Chapter 20: You Are Not Alone

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It had been two weeks since Drake woke up in the quaint Afghan home of Anis and Farahnoush – the father-daughter savior team. Every day since then had involved a lot of sleeping and gradual, yet persistent effort to get stronger.

In that time, Drake's chestnut hair grew out of his regulation haircut, and where his face was once clean shaven, scruff had filled in. Once a week since he graduated boot camp, he would go to the barbershop on base to refresh his high and tight style, and even when he was on leave, he'd shave his face – never letting it get past minor stubble. Now, however, he could care less. He was still a Marine, but his current situation dictated a different routine.

Drake had no way of communicating with his unit or anyone back home, so he was dedicated to healing his body as much as possible to get back to his life. He missed Bragnae, and worried about her. By now, the Marine Corps had most likely listed him as Missing in Action, and he knew she'd be distraught. It killed him to think about her suffering due to his absence.

At least I'm still alive. As soon as I get back to base, she'll find out that all of her worries and fears will have been for nothing. I can't wait to see to her again, Drake thought to himself daily.

Anis would check on Drake's sutures twice a day, while Farahnoush would provide him with sustenance and company. His wounds were healing nicely, and were becoming less painful with each passing day, but his body was still very sore. Drake's new friends introduced him to an array of Afghan foods from homemade naan to a delicious lamb stew called qormah. He actually quite enjoyed the meals they shared with him. The fragrant spices and rice that usually accompanied the meals seemed to awaken his senses.

Farahnoush also had the magical healing tea on tap ready for him whenever he was awake. He didn't complain even when he felt he'd had enough. He put his trust – and his life – in her and Anis' hands, so he was willing to obey any suggestion they had for him. Within reason of course.

A week after he realized he was still alive, Drake was able to fully sit up in his bed. And by the second week, he was able to stand. In addition to monitoring his stitches, Anis also helped Drake to stroll around their humble home by throwing Drake's arm around his shoulders, and bracing his body as Drake took his small and delicate steps. He couldn't walk very far, but he could walk nonetheless.

Even though Drake didn't exactly feel like himself yet, he knew he was improving. Each new day brought him hope, and it was one day closer to seeing Bragnae again. She was his motivation, day and night, to get back home.

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Bragnae stared blankly at the television as commercials in Japanese flicked by. She felt numb. The past two weeks were the worst she'd ever lived in her entire life. She'd barely drag herself out of bed just to climb back in it after taking care of her basic needs.

Bragnae's unit graciously offered her bereavement leave in the wake of Drake's death, which she desperately needed. She didn't want to see anyone, or make conversation – she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories of Drake.

A few days after everyone was told of Drake's passing, his unit had arranged a funeral for him and his sniper scout, Chuck Mulligan, who had apparently also perished from enemy fire. Bragnae wasn't sure she was ready to attend Drake's funeral, but Hana and Maxwell escorted her to Camp Foster anyway.

Before they had left, Hana encouraged Bragnae to change out of Drake's clothes, which she was reluctant to do, and into a black dress. Hana styled her hair and helped apply light, waterproof make-up to her eyes before they went.

The funeral was unreal. There was a large photo of Drake's most recent official photo as a Sergeant in the Marine Corps posted up, along with flowers and plants from his unit and whoever else. There was no casket – no body to gaze upon. Nothing to give her closure that he was, in fact, gone. Not that she wanted to believe it anyway, but she did want to see him one last time – even if his eyes were permanently closed.

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