat, and opened to the first page of A Farewell to Arms with trembling fingers. Taking a deep breath, she met his encouraging smile with a timid one of her own before beginning to read.

"In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels. Troops went by the house and down the road and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of the trees. The trunks of the trees too were dusty and the leaves fell early that year and we saw the troops marching along the road and the dust rising and leaves, stirred by the breeze, falling and the soldiers marching and afterward the road bare and white except for the l-leaves..."

She faltered when she felt his arms tighten around her waist and she squirmed a bit in his lap, nervous because of their proximity and his obvious attraction to her.

"Sam..." It came out breathier than she had intended and her heart started pounding when she felt his lips against her ear.

"Sansa..."

Thankfully, a rosy glow from the other side of the jungle gave her an excuse to extract herself from his arms and she stood hastily. "No, Sam, look." She pointed to the horizon and he frowned for a moment before following her finger.

"Is that...?" he began in disbelief, and then a dark grey cloud of smoke obscured the moon and their fears were confirmed.

Fire.

"Go get help," she ordered him, and she barely registered his nod in response before she began to run across the beach toward the edge of the jungle.

Waipahu was the village beyond the jungle; a small sugar plantation community made up of a majority of Japanese immigrants who worked for the Oahu Sugar Company. The burning sugar would explain the sticky sweet odor that hung in the air.

By the time she reached the fringe of the village, it was burnt beyond recognition, just a smoldering heap of collapsed buildings and charred bodies that had once been a thriving community.

Even as she stood there, she began to make out a shape moving toward her through the smoke and her heart leapt to her throat. A survivor! Her mind immediately started the planning that would be needed to treat a village full of burn victims, but stopped mid-thought as she recognized the figure that stood before her.

With the help of what she remembered from the legend that Makoa had told her, she put two and two together and she only barely managed to contain the surge of anger directed at Kāne 'Ōkala before she heard the sound of boots on the jungle floor.

"Go!" she hissed at him, and he was close enough now for her to see his eyebrow lift in confusion. "Get out of here," she urged. "There are soldiers coming."

Silently, he disappeared into the jungle and it was only a moment before the group of soldiers emerged from the trees.

"What the hell happened here?" The captain muttered as he and his men surveyed the carnage before them. "Miss Stark, report."

She cast a glance in the direction that Kāne 'Ōkala had gone then looked back at the sailors, all of whom had curious eyes fixed in her direction.

"I was on the beach with—with..." she hesitated, and she could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. "Petty Officer Collins." She heard a few snickers, but they were quickly quieted when the man in mention wheeled himself onto the scene and glowered at his subordinates. Her blush deepened when he smiled at her and she turned back to Captain Tucker to avoid his gaze. "And I saw the fire. I ran here as fast as I could, but...it was too late."

Tucker nodded thoughtfully then strode into the midst of the destruction and knelt down beside one of the corpses, less ravaged by the flames than many of the others. Finally, he looked back up at Sansa. "Too late for what, Miss Stark? This was a village of Japs. The same yellow bastards who destroyed our harbor. And you were "too late"?" He shook his head. "No. You were just in time. I wish I could've been here with you to watch it burn." He stood and spat at the body of the Japanese worker. "I say good riddance."

Sansa was sickened to see that many of his men were murmuring in agreement and she had to turn away when she noticed that even Sam was nodding in agreement.

"Of course, Captain," she said quietly as the regiment turned to leave the scene of the disaster.

He looked at her for a moment in contemplative silence before nodding curtly and leading his men away, leaving only herself, Petty Officer Collins, and the man who was no doubt watching from somewhere nearby.

"Are you alright, Sansa?" Sam asked gently, wheeling himself over and placing a comforting hand on the small of her back.

She smiled weakly at him and nodded before tearing her gaze away and looking back at the body that Tucker had desecrated with his blind hatred. "I'm fine. I just…I need a moment. Let Randa know that I'll be back soon."

He raised an eyebrow but obeyed without argument, leaving her alone with only her thoughts and the corpses to keep her company. It was longer than she had anticipated before she heard the footsteps behind her and he finally spoke.

"Sansa."

She turned to face him, staring brazenly into his ruined features as he steadily met her gaze. "You monster." Her hand struck his cheek before he could react and when he turned his face back toward her, his grey eyes were dark with anger and malice.

"So you've figured me out. Yes, little bird, I'm a monster. And I was even before I had the face to match. There wasn't a man on the islands who didn't hate Sandor Clegane—who didn't curse him behind his back and call him "kiapolō" to his face. So that's what Pele turned me into, and now that name belongs to a man who no longer exists. But tell me, manu li'ili'i, what makes you so fucking perfect?"

She floundered for a moment in the face of his rage, but managed to regain her ground and retorted hotly, "I didn't kill a village full of innocent people!"

"Innocent?" He snorted wryly. "You heard the men. The bloody "Japs" deserved to die. I didn't do it for them though. I did it because Pele sought vengeance against those who harmed her islands. You listen to me, little bird." He stepped closer and when she was forced to look away, he grabbed her chin roughly and forced her gaze back to his face. "When Pele's wrath is aroused, no one on this island is safe? Do you understand me? No one."