"Then go to sleep. I'll still be here tomorrow."
"I know. That's the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you're always here. Always waiting. Always patient even when I disappear for hours. And I keep thinking you deserve someone who can actually be present instead of this scattered version of communication."
There was a pause before his next message. Longer than usual.
"Mara. I don't want someone who can be present all the time. I want you. However I can get you. Ten messages a day or one. An hour-long conversation or five minutes between meetings. I'll take whatever you can give and be grateful for it."
She stared at that message until her vision blurred."You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
Another night, late when she couldn't sleep after a particularly rough extraction, she told him about a nightmare. Nothing specific, just the vague shapes of old fears. He was awake. Always awake. Always available in a way that made her feel guilty and grateful in equal measure.
He didn't push for details, didn't try to fix it. Just sent back,"Those don't go away. But they get quieter. You're stronger than the things that tried to break you."
She stared at that message for a long time."How do you know?"
"Because you're still here. Still fighting. Still helping people. That takes a kind of strength most people don't have."
"You have it too."
"Maybe we both do. Maybe that's why this works."
Mara saved that message. Read it again when she was having a hard day. Let his words remind her that she wasn't alone in understanding what it cost to keep going.
Week four, they graduated from texts to voice messages. Partly because Mara could record and send while doing other things. Could give him more of herself without having to stop everything to type. Logan's voice messages were longer. More detailed. The ramblings of someone with time to think and process and share.
She'd listen to them while reviewing files. While driving. While lying in bed trying to wind down after operations. His voice became a constant. A comfort. A reminder that someone out there understood her even when she could barely keep up with her own life.
Mara heard his laugh for the first time in a voice message and felt something shift in her chest. Logan's voice was different than she remembered from Mosul. Lighter. Less rough around theedges. He left her rambling messages about physical therapy and terrible hospital food and how Risk kept threatening to break his other arm if he didn't follow the recovery plan.
"He's serious too," Logan's voice came through one afternoon while she was reviewing the Atlanta extraction plan. "Yesterday I tried to do one extra set of reps and he literally took the weights away. Said if I rushed the recovery he'd make sure I had something else to recover from. I'm pretty sure he meant it."
Mara listened to it twice. Sent back a voice message three hours later when she finally had a break. "We have someone like that too. She's in charge of keeping us from doing stupid things that'll get us killed. Sometimes I think her actual job title should be 'professional buzz kill.'"
"Does it work?"
"About sixty percent of the time." She recorded that one while walking to a briefing. Sent it without listening back. Got his response six minutes later.
"Better odds than we have."
She smiled and tucked the phone away. Didn't check it again for five hours. Found eight more messages waiting. Responded to two. Promised herself she'd catch up on the others later. Never quite found the time.
Week five, Logan suggested video calls. "I want to see your face when you tell me about your day. Want to watch you smile when I say something stupid. Want to actually talk to you instead of just reading words on a screen."
Mara hesitated. Video calls required dedicated time. Required her to be fully present instead of multitasking. Required her to carve out space in a schedule that was already too full.
But she wanted it too. Wanted to see him healthy. Wanted to watch his expressions change when they talked. Wantedthe intimacy of actual face-to-face conversation even if it was through a screen.
"Okay,"she typed."But it'll have to be late. After everything settles here. Is that okay?"
"I'll stay up as late as you need me to."
Their first video call was at 2300 her time, 0000 his. She was exhausted from a full day of briefings and planning and resident care. He'd been up for twenty hours but refused to sleep until they talked.
