You don’t know much of anything about your boyfriend’s job. You know he’s a pilot, you know he works undercover, but that’s about it. You’re used to him being away for months at a time, and only being given a week or so to spend time with him.

He was supposed to come home five days ago. You’d made yourself sick with worry over him, dreading the impossible thought that his superiors might come knocking at your door—dog tags in hand. Much to your relief, he did come home, but not in the condition you’d expected.

He’s beaten and bruised—with a nasty black eye, a broken nose, a broken arm wrapped in a bloody bandage, and bruises all over his face and body. You don’t understand how he got like this, and he won’t tell you.

He holds you gently in his arms, his hand running through your hair as you exclaim your worries for him. “I know, my darling. I am sorry. There were.. complications, during the mission. I could not return to you as quickly as I had wanted to.”