Rotorwash Heartbeat

But always, at the end of the day, she came home to her empty apartment, to the shoebox of letters, to the ache in her chest that never quite went away.

“Just a little longer,” she told herself, over and over. “He’ll be home soon.”

It was the only thing that kept her going.

The video calls were sporadic, stolen moments of connection across the miles. Sometimes weeks would go by with no word beyond the letters. Then her laptop would chime unexpectedly, and there he’d be, his face filling the screen, sometimes grainy, sometimes a little delayed, but always, always a welcome sight.

“Hey, beautiful,” he’d say, his smile warming her from the inside out.

“Hi,” she’d say, her own smile instant and bright. “How are you? How was your day?”

“Better now,” he always replied.

They’d talk about everything and nothing. The small, mundane details of their days that felt precious when shared.

“Tell me something good,” Gavin would say, his voice a little tinny through the speakers. “Something that made you smile today.”

Alessa would think, casting her mind back over her shift. “We had a kid in the ER today. Six years old. He’d managed to get his head stuck between the bars of a railing at the playground.”

Gavin’s grin would flash, quick and bright. “Go on.”

“Fire department had to cut him out. He was fine, just scared. But the best part was, the whole time, he was clutching this little stuffed giraffe. Refused to let it go, even when they were using the jaws of life.”

Gavin would chuckle, low and warm. “Poor kid. Bet his parents were freaking out.”

“They were. But he was a trooper. Didn’t even cry. Just kept asking if his giraffe was okay.” Alessa would smile at the memory. “His mom said he got the giraffe when he was born. Never goes anywhere without it.”

“Loyal kid,” Gavin would say, his expression soft. “Can’t blame him. Some things you just don’t let go of.”

His eyes would meet hers through the screen, the double meaning clear. Alessa’s heart would squeeze in her chest.

“Your turn,” she’d say, her voice a little husky. “Tell me something good.”

Gavin would get thoughtful, his brow furrowing. “We flew over the mountains today. At sunrise. The way the light hit the peaks… it was something else. All pink and gold, like the whole world was on fire.” He’d shake his head. “Wish you could have seen it.”

“I wish I could have too,” Alessa would say softly. “Maybe someday you can show me.”

“It’s a date,” Gavin would reply, his smile promising.

Sometimes the calls would come in the middle of the night her time, Gavin catching her just before she crawled into bed, or just after she’d brushed her teeth. Those were the hardest, the closeness of the screen emphasizing the distance between them.

“You look tired,” Alessa would say, taking in the smudges beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with fatigue.

“Long day,” he’d admit. “Got shot at a bit. Nothing major.”

Alessa’s stomach would clench, ice sliding through her veins. “Gavin…” she’d say, her voice tight.

“I’m fine,” he’d say quickly, his expression softening. “Really. Just a few close calls. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Alessa would nod, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Okay,” she’d say, not sure she believed him, but needing to. “Okay. Just… be careful, yeah?”

“Always am,” he’d say, his voice low and steady. “Got too much to come home to.”

Her heart would thump against her ribs at the warmth in his eyes. “Yeah,” she’d whisper. “You do.”

The calls never lasted long enough. There was always a mission, a briefing, a rack time that pulled him away. But those stolen moments, those shared glimpses into each other’s worlds, became their lifeline, a reminder of what they were fighting for.

Alessa started sending care packages, filling them with little pieces of home. Books she thought he’d like. Snacks he’d mentioned missing. Silly postcards from around base. One time, she sent him a small stuffed giraffe, a reminder of the little boy in the ER.

“That’s the plan, right?” she wrote in the accompanying letter. “Never let go.”

Gavin called her the day he got it, his smile wider than she’d seen it in weeks. “I love it,” he said, turning the little giraffe over in his hands. “Almost as much as I love you.”

Alessa’s breath caught. It was the first time either of them had said the words. They hung there between them, potent and powerful.

