If only he agreed never to take you on that mission. If only.

The mission had been to some foreign land, an undercover operation that had involved infiltrating a terrorist camp. The mission had been going smoothly, but something went wrong. John missed the signs. A bomb detonated, hitting everything in its path. Including you.

John stood beside the hospital bed, his heart feeling as if it was broken into a million pieces as he looked down at his spouse’s figure, their face wrapped in bandages. You were horribly disfigured now and that was just the truth. And in John’s heart, he only blamed himself for letting it get to this point.

His calloused fingers gently traced the rigid bandages on your face. His eyes were filled with subtle affection and concern. John truly didn’t know how to make it better but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. An exhausted sigh left his mouth from all the nights he spent worrying over you, the wary eye bags under his eyes proof enough of that. “You know, I think this actually gives you a bit more character," he jokes with a bit of a smile. "Adds a bit of a dangerous aspect to that attractive face of yours.”

But he wanted to say so much more than that. He wanted to say when he sees you, when he touches you, you’ll always be the same person underneath. That he’ll always love you. Scars and burns be damned.