NOTE: THE FOLLOWING IS BASED ON THE UNIVERSE SET UP BY OHC.

United States of America

May 13, 2018

Mrs. O'Shea POV

To be one hundred percent frank, I never expected this to happen on Mother's Day.

Jawa—to nobody's surprise—had finished all the requirements for his bachelor's degree while at St. Smithen's in Washington, DC. Moreover, he had decided to join the Navy, following Seamus's—his father's—footsteps, which again was not terribly shocking.

What was shocking, however, was that my 21-year old son, a lieutenant junior grade and Navy SEAL, was now lying in his old bedroom "sick as a dog," as Seamus said. Jawa was on leave for two weeks when he suddenly fell ill, forcing us to cancel our plan for a brief trip.

Now, I was cooking while Seamus was taking our daughters out for a daytrip, after I insisted that they go take advantage of the day, especially since he was going to deploy in a few weeks alongside Jawa. I removed the pot lid and after stirring it, tasted the dal I had just prepared. After a pinch of salt, it was perfect, reminding me of my own mother's.

Like she and my father alway told me: "remember Dharuna, it does not need to be complex, just good." I smiled at the thought while ladling the dal into a bowl and placing it on a plate along with a spoon, bhakri, and some cooked vegetables. After some maneuvering out of the kitchen and up the stairs, I made it to Jawa's bedroom, where he was sitting up, a mug of hot chai in his hands as he glumly sipped from it.

"Hope you're hungry, Jawa."

"Hello Ai," he coughed as I walked in and set the plate down on the bed tray. He seemed to perk up slightly at the sight of the food, but he was still overall looking very low.

"What's wrong?" I asked while pulling up a chair and sitting at his bedside, putting the back of my hand to his forehead. "Hmm... still running a temperature."

"I feel terrible, Ai."

"I can tell that much."

"It's not just that."

"Let me guess: you feel terrible because your leave is wasted by you being sick."

"That and... well, I'm not supposed to be laid up in bed like this, needing my mother to wait on me hand and foot. I'm an adult, for crying out loud!"

"Putra," I sighed, shaking my head. "It does not matter how old you are or how elite of a sailor you become. You're still my son and I will help you when you need it 'til the day I die. I would be failing my duties as a mother if I didn't."

"I know," he mumbled. "It just feels stupid. 'Specially on Mother's Day."

"Well... you want to know a secret? I wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of you joining the Navy, becoming a... what's it called, a SEAL?"

"Yeah. SEa, Air, and Land."

"Well, from what I understand, they're some of the toughest men in America and they handle some of the most dangerous assignments the government gives them. They went to Abbotobad and killed Osama, after all, something that could've cost them their lives."

"Well... yeah."

"And remember, your father's job as a SWCC is nerve-wracking enough. I'm not fond of the fact that the two of you could deploy and never return. And yet... you seem happy with what you're doing. And you've found a brotherhood, and those men will keep you safe... far better than your father or I ever could. You coming home is the best gift you could give me."

"Huh," he muttered as he looked at me, before coughing. "Well... glad to hear it, Ai."

And with that, we began to talk a bit more—more than we had talked in the past couple of years. We communicated while he was at St. Smithen's, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. I learned a bit more about the going-ons at his school, from his tutoring of peers to sports incidents (especially involving Chip and another boy named "Mike") to crazy teachers.

But as I had learned with my husband... while such moments may be few—and can even be mundane at times—they are nonetheless valuable. For it is like my mother and father said: "it does not need to be complex, just good."

Mrs. Zibbell POV

"Hot, hot, hot!" I warned as I carried a pan of bread fresh from the oven behind Zoe.

"Yep, yep, yep!" my daughter acknowledged, flattening herself against the counter as I passed.

When Zoe was around five years old, she began helping me out in the kitchen. For the sake of safety, I usually put her on jobs that didn't require heat or sharp implements. And yet, it didn't take long for her to develop a talent for baking, with her becoming a—as my brother put it—"half-pint cookie-cutter" by the age of seven.

Not only was she able to grasp staples, but she quickly learned some more complex recipes. Not long after Vinnie gave Zoe her unofficial title, she had made her first challah for Shabbat.

