Hannah

The rehabilitation wing was quite, those who were awake speaking in no more then a whisper, those who were sleeping taking only shallow breaths. As if they were afraid the slightest sound would ruin the fraught peace they had found.

Gwendoline wasn't sure how long she had been there. She wasn't even sure how long ago she had left Hanford. It took a day to hurriedly pack, secure a train ticket, and make arrangements for the children to be looked after. It took two days (or had it been three?) for the train to arrive in Windenburg. Once she saw sam lying there, thin and pale and wheezing, Gwen had lost all sense of time completely.

If she had felt outside of her body before, this shocked her back inwards. Every sensation hit her at once like a tidal wave, emotions she hadn't been able to feel suddenly bubbling up and spilling over. The air was suddenly making her skin prickle, the fluorescent lights painful in her eyes. Everything was overwhelming. She had forgotten what it was like to feel. Gwendoline didn't know what to do, so she simply sat down and began to cry. She sobbed and sobbed until she couldn't anymore, releasing everything she hadn't been able to feel in months. It was exhausting. Eventually, she slumped over, deep in sleep with the rest of the patients. And that was where she remained.

Sam woke first, groggy and disoriented from his medicines. Her hair looks like Gwen's, he thought fondly, before taking a long pause to realize that it was in fact Gwen's.

Sam's heart started to pound dangerously quick for a man in his condition. But he didn't gasp or yell out, he was in far too much shock. He simply stroked that shiny, red hair he had been missing for nearly three years. She was real and in front of him and he didn't know if he could believe it.

Gwen hadn't slept more than a scant few hours in the past four days, and by all means should have been dead to the world, but the feeling of a hand upon her head jolted her awake immediately.

"Sam!" She cried, eyes snapping open. "Oh my god, Sam!"

She leapt to her feet, no longer caring if she broke the solemn quiet of the room. "Nurse!" She yelled out.

Sam scrambled to keep up, still barely conscious himself. "Wait, Gwen, wait—" He sputtered out, grabbing hold of her wrist. "Don't cause a scene, they give me this everyday to sleep."

She turned back to stare at him, half in awe.

"It's alright," He continued in a low voice, not wanting to disturb anyone else. "It's not like I've been in a coma—"

Gwenoline cut him off.

A short while later, when Sam was fully awake, they talked. They talked for hours about everything their letters could not fit, and Gwen felt like herself again, like she had been rejuvenated. Even though they talked about terribly serious things, like the mortgage on the farmhouse of Sam's army training, she didn't feel gloomy. She wasn't the 32 year old mother of four children, saddled with responsibilities. Instead, she felt like the frivolous girl she used to be in college, who only ever wanted to flirt with the shy boy across the bar.

Gwen smiled. It was bittersweet. How did we get here?

She stroked Sam's hand, sitting in silence. They had exhausted nearly every topic of conversation, except the one they were too scared to broach. The one that had landed him here in the first place.

The letter, the one that poor Charles had found first, was minimal in its wording. It had mentioned wounds taken in battle, ones that had left Sam in a critical state. What happened or what part of him was injured remained a mystery to Gwen. She was too preoccupied to ask the nurses when she first arrived.

She ruled out anything had happened to his upper body. His face was aged and sunken, with a few new scars, though no dramatic traumas were visible. Both arms were in tact and all ten fingers seemed to be working. But under his blankets, his legs seemed oddly still.

"Sam..." The somber tone of Gwen's voice gave her away. Sam knew what she was asking.

His face fell, a pained expression that hurt to witness. He of all people didn't deserve that.

"Well, I suppose I'll need to tell you eventually." He gave a weak laugh.

Gwen finally dared to ask. "Sam, why are you here?" She tried to keep her voice firm, but she could hear it wavering.

Sam turned his head away, unable to look his wife in the eye. "I'll spare you the details." He said, very grave. "We were trekking through no man's land. We thought no one had been there before us, ally or enemy." He paused for a moment. "Well, we were wrong. Poor man a few steps ahead of me stepped on a landmine."

Gwendoline made a strangled noise, clutching her hands to her chest. Suddenly, all the horrors of this war seemed terribly real. Close enough to touch.

"Lieutenant Reed. He was a good man, kindest of all of us. Always kept our spirits up."

Gwendoline stared down at the blankets, looking for any sign of movement. None.

Sam turned back to her, interlocking their fingers. "Hey, don't look like that." he tried to give a smile. "I'm lucky."

Gwendoline was mortified. This is lucky?

"God, Sam—" She choked back a sob, cutting herself off.

"I'll be out of here soon enough, and I can see the kids again. Hope they remember who I am." Another weak laugh. "I'll be getting an honorable discharge."

Because they deemed you too broken to be of any more use. Gwendoline thought, but kept it to herself. He probably thought the same.

Sam looked over her shoulder, noticing someone coming his way. "Nurse is gonna put me back to sleep, I suppose." He grabbed Gwen's hand. "Do me a favor, alright? Don't look under the blanket. Just...not yet, alright?"

His nurses were kind and capable, and in most other circumstances, Gwen would be relieved to have him under their care.

She looked over her shoulder, making sure Sam was fast asleep.

"He's recovered remarkably well, given his situation," Said Joy, the sweet-faced blonde. "The doctor says he'll be ready for discharge within a few weeks."

"And...how will his...final condition look?' Gwen struggled to find the words.

Anne, the stubborn but caring dark-haired nurse, thought for a moment. "Your husband will be incredibly healthy, in spite of his condition." She spoke so matter-of-factly, but was clearly dancing around something.

"Please just tell me what will be wrong with him." Gwendoline felt shamelessly desperate.

"Mrs. Townsend, I'll be honest," Anne said, face setting into something serious. "We don't believe your husband will ever walk again."