Authors Note: This fic is very different from anything I have written and it is something that I have never attempted before. I don't even know if it will be any good but it's invading my brain which is highly frustrating considering I am in the process of writing an epic fic for the last few months. Anyhow enough babbling from me. I hope you enjoy it.

Hi Callie,

I am not in school now because I got sick again. I am in the hospital. It's a big hospital with lots of windows so I can see the rain and there are lots of other sick kids and a big playroom. I like the playroom. Mommy says I need the horrible medicine again because it wasn't enough last time. This means I won't be home for Jenny's birthday. This makes me sad because she is having ponies there. Mommy says I can have ponies for my next birthday party. But I have to wait until July for that. I don't like the medicine but it will make me better. I made you a drawing. It's the tree-house Daddy made me and Leo. It has the tree and me and Leo. He needs help to climb it because he is only small. I hope you are safe and that you are brave.

Love Megan xxxxxx

Callie smiled at the seven-year olds scrawled letter and folded it up putting it into the box under her cot where she kept all the letters she had received. The communication with Megan was purely by accident, but she was glad she did it. It gave her something to smile about when sometimes there was nothing to smile about. A teacher of a second-grade class thought it would be a morale-booster to have her students write letters of encouragement and bravery to those overseas. While most of the letters were read, the contents sometimes ridiculed, they were then discarded and forgotten. This was with the exception of Megan's letter which lay untouched in the hot sands outside the tent. Callie had read it, smiled at the contents and chose to write back. When the little girl replied the brunette was delighted and wrote another. This became a pattern for six months and she enjoyed it. She lay on top of the low cot wondering what illness the child had picked up and that it was nothing serious. She was surrounded by voices of the people she had been living with for the last six months, people she had grown to love and hate, respect and despise people that had become her family. She blocked them out as she pulled up a clean sheet of paper.

Dear Megan,

I am sorry to hear that you are sick. What is wrong? Are the doctors making it better? Do I need to come over and teach them how to be the best doctor like me? Ponies sound like fun. I loved ponies when I was a little girl. When I was ten, I had my own horse. His name was Sherbert and I loved him very much. The tree-house is very cool. I wish I had one but there are no trees here to build one. I will have to wait till I come back home to make one. You are very good at your drawings. I am keeping them and putting them into a book. I hope you are taking your medicine because they will make you better. It is very hot here now and sometimes very scary so I try to be brave. When I am scared, I close my eyes and think of the best place in the world, which is the beach near where I grew up. It had white sand and the bluest of waters, and in the early evening it was so quiet and peaceful. It is my favourite place in the whole world. So if the medicine and the hospital are scary, think of your favourite place in the world. You be good now.

Love Callie xxxxx

The little girl grinned when her father arrived with the new letter. She waited impatiently as he tore it open and handed her the paper that had tiny sand granules attached to it. She smelled the page. She had grown to love the smell of dust and sand that always came with Callie's letters. She watched as her father talked to her doctor and glanced at her mother who was struggling to maintain a strong face. She was sick and she knew it. She read her letter slowly, needing to concentrate on some of the words. When she finished she lay back and shut her eyes tightly, thinking of her favourite place. She fell asleep to the image of her tree-house. When she had woken, she had seen that she was alone. She saw the piece of paper on the table next to her bed. She wanted to write back but she was tired. Her doctor stepped into the room as she struggled to get out of bed to get some more writing paper. The doctor rushed to her side and pushed her gently back on the bed. She asked the little girl what she was trying to do and Megan explained the letters. The doctor smiled a tender smile and climbed onto the bed next to the little pale thin girl. She allowed the child nestle into her, kissing the now bald head that once boasted auburn curls. She offered to write as Megan dictated.

Hi Callie,

I am too tired to write because of the medicine so my doctor is writing for me. She is very nice. Mommy and Daddy say I will be okay but I don't believe them because Mommy cries a lot. I have cancer and it's horrible but I take my medicine and I am being strong. I am too tired to draw a picture for you but I can tell you my favourite place. It's my tree-house but I have another favourite place. It's sitting my Gramma's lap when she is in her rocker. She died from cancer too. But when she was alive and I was scared or sad, she would put me in her lap and sit on her rocker and sing to me. That is my favourite place. I'm trying not to be scared because Daddy says you're in a scary place and I am in a safe place. So I am being good. Do you believe in angels? Because I hope angels are watching you and you're being brave.

I love you, Megan xxxxxx

The brunette felt tears fall as she read the letter over and over. She had initially frowned at the different hand-writing, but the contents were Megan. It was completely Megan and that little girl was being unbelievably brave, making Callie feeling weak. She felt the hot sun beat down on her bare shoulders. The beads of sweat glistening as she wiped her forehead with a rag. She had been busy all morning with injuries that she had temporarily forgotten life beyond this camp, that she was happy to receive the letter. However, reading it she didn't feel better but worse. She wiped her tears aside. She looked up at the chopper that flew over-head, welcoming its loud noise. She took a deep breath before pulling out her notebook to write a letter.

Dearest Megan,

You are allowed be scared because you have a scary sickness but I am sure you have a great doctor there. She has very nice hand-writing so she must be a nice doctor. I think your favourite place is a wonderful place, the best place. I think your Mom and Dad love you so much and they are very lucky to have a strong girl like you. Last night we had a storm here, but it's not like back at home. There's no rain or thunder, just sand. It is like it rains sand, and it is very noisy. It can be really scary, but I just look at these pictures you draw for me and it makes me forget. I don't mind not having another picture as long as you are getting better. Yes, I do believe in angels because you are my angel.

Love, Callie xxxxxx

The envelope lay on the coffee table. The woman looked at it as she placed her glass of wine next to it. She had recognised the hand-writing and didn't want to throw it away. She leant back on the sofa with the envelope in hand. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. She felt her eyes fill with tears as she read the letter. She pulled out a blank sheet of paper and started writing.

Dear Dr. Torres,

I am so sorry to inform you that Megan Leblanc dies this afternoon as a result of her leukaemia. She was weak for the last few days, and mainly slept, but come the time she was incredibly brave. She hugged her father, smiled for her mother and kissed her little brother. She talked about you, her brave soldier doctor and she had such pride in the fact that you always wrote back. She showed me your letters with such joy. You, Dr. Torres, gave her such joy and I am glad of this. You are doing something so incredibly brave for your country and you have found time to write to this child. This I find absolutely awesome. I am so sorry that I am giving you such awful news when you are in such an awful place but I imagine that you'd want to know.

Take good care of yourself Dr. Torres,

Dr. Arizona Robbins

Callie saw that the letter was again written by the little girl's doctor. She frowned, the doctor in her knowing that this little girl was not strong enough yet, while the person in her was delighted for the contact. She tore the envelope glancing at the neat hand-writing before reading it. She wept as she read, and saw her tears hit the paper. She saw horror every day here, but never felt grief as she did when she read this piece of paper. These letters were her moments of hope, joy and delight. Her moments of escape. She saw someone approaching her and quickly wiped her eyes, smiling at him. He nodded at her, and saw the trembles and the tear stains so kept walking. She pulled out her notebook and took a deep breath before writing.

Dear Dr. Robbins,