"It's like hair, but bread-ier!"

She was also quite adept at learning languages, becoming fluent in Hebrew and English while understanding a decent bit of Italian and German, courtesy of mine and my husbands' sides of the family, respectively. Speaking of the devil, Max walked right in, dirty and sweaty after an extra-long shift as a construction foreman.

"Good evening, beautiful ladies!" he greeted, giving me a quick kiss and a hug before moving on to Zoe. "Something smells good!"

"Abba, where were you?" Zoe asked, braving the dust and grime on his clothes for a quick embrace. "You were supposed to be home hours ago!"

"Sorry, sorry. Hawkins had to go to the ER—don't worry, he'll be fine—but I had to finish his work for the day. Jerry'll be in tomorrow to take over."

"Glad to hear it. Go get yourself cleaned up, we'll be ready in a bit," I said, gently pushing against his chest.

"Aw, Maria! You know you love the sweat."

"Abba, Eema, please no!" Anthony—Zoe's bespectacled older brother—groaned as he too walked into the kitchen as dirty as Max, having come from the same worksite. "I'm too young to be witnessing this crap!"

"Shaddap! You're older than me, Four-Eyes!" Zoe countered, making my son roll his eyes as he began to give her a noogie. "Ack! No, no, no! I'm trying to cook here! Get off!"

"Listen here, Shorty! Learn to respect your elders, why dontcha?"

"Shaddap! You don't count! We're in the same generation! Now get off!"

"Max, Anthony, clean up now," I ordered, stopping my kids' argument. "Zoe, keep focus!"

"Yes'm," Max replied with a grin as he grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and steered him out of the kitchen, with the two continuing their "dad-son yackety-yack," as Zoe put it.

Honestly, I think my family just has an odd knack for coming up with names of things.

"Eema, is Uncle Vinnie comin' for dinner tonight?" Zoe asked.

"Yes, he is. That's why we got extra stuff at Louie's Deli, remember?" I reminded her.

"Oh yeah... I forgot about that. Still can't believe Mr. Louie remarried."

"About time that old goat did it, I'll tell you that much. Your Uncle Vinnie is really excited to see you. It's been a while, especially because of your time at St. Smithen's."

"Yeah it has, hasn't it? Lemme tell you, it's a bit weird not seein' Smokescreen, Brainiac, Meathead, Mikey, and the rest of the gang normally, but I'm sure they're havin' a good time."

"Do you give all of your friends nicknames, Zoe?"

"Eh... yeah."

"Except for the one called 'Mikey.' Something you want to tell me? Roses and candlelit dining?"

"... how does your mind jump to that, Eema?"

"I'm your mother. It's my job to know things," I snarked with a smile, making Zoe stare at me for a moment before going back to what she was working on.

"Well... he's a nice guy... think Abba and Uncle Vinnie would like 'im. Anthony too," she said slowly.

"... you've kissed already, haven't you?"

"... ain't nothin' gettin' past you."

"Like I said..."

"I know, you know things," Zoe groaned, her face reddening in embarrassment as I grinned.

I suppose that's a major part of my job description as a mother, isn't it?

Mrs. Brezinski POV

"Uh, do you have a second?" Mike asked, knocking on my bedroom door. I had a broken leg from falling down the stairs two days earlier, resulting in me being confined to my bed. With my older son off the college and my husband at work, I thought I would be quite lonely.

At least, until I remembered that my younger son came home from St. Smithen's a week ago. It was still a bit strange having him back—especially after him being gone for much of his high school years off to that academy—but I was nonetheless happy for him to be home. He was staying with us for four weeks while his school was undergoing fumigation and repairs (apparently, Murphy's Law struck, resulting in disaster).

He was very vague about what he was doing, though I have found him looking back and forth between his computer and a medical journal as he kept looking up words to read whatever article he was reading.

"Sure, Mike. What's going on?" I asked, gesturing for him to come in and sit down.

"Well... there's this girl I went to school with."

"... not again."

"No, it's not like that! I... I actually like her. At least, like-like her... you remember that winter holiday I told you about back in 2015?"

"Wait a minute... was that the picture of the short girl I've seen you looking at?"

