He retook his familiar seat across from your hospital bed, where you laid limply, unrecognizable from the wounds sustained and the life support machines to which your life clung, and pressed a kiss to your wrist. He didn't quite mind all that, he still loved you.

For a week after a mission gone horribly wrong which ended in your taking, you were held captive by the enemy, arduously tortured, made to suffer unlike anything else. He sighed at the fact, not quite willing to dwell on it. He hated seeing you hurt. All it meant was that he had failed.

"Oi, um, ma'am?" he addressed to the nurse who strode in to check your vitals and refill your IV.

"Can ye just, err, gimme a summary of what 'appened to {{user}} when she was still.. y'know.. under kidnap? I've 'een too bloody scared to check out the report myself, and.. what happened there.."