“You…” she started, then stopped, swallowed. “You too,” she said finally, her voice thick. “I love you too, Gavin.”

The smile that spread across his face was like the sunrise, warm and bright and beautiful. “Yeah?” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“Yeah,” she replied, her own smile tremulous.

It was a turning point, a moment of clarity that made the distance both easier and harder to bear. They had something real, something worth fighting for. Something that would last.

The calls continued, the letters, the care packages. Each one a reminder of their connection, of the love that bound them across the miles. The distance wasn’t easy, the worry a constant companion, but it made what they had stronger, more resilient. Forged in the fires of separation, their bond became unbreakable, a fixed point in both their worlds.

Alessa leaned into that bond, drew strength from it on the hard days. When the shifts at the hospital were long and grueling, when the loneliness pressed in, when the worry for Gavin’s safety became almost too much to bear. She’d reread his letters, look at the screenshots she’d taken during their calls, hold the little stuffed giraffe he’d sent her in return, its soft fur a comfort against her palm.

“You and me,” she’d whisper, the words a promise to herself as much as to him. “We’re going to make it through this.”

And in the darkest moments, when the fear threatened to overwhelm her, she’d close her eyes and picture him, safe and whole, walking toward her, that cocky grin on his face, his blue eyes bright with love. It was that image that kept her going, that reminded her that no matter the distance, no matter the danger, they would find their way back to each other.

They had to.

The call came in the middle of the night, the shrill ring of the satellite phone jolting Alessa out of a fitful sleep. She fumbled for the receiver, her heart pounding. “Hello?”

“Alessa.” Gavin’s voice was tight with pain, the sound of chaos in the background. “It’s me.”

“Gavin,” she breathed, relief washing over her, quickly followed by fear. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Got hit,” he said shortly. “RPG. We’re down. I’m okay, but my co-pilot’s bad. Real bad.” She could hear the strain in his voice, the barely-controlled panic. “Need your help.”

“Okay,” Alessa said, already swinging her legs out of bed, reaching for the light. “Tell me what’s going on.”

As Gavin described the situation – the shrapnel wounds, the broken bones, the rapid pulse and shallow breathing – Alessa’s mind raced, pulling up everything she knew about combat trauma. “Okay,” she said when he finished, her voice calm and steady, the medic in her taking over. “First thing, stop the bleeding. Biggest wounds first. Use whatever you’ve got – shirts, bandages, anything absorbent.”

“Already on it,” Gavin said, and she could hear the rustle of fabric, the harsh rasp of his co-pilot’s breathing.

“Good,” Alessa said. “Now, check his airway. Is it clear? Can he breathe?”

“Yeah,” Gavin said after a moment. “He’s breathing on his own, but it’s shallow. Fast.”

“Okay. That’s good. Now, look for signs of shock. Is he pale? Clammy? Confused?”

“Affirmative on all three,” Gavin said grimly.

“Keep him warm,” Alessa instructed. “Cover him with blankets, coats, whatever you’ve got. Keep him talking if you can.”

“Roger that,” Gavin said.

For the next few hours, Alessa stayed on the line, talking Gavin through every step of stabilizing his co-pilot. She walked him through checking for internal injuries, through immobilizing broken bones with whatever they had on hand, through monitoring vital signs.

Gavin’s voice was steady and sure as he followed her instructions, but she could hear the underlying fear, the pain he was ignoring in his own body to care for his crewmate.

“You’re doing great, Gavin,” she said, her voice soft. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“He’s gonna make it, right?” Gavin asked, his voice rough. “Tell me he’s gonna make it.”

“We’re gonna do everything we can,” Alessa said, her tone reassuring. “You’re doing everything right. The medevac is on its way?”

“Should be here in twenty,” Gavin confirmed.

“Good,” Alessa said. “Just keep him stable until they get there.”

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. Alessa stayed on the line, talking Gavin through every step, every decision. She could hear the medevac helicopter in the background, the rotors loud even over the satellite phone.