"How did you—"

"I walked in on you once—at least, when I could still walk—and found you asleep at your desk. The photo and your books were out," I explained, making him groan and cringe in embarrassment. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad."

"Mom, please."

"Fine, fine... so did you ask her out?"

"Er... not exactly."

"'Not exactly?'" I pressed.

"We've been hanging out, but never put a label on it... y'know?" he replied hesitantly.

"With friends or alone?"

"Bit of both."

"Mike," I sighed, removing my glasses and rubbing my eyes. "I'm not really seeing the problem here, particularly because this is beginning to sound more like a question for your father."

"I know, but I'm asking you because... well, y'know... you are—er, were—a girl. So..."

"So you came to ask me about how to ask her out?"

"... yes."

"Mike, based on the sounds of it, you already have. And by the sounds of it, I'd say she's your girlfriend. Or am I completely misinterpreting this?"

"Er, well..." he stammered before finally giving in. "No, no you're not."

"So one more time... what's the problem?"

"Well... she's fun, she's sweet, she's sassy... really pretty, just about all of the same morals, same faith... not to be cliche, but she's basically the full package."

"That's great! Not to pry, but the two of you haven't—"

"No, Mom! Geez!" he groaned, his face reddening at the implication. "No, we haven't gone that far! We haven't even passed first base!"

"That's good, because I'm not sure I'm ready to be a grandmother," I chuckled, eliciting another flustered outburst from my son.

"MOM!"

"Alright, alright... but seriously, what's the issue?"

"... when Dad asked you to marry him, how old were you? Did you feel ready?"

"Well... we were on the younger side. I was a senior, he had been working for three years at that point," I recalled, before rolling my eyes at how ludicrous some of the events were. "Kevin sprung the question right after I graduated behind the football bleachers, if you can believe that. About as dramatic and mischievous as you."

"Hey!"

"Well, exactly nine months after we got married, we had your brother. And three years later, you came along..."

"Mom, not to wreck your car on memory lane, but how did you feel when Dad asked you to marry him?"

"Ah-ha... well, I was nervous. The only consolation I had throughout the whole thing was that he was equally nervous. I was most relieved on the day of the marriage itself, simply because it finally arrived and the wait was over. But I knew I wanted to start a family with him. My biggest worry stemmed from the fact that my mother originally wasn't too fond of him—and I guess the general worries of either of us changing, fighting, divorcing, the like—but thankfully she got over it. Now Mike, why do you ask?"

"Well... I was seeing Zoe at school. I've been keeping in touch when she's in New York. We've been spending time together however we can... I've just been wondering when to take the next step," he explained, and suddenly, it all made sense.

"You're thinking of proposing," I realized.

"Well... yeah. But I'm not sure when to do it. I mean, there's a few things I gotta do first—meeting her family and asking her parents, at least—but I just... agh!" he groaned, his frustration evident as he mussed up his hair.

Truth be told, as much as I wanted to answer his questions and ease his worries, I knew my limits. This wasn't one I could answer, as I could only speak from the perspective of the receiver of a marriage proposal, not the giver. But still, while I couldn't answer his questions, I could at least give him whatever I had, or my name wasn't Julia Brezinski.

"Michael," I sighed, gently taking his hand. "Remember what I've told you about following your heart and head?"

"I know, I know... facts don't care about your feelings."

"True, but this is one situation where they go hand in hand. Take a step back and look at the big picture. If you can see yourself raising children together and getting along in the process, sleeping in the same bed—not to 'sleep' or survive—and in general spending moments with each other that are objectively beyond friendship... well, you should still ask your father, but it seems like a good step forward."

"I... I think I understand," he replied after a few moments. His face lit up, making me smile.

"C'mere," I urged, bringing him in for a hug and kissing him on the forehead. "There. Feel better?"

"Much.. yeah, I'll look it over. Heck, I'll see if I can call her now. Thanks, Mom!" he said as he stood and walked out.

"Of course, dear! Just make sure to introduce me to her! I'd like to know the mother of my future grandchildren!"

"GAH!" he shouted from the hallway, making me giggle as I put my glasses back on and got back to my book.

Perhaps I've picked up on my husband's ways.

