The pills did help with the pain, but they also made me drowsy. Jack fought to keep his eyes open. His mind and body were enveloped in a warm haze. He felt weightless, as if he could float away at any moment. Rose sat by his side, holding his hand. She was talking, but it was impossible to focus on what she was saying. The words jumbled together in his ears, but the sounds of her voice was soothing, like a lullaby. He tried to speak, but his words came out slurred. He couldn't move properly. Rose leaned down and brushed her lips against his. "Go to sleep," she said. "You'll feel better if you rest. I'll be here when you wake up." His let his eyes fall shut and finally allowed sleep to overtake him, but he kept a firm grip on her hand.

Rose watched him. He looked so peaceful. He was just as tan as she remembered. His hair was shorter, but it was still golden blonde. She found herself wishing he would grow it out again, once they were back home. With a start, she remembered, they didn't have a home together. How could she have forgotten? She didn't even know where he had been living before the war. She had no home of her own anymore. She had given up her apartment in San Francisco. Everything she owned was either with her or stored with friends. She wasn't even sure she would go back and get any of it. When she thought of them, they didn't quite seem like her possessions anymore. The life she had led before the war seemed like a distant dream; it seemed like a life another woman had led. That was how she had always thought of her life before meeting Jack. None of the people she had known or things she had done felt real anymore.

The sun began to set. There was movement and voices around her as meals were distributed and patients checked on. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Curious looks were sent her way, but she didn't notice them. She wasn't wearing her nurse's uniform. That morning, she hadn't been able to find a clean one. Instead, she was wearing a light blue dress. She reached up with her free hand and pulled the pins from her hair. As the curls began to fall, she gave her head a shake to loosen them.

…

It was cold and dark. Jack was running, but he couldn't seem to get anywhere. His eyes refused to adjust to the inky blackness. The air around him was filled with screams, gunshots, and bombs exploding. With each step he became more and more afraid his feet wouldn't touch the ground again.

He didn't even know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he would die. He felt as though his lungs would burst in his chest. All he wanted was to rest, to let himself fall.

"Jack!"

Rose's scream was little more than an echo. He wasn't sure which direction it had come from. "Rose!" he yelled, as loudly as he could manage.

"Jack!"

"Rose, where are you?"

It sounded like she was somewhere directly ahead of him, but in the darkness he couldn't be sure. "Rose!" he yelled again.

"Jack! I need you!"

The fear in her voice gave him the strength to run faster. He was sure he was going in the right direction. "I'm coming, Rose!" he called."

"Help me! Hurry, Jack!"

…..

"Jack! Wake up!" Rose tried to shake him without disturbing his injuries. His head rolled back and forth; he clutched her hand like a vise. "Rose!" he cried. "I can't find you."

"It's a nightmare," she said. "Jack, wake up!"

With a gasp, his eyes flew open. "You're alright!" he cried. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down to him. He held her against his chest with his good arm. Frantically, he kissed her hair. "I couldn't find you," he said. "I'm sorry. It was so dark. I just couldn't find you."

Rose wasn't sure what to do. She lay still and waited for him to calm down. His heart beat wildly against her ear. Gradually, it began to slow, and his grip on her loosened. He rested his cheek against her head. Slowly, she sat up. Nightmares were a common occurrence for the men in the field hospital, but she had never experienced one like this. "Are you alright now?" she asked gently.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"You."

Rose tried to keep her tone light. "Do you do that often?"

"Not anymore," he said. "I don't dream much at all."

She couldn't help but ask. "Did you dream about me before?"

"Of course…did you dream about me?"

"I still do, sometimes, but it's always good."

"Mine were good too," he said. "You were with me, and everything was alright…the way it was supposed to be. It was never anything like this."

"Have you had dreams like that before?" Rose didn't want to push too hard, but she knew he should talk about it. If something was bothering him, he had to get it out. "A few times," he said with a shrug. She wanted him to say more, but she knew she couldn't make him.

"It's getting late," she said. "Maybe you should try and go back to sleep." Carefully, she climbed off him and moved back to her place on the other cot. "Will you leave?" he asked.

"I have to sleep too," she said.

"You could sleep here," he suggested. "That cot's empty." He tried to sound casual. "Unless you don't wanna—it's fine. Really." He didn't like the sound of the words. It sounded like he was trying to use guilt to make her stay, and he didn't want to do that. If she stayed, it had to be because she wanted to. However, he couldn't deny how much he needed her there.

"I'm not sure that's allowed," Rose said. "We aren't supposed to become involved with the patients." But what could they do to her? Send her home? She was a volunteer. She received no money for the work she did. A cot of her own and meals were all she was given. And what if they did send her home? Judging by Jack's wounds, they would send him home as soon as he was able to make the journey. At that moment, the realization that she had always intended to leave when he did fully hit her. As soon as she saw him, the decision had been made; she hadn't even stopped to consider the fact that he might have someone waiting for him. How could she even think of leaving his side?

