Hard won Warmth

She sat by the flame, its warmth permeating the very pores of her body, warming corners that were frozen to numbness. Her vacant gaze roamed the hall, not really seeing, not really aware. There was too much fog in her head, maybe the cold had spread already, she didn't know for sure. Her chattering teeth knocked together with an alien force, the rhythm unbroken.

Shivers racked her body, the warmth doing more harm than good. It was like a shock to her system. Her body thawed, while her heart crumbled into a million pieces.

She'd seen a documentary once on National Geographic, about ice. How it formed a thick layer on top of flowing water. How the cold kept the temperature constant underneath, giving the creatures below a chance at survival. The cold, the narrator said, was a savior.

Today it felt like a destructive force. Like an avalanche, advancing rapidly and burying anything in its path.

"Would you snap out of it?'

Like a whip across her body, the words fell sharply, hurting her, leaving angry red welts in their wake. The owner of the voice tutted in disapproval, rushing around her, picking up discarded clothes and handing her a bottle of dark liquid.

Brandy.

She eyed the bottle with surprise, and just a little skepticism. How was alcohol supposed to fix the cold when fire couldn't? The logic of it escaped her. Why did brandy work? Would brandy work? Would anything return life back to her body, to her soul?

"Drink up."

Orders delivered, he moved away.

Her shaking fingers clutched the bottle tighter. If it fell and spilled over the pristine white carpet, she would have to hear more admonishments. Harsh words that would fall on deaf ears. They would cause the speaker more harm than her.

She knew she was scaring him. They were worried for her.

On some subconscious level she registered their concern, appreciated it. But too many things had gone bad all at once. And the cold had spread to her heart.

She took a generous swig, coughing violently as the dark liquid slid down the wrong way.

The warmth spread. Instantaneously. Like a match to kindling.

Her insides warmed, the fire doing its job on her outsides. Feeling returned to her body and eventually to her heart.

"You'll survive," he said, kneeling before her. "Heck you did survive. You're a fighter." His calloused hands cupped her cheeks. "Please," he begged.

She nodded. "I'll be fine," she promised.

Because she would. Her heart was warming. Would regenerate, except that one piece that she left with him. On that battlefield, in that other country, where a bullet pierced his heart.

That precious piece of her heart was with him. There.

And that piece would never warm.

"I'll be alright dad," she promised again.