Georgetown

Washington, DC

Oakwood Apartments

December 19th, 2015

0455 hours

DISCLAIMER: There will once again be dark elements to this section of the story, with some not-quite-dark, but serious parts nonetheless (i.e., mentions of alcohol, death, rape - TRIGGER WARNING), I hope you are mature enough to read this.  If you aren't skip this chapter.  No, this isn't nearly as dark as the chapters centered around the nightmares and self-harm attempt, but it includes more grown-up elements nonetheless.  You have been warned.

Chip POV

I groggily opened my eyes, my mouth feeling drier than a desert.

This is nothing new, since I tend to snore in my sleep (I've gotten more than a few pillows thrown at me for this). I looked at my watch, which read "4:55 AM," and a quick scan of the room confirmed my belief that everyone else was fast asleep. Even Erica, who tended to sleep lightly, seemed to be in a deep sleep, snoring softly.

Of course, knowing the Ice Queen, this could just be a ruse. But I didn't care. I was dehydrated.

I stood, stretching out my legs, neck, and arms, as I slowly walked towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I walked down the hallway, I noticed that the light was on behind the door.

'Intruder?' I thought, a little bit of paranoia creeping in. To this day, I still don't understand why I am so paranoid and ready to fight at night. My guess? A combination of snoring, nightmares from my younger days, and a plethora of self-defense training from my Marine parents.

Battle instincts kicking in, I crept forward, fists clenched. I soon found myself positioned right outside the door. In one swift motion, I pushed the door open and entered, ready for a fight, only to be met by—

"Ben?" I whispered. The sixteen year-old stood wide-eyed before me, shaking like a leaf and nearly dropping a glass of water.

"Ch-Chip?" he stammered.

"Dude, what are you doing up at this time?" I asked, relaxing myself.

"Er... thirsty," he replied. A little too quickly. Almost hastily.

'Something's not right.'

"Are you sure, man?" I asked as I took a glass from the cabinet.

"I... well... no," he sighed as he sat down on a stool, his eyes glued to the island.

I filled up my glass from the tap before turning to him and sitting down on a stool myself.

"You need to talk?" I asked, remembering the night before.

"I wouldn't want to bother—" he began before I raised my hand, motioning for him to stop.

I knew that he was still having nightmares. And in regards to helping those with them... I certainly wasn't the most qualified, but I was no slouch.

Dad—Master Sergeant Jerry Schacter—is a CSO (Critical Skills Operator) in MARSOC, more commonly known as a Marine Raider. While he's not on the front lines as much these days, being the Team Chief in his MSOT's (Marine Special Operations Team) Headquarters element, he constantly operated in dangerous environments for years.

He was, and still is, a door-kicker: the tip of the spear, one of the men pulling the trigger and bringing the fight to the bad guys. He's still able to lead the charge and face down the bad guys when needed, but he mostly commands his team from afar these days, planning and managing operations from the HQ element.

Dad doesn't talk about it, but he's had to kill before. Furthermore, he's had to see the atrocities committed by terrorists. Despite having been through hell and back, he doesn't have PTSD (or any mental health concerns for that matter), but he's still witnessed things that have kept him up at night. Yet, I had never seen this occur, as Hank and I were always asleep when it happened.

I would only find out the next morning, whenever Dad slept in or walked into breakfast with dark circles around his eyes. All I would get out of him is that he couldn't sleep well, and we didn't need to worry. When I turned to the Internet... I read some stories and ended up having to stop, simply because of how horrifying it was.

Some years ago, when Mom—Captain Molly Schacter, nee Sterling—was deployed and Hank was taking an externship in France (for the Academy, of course; it was with the Directorate-General for External Security, or DGSE), I woke up for a glass of water, only to find Dad—who had recently been promoted to Captain and an SOO—drinking at the dining table.

This worried me because he only drinks under two circumstances: with friends/family during happy times or when he's trying to forget. With the look on his face and the lack of company, it was definitely the latter. He wasn't completely drunk, thankfully, but I did manage to stop him from drinking any more, leaving him a bit tipsy and disoriented.

Now, one of the side effects of Dad drinking (at least, when he drinks enough; he can handle alcohol very well), is that he talks. A lot, as in he rambles uncontrollably, which is exactly what happened here. He proceeded to explain that he was drinking because he had a horrible nightmare: Mom's Harrier somehow got shot down, and while she survived the crash, she was captured and brutally tortured, raped, and killed by terrorists; Hank was in Paris, and he was killed in a car bombing orchestrated by the terror group; finally, armed men stormed our home in the dead of the night, and Dad was forced to watch helplessly while I was beaten and eventually beheaded. The worst part for him was that he was left alive in the dream, forced to bury all three of us and be left alone. In all three cases, the terrorists that killed us were Dad's targets on past missions.