Capt Schacter POV

As I drowsily opened my eyes, I quickly noticed that Jerry, my behemoth of a husband, wasn't in the bed with me. Though, given the smells of bacon and eggs wafting through the house, it wasn't difficult to figure out where he was.

Though what was surprising was what happened as soon as I sat up.

"SURPRISE!" two Marines bellowed as they barged into the bedroom, the door banging against the doorstop. Shocked, I flattened myself against the headboard, using one hand to pull the covers up while using the other to reach for my nightstand where I kept a pistol for defense on instinct. However, before my hand even reached the stand, I froze as my eyes locked on the name tapes of the Marines' woodland cammies.

And looking further up revealed two faces I hadn't expected for another two weeks: my very own sons, Hank and Chip, bearing a plate of breakfast and a bed tray.

"Hey, Ma," Hank greeted with a sheepish grin as they came forward. "Happy Mother's Day."

"Oh my word," I muttered as they set up the breakfast: a relatively simple one of eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, and coffee. Obviously they didn't cook it, considering their overall lack of proficiency in the kitchen. But that wasn't what I cared about. "Y-y'all are back!"

"Yeah, just arrived this mornin'. Exercises finished early 'cause Murphy's Law hit the Brits. Equipment failures, believe it or not. Wasn't anythin' else we could do without the tea-drinkers, so the MEU came home early," Chip explained. "Plus the boys from 2nd ANGLICO, of course."

"Military-grade equipment, right?" Hank joked, making his lance corporal brother chuckle. "But yeah, my SALT actually arrived back at Lejeune ahead of the MEU. I stuck around, waited for this knucklehead to arrive, then called Pa to give 'im a heads-up. And well, here we are!"

"Hey, I gotta tell you 'bout this one evenin' of liberty we had... so Sarn't Major and the CO greenlit the battalion to go have liberty company by company, alright? And the SALT was allowed to come with. So some of the Royal Marines took us to this pub..."

For a few minutes, Chip and Hank explained the series of unfortunate events involving the Marines and sailors of the US and UK, bouncing off each other the whole time. Though, what was shocking wasn't the story itself, but the fact that Chip and Hank were telling it together and laughing together. For once, they weren't sneering, shouting, or fighting.

And best of all: it didn't seem forced. I know, I'm ain't a psychiatrist or anything, but I know my boys well. As it seemed, that damned school of theirs—St. Smithen's or something along those lines—was what finally brought them together after breaking them apart.

"And that's how we got banned from every pub in Angus, Scotland," Hank finished with a grin. "The brass weren't even that mad, just curious as to how we managed it."

"I remember when I told First Sarn't what happened, he howled louder n' a hyena!" Chip laughed. "Cap'n just stared before the Sarn't Major walked by and said that 'if somethin' jackassed can happen, Marines will find a way.'"

"'Specially the enlisted men, you have to admit."

"Yeah... officers save their jackassery for while they're on duty... not including you, Ma. Or warrants, to a degree. So... how's life been for the last six months?" Chip asked, with his captain brother looking on with a similar boyish smile.

"Well, Ice Cube shifted me from S-1 to S-4 for collateral duty, Granite got sent to TOPGUN, and Nuke had to be fished outta the Atlantic," I replied, recalling the major events that happened within my squadron in the past few months. "'Same ol' same ol', I reckon."

"Good night!" Chip exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "You gotta explain the story with Nuke, Ma! He ain't dead, is he?"

"No, he ain't. But he officially hates barracuda more n' anythin' on Earth."

"Whoo! Now that's somethin'! Just another day in the Corps, huh?"

"Amen to that," Hank agreed. "Hey Ma, aintcha gonna eat your breakfast? We didn't cook it, we promise. It's completely edible!"

"No, no, I'll eat it... just wanted to talk to y'all first, that's all. I'm just so happy to see y'all!" I replied with a smile. "I was honestly gonna just call y'all, maybe spend some time with your father today, but I'm so glad y'all are here!"

"Durn right! Hey, that reminds me! Chip, get the thing!"

"One sec," he said, darting out of the room while Hank moved the bed tray off my lap and put it to the side. Within moments, Chip returned with a gift-wrapped box.

