TW: Loss of a parent.

Rebecca remembered Sam's description of a lopsided, scraggly oak at the last intersection before her house. Maybe seeing it again caused the ragged sigh she heard from her right, and again, all she could think to do while driving was spare a sympathetic glance before turning the corner.

That brought them into one end of a... formerly pleasant residential neighborhood. Lots of space between houses that didn't register as "new" anymore, a few obviously remodeled within the last decade or so. Not as much trash blowing around or abandoned cars blocking up the street as there were deeper in the city.

Some of the houses had plywood nailed up over the windows like a hurricane was coming, and Rebecca's skin crawled at the idea of eyes watching them from inside. The road sloped gently uphill, and just as it started to curve to the right, Rebecca finished counting off addresses and found Sam's house.

It was cute, dark slate blue wood siding with off-white trim. A short path from the sidewalk, four or five steps to a low porch with two pillars in that accent color. Single-storied with a large window to the right of the front door, and a second floor stacked on top of a garage to the left. It fit her image of Sam, really. Cozy, functional, some niceties but not extravagant. The lawn was patchy and overgrown and what might have been rose bushes — that would make sense with the family name, Rebecca supposed — framing the front yard were dry and barren.

She nosed the SUV carefully into the driveway and set the parking brake, and looked over at Sam to check on her. Through the window past her, Rebecca could see the other SUV go several houses further up the street, turn round, and come back their direction to park in front of the lawn. Makes sense the guys would scout around a bit, she supposed.

"Hey, Rosie. You okay?"

Sam pressed her lips into a thin line. "I dunno."

"That's fair. Chrissie, maybe you and Pat can stay with her here, while I check it out with one of the boys?"

Chrissie looked back over her shoulder from where she was sliding her shotgun out from behind the seating area. "Sure, we'll hang out with her."

Rebecca nodded, and took her Tavor as Patrick handed it over to her stock-first. "Thanks, friends."

Landry and Epstein were already out of their ride, carbines in hand, checking the houses around them. Rebecca glanced around before opening her armored door and then exited to follow their example.

When nothing bad happened and Patrick was next to her with his M4, she tightened the comfortable driving slack out of her armor's side straps, did a quick two-way radio test with him, checked over her Tavor, and patted him on his shoulder. "See you in a bit."

He nodded, and stepped around her towards the front of the vehicle while panning his gun around in watchful sweeps.

Rebecca circled around the SUV's rear and nodded at the soldiers accompanying them. "Landry, can you back me up on a sneak and peek?"

"You got it sister." He nodded at Epstein — who turned to watch the far side of the street — then jogged across the lawn towards them, keeping an eye on the house.

Christine and Sam had both opened their doors and sat sideways with their weapons cradled their laps. Rebecca gave Chrissie another appreciative smile and got close to Sam.

She leaned in to kiss Sam's cheek. "Hey, I love you Rosie."

Sam smiled wanly as she held out an open palm with a key in it. "You too. Be safe please."

"I will." She squeezed Sam's forearm with her offhand, took the key, and turned back to Landry. "Good to go?"

"Always. Gunny'll kick my ass if I let something happen to any of you."

Rebecca smiled one last time. "True that." Then, all business. She brought the Tavor up to a ready, lowered her posture into a hunch behind it, and started following its aim up the front steps. Her eyes flicked to a large X spray painted by the door — search and rescue markings. Ronnie had taught her how to interpret them a while back. The two zeroes under the X meant someone had checked the house and found neither survivors nor bodies. Small blessings.

She knelt at the side of the door — nice and solid looking, so decent cover. Again, things seemed to be going their way. Landry patted her shoulder from where he was stacked up behind her, and she slipped the key into the lock slowly, turned it, and pushed.

The door opened smoothly, and no smell of death or rot assailed Rebecca. She partially rose, sweeping her aim across the connected living and dining rooms to the right of the door, paused briefly to study what was probably the kitchen doorway, then checked the top of the staircase that Sam had told her led to the master suite, two bedrooms, and one shared bath.

She waited three breaths, then crept forward, aiming at the kitchen while Landry covered the stairs over her shoulder. She knew nobody was behind the light grey couch from her initial sweep. The dining table had enough visibility through its legs and chairs that she knew it was clear too. That left the kitchen...

... where a heavyset man in navy sweatpants and a grey hoodie stepped into view. She quickly noted his hands were empty so she kept her weapon aimed just below his center mass and glanced to his face. Caucasian, early stages of balding, scruffy mustache and beard the colors of mottled rust.

That loosely matched the description Sam had given him. "Sir, are you..."

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"Mister Conroy?"

"Yeah, that's me. Now tell me why you and your army friend are in my house pointing guns at me, dammit."

Rebecca held her aim point with her right hand, but reached for her radio handset and flipped the voice activation switch by feel. "Sir, what's your daughter's middle name?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"Sir, please."

She heard Sam's voice outside. "Dad?"

"Sir, please. What is your daughter's middle name?"

"Rose, goddammit. What the hell..."

Rebecca sighed in relief and fractionally eased her aim just as she heard loud steps on the front stairs. Sam blew past her, dropping her helmet on the couch on the way, and threw her arms around her father, sobbing.

Rebecca relaxed, lowering her weapon the rest of the way, then glancing to Landry as he was doing the same. She motioned him outside with a small wave and he nodded, but looked upstairs pointedly before making his way out. She nodded back, and settled her weight against the wall where she could see both the ground floor and the stairs while she caught her breath.

Mr. Conroy had been gaping in shock as Sam crossed the room, and Rebecca couldn't make out the first few words they exchanged... but after she'd lifted the headphones away from her ears, she could clearly make out the next thing he said.

"She's gone, Sam."

Rebecca's heart plummeted as Sam let out a small piteous wail and slumped her head against her father's shoulder again. Damn it all to hell. Rebecca wanted desperately to reach out and comfort her, but held back, hesitant to intrude. This felt like a family matter first.

She heard movement behind her and glanced back. Landry was moving farther away, down the steps, and saying something to the others. Rebecca self-consciously clicked her radio back to push-to-talk. After several seconds, she debated stepping out onto the porch herself, but she heard Sam's voice again.

"Dad, this is Rebecca... "

Rebecca pushed off the wall and straightened respectfully. "Mr. Conroy, sir. I'm sorry for your loss."

He grunted standoffishly, which she supposed was fair.

"I apologize about the gun, sir. It's rough out there these days."

Sam smiled weakly at her from where she still half-leaned on her father, eyes red and cheeks sodden. "She helped me get here, Dad."

He seemed to soften a little. "Well, thank you for that."

Rebecca nodded, and tried to give Sam an encouraging smile. "Of course. She's done a lot for me too. I'll, uh... give you two a little time to catch up. Sam, I'm on the porch if you need me?"

Sam sniffled and took a deep breath. "Okay. Thank you, sugar."