From what I could guess, Dad and his MSOT managed to kill/capture the targets before they had the chance to hurt any more US/Coalition/allied troops or civilians, but he was wondering what would have happened if they escaped: he was scared that they would return and exact their revenge on Mom, Hank, and I.

It was right after this explanation that he completely broke down, sobbing his eyes out. Let me tell you, not only did it hurt to see him like this, it terrified me too. Dad's the toughest man I know (yes, I hold him in higher regard than Cyrus Hale; perhaps illogical, but that's my hardwired loyalty, I guess), and anything that can scare him like this has got to be the Devil himself.

But I did what I could, talking with him and trying to reassure him that Mom, Hank, and I would be fine. We weren't in any danger because he and his team eliminated the threat. I eventually managed to help him back to his bedroom and encourage him to sleep, but I pulled up a chair too, and stayed by his bedside for the rest of the night while keeping a hand on his shoulder.

The next day, I tried making him breakfast before he woke up, only to mutilate the eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy. Probably the only reason the coffee survived was that the machine wasn't plugged in. Yet, when he found me standing shame-facedly in the kitchen that looked like a warzone, I managed to get a smile out of him as he gave me a tight hug before cracking his knuckles and helping me redo the whole thing. Now, us Schacter men can't cook (okay, Dad can, but Hank and I are legendary within the family for creating disasters in the kitchen; it's actually the reason why we are always put on dishwashing and table duty at family barbeques), but our joint efforts resulted in a meal as good as a breakfast made by Mom or Grandma.

Speaking of Mom, she was able to contact us via video tele-conference (VTC) a few days later. I left my parents to speak in private after I got to talk to her, but I did catch a few bits of Dad talking to her, with her comforting him again, and easing his worries. Despite the fact they had different MOSs (military occupational specialty), they still understood each other's lives very well.

I knew my parents were happily married together but this just consolidated my belief that, come hell or high water, these Devil Dogs would stick together until the end.

"Ben, you ain't be a bother, and I've got all night. Talk as you please," I said, remembering how I talked to Dad all those years ago. "Or don't. I won't pressure you, man. But I'd rather keep you company, if you don't mind."

His body began trembling again. "Nightmare," Ben said simply, still not looking at me.

After a few moments of silence, I asked a follow-up question: "May I ask what happened?"

"Y-you were... d-dead. You and Jawa, Mike, Zoe, Alexander, Catherine, Cyrus, Erica, my f—" he answered before he cut himself off.

"Your family?" I asked as gently as possible. I got a teary-eyed nod in response.

I remained quiet, knowing that he probably needed to take this slow. Each person reacts differently, after all. We sat there for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"You all were... shot. By... me. I thought I was shooting Joshua Hallal. But every last round went into someone I care about."

I thought about what he said. It sounded quite close to what happened the night before.

Furthermore, it sounded like survivor's guilt.

My grandfather on Mom's side, Sergeant Tom Sterling, was a US Army soldier in the Vietnam War. In one skirmish, he lost his entire squad to Viet Cong forces. He was eventually saved by a quick reaction force composed of soldiers and Marines in helicopters, and airstrikes eliminated the enemy threat.

Yet, he was never the same, feeling guilty for the loss of the men he had sworn to lead and protect. Some of those soldiers were barely even men, between seventeen and eighteen years old. He became an alcoholic, drowning his sorrows, and it eventually resulted in him driving drunk and dying in a car crash back in the US (he was the only casualty, somehow).

I never met him, but Mom was only a little girl when it happened. It's one of her and my maternal grandmother's worst memories.

With what I knew about Ben, I was worried he would head down a similar path. And in the words of Jawa, this worry was no "slippery slope fallacy."

"I... I killed them, Chip. I killed you!" he choked out, his eyes leaking out tears. "If I didn't join the damn CIA, they would've been fine. I should've just—"

"Whoa there," I said as firmly as I could without my voice becoming harsh, holding up a hand and making him stop. It was at this moment, though, that I realized that I didn't know where to go from here. Suddenly, I remembered something Mom told me a long time back: "SoYNAH," or "Sometimes You Need A Hug."

'I've lost my ever-loving mind,' I wondered as I stood up.

"C'mere," I said, holding my arms open.

His dark brown eyes locked with mine, tears streaming out of them.

"Wha—" he croaked out before I interrupted.

"C'mon, Ben."