"What's this?" I asked, gingerly taking the package as my sons watched with big smiles on their faces.

"Open it, Ma!" they urged simultaneously, with Chip pulling a jackknife from his pocket. Slowly, I took the knife and carefully cut the wrapping away to find a rifle carry case.

And inside, unsurprisingly, was a rifle.

It was a 5.56-chambered SBR, complete with a red dot sight, fixed iron sights, a flashlight, a sling, and a suppressor: overall, a relatively simple setup (at least, based on what Jerry would say). It appeared to be custom-made and was painted with two different designs. The left was made to look like the flag of Georgia, my home state. The other looked like the side of a Harrier right underneath a canopy, complete with my squadron's insignia and a rather cinematic label:

CAPT MOLLY SCHACTER

"MOTHER"

VMA-223

"Yeah... we weren't sure if you'd rather have 5.56 or 9-mil, but we got all the parts to convert it if you'd like!" Chip offered. "Shouldn't take more n' a few—"

"Y-y'all made this?" I interrupted, astounded by the level of detail as I examined the AR. The paint jobs were nothing short of incredible, almost professional.

"Well... yeah. Coupla stencils and a lotta practice, but we did it ourselves. I handled the flag side, Chip handled the Harrier side. We've been workin' on since last year," Hank explained. "We wanted to give it to you earlier, but we got deployed before we could complete it. Soon as we came back this mornin', Pa got us back here and gave us a place to work, put on the finishin' touches. I know it ain't exactly the best—"

"Hank, this is beautiful," I interrupted, feeling myself tear up. Not at the AR, but at the fact that my boys were actually getting along. Setting the AR down, I reached out and grasped the two of them in the best hug I could manage—which was quite difficult, considering that they, like their father, were about a foot taller than me—and gave each a small kiss on the forehead. "This is a wonderful gift, boys. Thank you."

"Shucks, weren't nothin' to it," Chip replied bashfully. "Glad you like it, Ma. Hope it looks like the side of a Harrier."

"It looks just like it, hon."

"Hey, why don't we take this out, let you shoot it a lil' bit?" Hank suggested. "We can see which you'd rather have: 5.56 or 9-mil. We can make any other adjustments you'd like too!"

"That's a lovely idea, boys. Maybe after I finish breakfast? Oh, and don't y'all need—"

"Relax, Ma. This is your day to relax, so just let us handle everythin'!" Chip interrupted.

"Yes ma'am, we've got it all covered!" Hank agreed. "Chip, the parts?"

"Wait... you don't have the conversion parts?" Chip replied, eyes wide. "I thought you were gettin' 'em."

"Oh, crimeny—we need to go get 'em! C'mon, you imbecile!"

"'Imbecile?' Listen here, you lil' turd—"

The bickering continued as the two made their way out of the room, leaving me to shake my head as I went back to looking at the AR. They were brothers after all, so it only made sense they'd do this sort of thing. But at least they weren't at each other's throats.

"Mornin', Angel," a voice greeted from the doorway. Looking up revealed none other than Jerry, grinning as he ducked under the doorway and walked over to give me a hug and kiss. "That's a nice-lookin' AR right there. Real purdy."

"The boys made it themselves, believe it or not. Not quite the Mother's Day gift I was expectin'," I chuckled. "But honestly, this is the best gift I've ever gotten from 'em."

"One helluva gift, though. Think I oughta drop some hints about that one rifle I've been lookin' at?"

"Jerry..."

"I'm only joshin' with you, sweetheart."

"I know, dear."

The rest of the day was interesting, to say the least. While I was capable of shooting 5.56 from the SBR, I much preferred it after converting it to 9-mil. Chip and Hank continued to bicker as they tried to figure out what activities for us to do throughout the day. But honestly, it didn't hurt watching it, not like when they were at each other's throats for so many years prior.

This was the best gift I had gotten: my family whole again.

Catherine POV

"I gotta say, this is pretty nice," Erica admitted as we had our mani-pedis at a local spa, waiting in the corner chairs for our spa tech to return. "I thought Dad was joking when he recommended this for Mother's Day."

"Darling, this was a very nice idea. And I'm glad you agreed to join me!" I replied. "Surprised your father didn't join us."