"I'll stay," she said. She leaned forward and took his hand. Their eyes me, and a spark passed through them. It was at once new and familiar.

…

"Well, after that, I went down to Mexico," Rose said. Jack's eyes widened. "Mexico?" he said incredulously. She nodded. "Yes."

"By yourself?"

"By myself."

"I knew you could do it," he said.

"I'm glad one of us did. I was afraid the whole time. I just knew I would get lost or robbed or I thought, maybe I wouldn't be able to learn the language well enough to get by, and I wouldn't figure out a way to make money." Her words came out in a rush. "I wanted to head back to Arizona as soon as I left, but I knew there wasn't anything to go back to."

"I know that feeling," Jack said.

"It just pushes you forward, doesn't it?" she said. "It's so much easier to keep going when you know you have to."

"You could've settled somewhere," he pointed out. "Made friends. Met someone. Gotten rid of the feeling."

"No." She shook her head. "I couldn't have. At first, I was afraid of being found. I told myself that's all it was, but I think perhaps I just didn't want to be still anymore. And I just wasn't ready to answer questions or be close to anyone."

"Your mother doesn't know you're alive, does she?" he asked slowly.

"I sent her a letter," Rose said. "Two years after—after it happened. She never responded. I waited. I stayed at the same address for months. She died last year. I read about it in the newspaper, and I got a letter from a lawyer," she finished, looking down at her hands.

Jack gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry," he said. There were tears in her eyes, but she kept her voice steady. "It's fine," she insisted. "At least I tried, right? She and Cal must have worked out some kind of arrangement because everything was paid for and taken care of. I'm not sure how the lawyer got my address. She must have kept the letter I sent. That's how they knew I was still alive." She laughed sadly. "I guess they really didn't try to find me back then. At least—" She struggled to speak through the tears. She hadn't cried in so long, not about anything. Jack pulled her to him with his good arm. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed. "At least he didn't let her die poor," she finally choked out. "She would have hated that."

Jack held her as tightly as he could. "It's alright," he said. "It's gonna be alright."

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I just—"

"You don't have to explain," he said. "We all need to cry sometimes. It's good for you."

"I've never cried in front of anyone," she admitted. "It feels strange, almost like being nude."

Jack gave her a reassuring smile. "I've seen you like that, remember?"

"You have, haven't you?" she said with a laugh. "Well, that was a long time ago. I may not look the way you remember." She realized she was talking the way she had that day on the ship; she was talking as if they had a future together, if it had already been agreed upon. "I shouldn't be so presumptuous," she said, moving away from him. He held on to her. "What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

"Crying all over you," she explained. "Talking as though we have a future together already, just assuming when nothing has been said or decided—"

"Hasn't it?" His gaze locked on hers. "Do I really need to say it?" he asked. "Didn't you say that earlier?"

She nodded. "I did," she said sheepishly.

"But I'll say it, if you want me to," he said. "I want a life with you. I don't want to lose you again. When they send me home, I want you to go with me."

"I want that too," she said. "I keep thinking about us as though we've been together this whole time. It's stupid, really. It hasn't even been a day. It's crazy."

His eyes seemed to fill the world. She couldn't see any of the fear or doubt she felt in them. They were like two blue diamonds sparkling with love and hope. "Yeah, and that's why you should trust it," he said. "We were meant to be together. Maybe we were meant to have that time apart. I dunno, but I know we were meant to be together. Don't be afraid."

"I don't think I could ever be afraid of you," she said. "Or with you. I trusted you from the moment we first met. You were so annoying, but I felt safe with you."

He kissed her forehead. "You are," he said. "Whatever happened before, it doesn't matter. Right now, this is what matters."

"I'm not so sure," she said. "Jack, I'd like to just sweep those years aside—or parts of them—and pretend it's still 1912, but I can't, and I'm not sure we should try to. Things happened to us. We did things, and that matters."

He let out a sigh. "Please don't make me picture you with another man," he said. "I don't know if I can take that."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "A little. I know I wasn't there, and you have the right to do what you want, but…I want it to have been me. I want to be the one touching you, kissing you…carrying you off to bed."

"You did that with other girls, didn't you?" She had to know. She was sure she already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it said.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I did."

"Before me."

"Before you."

"And after me."

"I know it sounds ridiculous and unfair for me to say I don't want you with other me. I—I can't believe anyone else could ever love you the way I do. I had fun with other girls, even after you. I—"

"You don't have to explain."

"No, I do. I'm glad you went on with your life. I'm glad you found people who cared about you, who made you feel that way. I just wish it had been me."

"I wish the other girls, the ones who came after, had been me," she replied. "I don't care about the ones before you met me."

"It wasn't the same," he said quietly.

"No," she said solemnly. "It wasn't."

"Rose, when we leave—"

She put her hand over his lips to silence him. "Not yet," she said. "Don't say it yet. Let's just take each day as it comes." She wrapped her arms around him, making sure to avoid his injuries. "Let's just hold each other for now."

He rested his head against hers. "I can be happy with that," he said.