He obeyed, slowly rising and all but collapsed onto me. The poor kid was still shaking after I wrapped my arms around him. I started to feel like a complete idiot when he returned the gesture, burying his face in my shoulder as he cried.

'Well, Granny always said to listen to Mama...' I thought. 'I guess sometimes you do need a hug.'

"You're safe, bro. It's okay to cry. Nothing can hurt you, nor have you hurt anything," I whispered, patting him on the back and holding him close.

Little-known fact about me: I am very protective of my family and friends. No, I'm serious. Sure, I tease them relentlessly. Sure, I prank them. But I would die for them without question. Even Hank, who I despise, is on the list of people I would take a bullet for. I think it's a product of the way I was raised combined with the tight-knit community that we share. That did explain my surge of protectiveness for Ben, and my desire to keep him safe. He was, in fact, the little brother I never had (along with Jawa and Mike, of course).

"B-but what about w-what happened?" Ben stammered out, still trembling with fear. "I put the t-targets on their backs. Joshua s-said so."

'Why that son of a—' I thought angrily as my fists clenched, before something stopped me.

'Down, boy. It's too late to kill that piece of crap. Hallal will face justice in Hell. You don't need to be an avenger now. You need to be a brother,' a voice in my head said. I took a few deep breaths, calming myself before responding to Ben.

"Joshua said you're the reason they're gone? Fake news," I told him firmly. "You know why? Let me tell you a little story: when I first saw you, I thought you were nothing but fresh meat, just the new kid on the block. You were a greenhorn, a tenderfoot. And I ain't referrin' to the Boy Scouts," I said, getting a little chuckle out of him.

'Huh, the humor worked. It's like what's-his-name—Lao Tzu?—said: "Every journey begins with a single step." Better keep moving, Chip,' the voice instructed.

"But you had one trait that still shines in you today, although you refuse to acknowledge it. You know what that is?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Loyalty. Dude, even when you were just a rookie, you were loyal to your family, to your friends, to your country. You're loyal to the cause of good in a world where the gray area dominates. You've repeatedly thwarted SPYDER and saved a bunch of Coloradans from being turned to ash by a nuke. You sure as heck didn't do it alone, but you stuck with the mission every time. If that ain't loyalty, then unsweet tea is better than sweet tea."

I let it sink in before adding one more comment: "No man loyal so his family, friends, country, and the principles of goodness would kill the ones he holds dear to his heart. You're not a murderer. You're a friend. Everyone in this apartment—maybe even Cyrus—is your friend. We know you could never betray us."

He was silent for a bit before he began to chuckle. "You sure you're the same Chip that has an affinity for weapons and explosions? You sound more like a therapist or a frickin' philosopher."

I couldn't help but softly laugh. "Yeah, maybe. Well, if you knew my family history... dude, crazy ain't the half of it."

"Long history of military service?"

"Yeah, every branch. Some not-so-good stories in there... that's kind of how I knew what to say."

"That's impressive, man."

"But in all seriousness, bro," I said as I pulled away while maintaining a grip on his shoulders. "You know we got your back, right? I mean, it's kind of our job as friends."

"So I've heard."

"Yeah, brother. Anything you need, just tell us, and we'll get it done!"

"Thanks, Chip," he sighed with a small grin.

"For what?"

"For being you."

"I'll take that as a compliment. How're you feeling?"

"Better. By how much I don't know, but... better, nonetheless."

"Attaboy," I said with a smile as I patted his shoulder. "C'mon. You need some shuteye if you wanna function properly."

"I can't sleep. I'm wide awake."

'Well... ah, what the hell? What's a few hours of sleep, anyways?' I thought.

"Gimme a few seconds to fetch something," I said as I walked off. I quietly returned to my duffel bag, grabbing the necessary item before returning, where Ben was waiting patiently. He may have been wide awake, but he still needed something to set his mind at ease.

I sat down with a deck of cards, shuffling them as I asked a single question:

"Ever play poker?"

Happy Belated New Year!

Stay hydrated, exercise, keep up with your studies/career, and keep the ones you love close!

Apologies for the wait, but like I informed everyone last time, updates are going be an issue. They continue to remain an issue to this day (because the real world is chaotic, and history is repeating itself).

Yes, this is the same message as last time, because I have the same thing to say.  However, I will be adding some more to "Spy School as Vines" shortly, in case you're interested.

But in regards to the chapter... yes, Chip is a southerner in my universe.  Specifically, he's from North Carolina.  He's also a big protective fellow, and he cares deeply about his friends.  I'll continue to flesh out individual characters like this to the best of my ability.

Thank you for continuing to read, and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

Until we meet again. Stay safe!

- ADF-2