"Wait, what?"

"Yes. You see Gunther the financial expert over there? Alex has brought me here several times, ended up chatting away with him while I had my spa treatment. Once, he and all the men waiting for their wives ended up creating an arm-wrestling fight club in the lobby. Someone called the police, and the policemen ended up laughing and joining in for a few moments before going back on patrol."

"... and here I thought teenage girls were complicated."

"Dear, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that men—or at least Alex—prefer to keep things as simple and to-the-point as possible. No muss, no fuss."

"But... don't we do that?" Erica asked quizzically.

"Perhaps, but they do it even more so," I explained, recalling numerous examples involving Alex and different men I've worked with in the SIS and British military. This includes, but is not limited to, the fact that while I have several separate products, Alex used three-in-one soap, shampoo, and conditioner. "And no matter how, they will always find ways to amuse themselves. How do you think soldiers stay sane?"

"... so that's what Chip was talking about."

"What?"

"He showed us this weird video of a bunch of soldiers—sailors, Marines, whatever—doing stupid stuff like dual-wielding machine guns, praying to Chesty Puller, and tying each other up with tape while they're sleeping. He found it absolutely hilarious."

"It's like my mum once said: 'a man and a woman may both be speaking English, but they will always be speaking different languages.' That's why we both exist, after all, to complement each other physically and mentally."

"Hang on, how'd we end up on a philosophical tangent regarding the differences between males and females?" Erica suddenly asked. "We're in a spa having a mani-pedi, and this is what we're talking about?"

"It's a poorly written fanfiction, dear. Nothing to worry about," I replied. "Hopefully."

"... what?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Say, where is Dad?"

"He said he had something to take care of before we met up for dinner. Cyrus too."

"Got it... I have to say, it's been a while since we did anything like this together."

"It has, hasn't it?"

"Yeah... Y'know, I once told Dad that you raised me, not him. But to be honest, it was a weird combo of you, him, and Grandpa. I was just pissed at him about the whole document debacle," Erica recalled. "It's weird being on good terms with him now."

"Your father is a complicated man, darling. For all his cowardice, dishonour, and skullduggery, he's had just as much courage, honour, and sincerity," I sighed with a shake of my head. Some may call me an apologist for my husband's actions, but the fact of the matter is that everything I knew about his professional career—Washington, West Virginia, Colorado, Afghanistan, Mexico, and beyond—amounted to his resume simultaneously being horribly and extraordinary. He was both sides of the bell curve.

For all the nonsense that happened with him and Erica, his efforts in Mexico helped the mission succeed and were the lynchpin in saving the lives of Cyrus, Fletcher, Davies, Wright, and Ben.

"Yeah... but what about you? I mean, you're going back and forth between the UK and US. What's your deal?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted sadly. It was difficult to figure out a solution and find a balance between the Secret Intelligence Service and my family (which had been kept secret from much of the CIA and SIS), which were literally an ocean apart. I had been trying to work fewer hours or get a staff position, but to no avail. My head said for Queen and country, but my heart said for Erica and Alex.

Oh, and Cyrus, I suppose.

Suddenly, my phone began buzzing, with the caller ID showing a blocked number. I quickly cut it off, wanting to "nip it in the bud," as Cyrus said. But right as I did so, the person called back. "Biting the bullet," as Alex said, I took the call.

I've learned a lot of American-isms from my husband and father-in-law that have been unintentionally incorporated into my vocabulary.

"Miss Catherine? Lisa of St. Andrews' Illustrative Syndicate here. Glad you finally picked up," a female Scottish voice sarcastically said. It was none other than Lisa, a friend of mine who works in administration at SIS.

"Damn it, Lisa! I'm on vacation! What is it?" I replied, irritation evident in my voice.

"Oh, nothing. Just the fact that I'VE BEEN CALLING YOU FOR THE PAST FOUR HOURS AND YOU DIDN'T PICK UP! I SENT YOU EMAILS TOO!"

"So why the bloody hell did you feel the need to call my personal phone?"

"Because it's about an assignment! You've been asked to serve as a liaison for Charleston's Indian Artisans!"

"W-what? Lisa, please tell me you're serious!" I hissed, trying to keep the shock and excitement out of my voice. I hadn't even applied for the position of liaison officer to the CIA.

"Do I sound like John? OF COURSE NOT!" she exclaimed.

"I know all about your brother's skullduggery. But swear it to me."

"Fine, fine... I, Lisa Phillips, swear I'm one hundred percent serious that you have been assigned to work as a liaison in America in one month's time, and it doesn't look like you're coming back anytime soon. I've sent you the transfer orders. You're going to be spending lots of time with those Yanks, so you better make sure you learn some vernacular and how to drive on the wrong side of the road. That, or have plenty of money for a cab."

"Lisa... thank you," I said, feeling myself smile giddily.

"Oi, relax. I'm here for you, Cath. Now have fun doing whatever it is you're doing."

"Tell John I said hello."

"Get married quick, lass, or you'll probably get asked to be Mrs. John MacTavish as soon as you get back."

"What was that all about?" Erica asked as I hung up.

"Oh, nothing... just that I'm going to be spending a lot more time here from now on," I replied, my smile widening.

"You mean it?"

"Fully, dear."

Ben POV

"Mom... how's it going? It's been a while, I know. I wanted to come by, talk to you for a bit, but I've just been so busy... I know, I know, it's no excuse not to stop and talk to family for a bit. Just wanted to let you know that I'm doing good... great, even."

My speech received no reply from the gravestone. The only words I got back were the ones written on it:

JANE RIPLEY

BELOVED MOTHER, WIFE, FRIEND

MARCH 13, 1974 - JUNE 8, 2014

"FOLLOW YOUR HEAD AND YOUR HEART."

To the right and left were the gravestones of my father and siblings, all summarizing their lives and adding quotes that fit each one.

My father's was expectedly profound: "HE WHO HAS STRENGTH, WISDOM, AND LAUGHTER IS UNSTOPPABLE."

My brother's was his catchphrase that made him famous on his basketball team: "CHARGE HARD, MOVE FAST, NEVER QUIT."

My sister's was nothing short of a display of her innocence: "MEMORIES AND LOVE LIVE FOREVER."

Okay, I'm not sure if she actually said that, but it sounded somewhat true, considering our interaction in the Waiting Room two years ago.

At one point, it made me sick to my stomach to see the gravestones before me. The four people I cared about more than anything—and in some ways, took for granted like an idiot—were gone, and all that was left of them were four slabs of stone. The sick feeling never left.

And yet... it hurt less as time progressed. I don't know if I got over it or whatever, but I felt more at peace than I did then.

"Well, I'm sure you're curious as to how the whole dating scene with me is. Well... I'm not sure I'm there yet, but I'm looking into it. Just focusing on finishing up school for the time being. And don't worry, Catherine and Alexander have been watching my back the whole way through... I think you would've liked them."

Speaking of the latter, I looked to my right to see him some distance away on another end of the cemetery, visiting his mother's grave. Far behind me was Cyrus, who stood stoically by the car in wait, not wanting to enter the area. He claimed he wanted to give us room, but I had a feeling it was him who wanted some room. The man lost his wife and friends, so it's not like I could blame him.

"Thank you for everything, Mom. I miss you, Dad, Charles, and Jill all the time. Tell Great-Grandpa Clyde I said hello. I love you," I said, pressing my palm to my lips before gently laying it on top of Mom's gravestone. Then, I stood and began my walk back to the car in silence before getting intercepted by Alexander ten seconds in.

"Ben," he greeted simply.

"Hey," I replied as we continued our journey.

"Doing good?"

"I guess so... how about you?"

"I dunno. Don't remember her all that well, but miss her all the same."

"I just hope I'm going down the right path... one she'd approve of."

"You and me both, son. But hang onto those memories, okay? Don't forget your mother's love."

"I won't... Dad."

I know it's very late for Mother's Day, but I just wanted to put this out there to honor motherhood.

This is undoubtedly one of the stranger things I've written, but I wanted to further explore the backgrounds of the characters (particularly the secondary ones). This isn't for the sake of filling in some quota, but to go based on possibilities derived from the characters' names and give them some more depth.

Hope you liked this one. I'm preparing one for Father's Day too. Stand by,

- ADF-2