Georgetown

Washington, DC

Book Hill Park

December 21st, 2015

1040 hours

Mike POV

"It's a really good thing Cyrus bought those shovels and scrapers, eh?" Chip asked as we arrived at Book Hill Park.

"Chip, please shut up," Jawa grumbled in reply. "I love the snow and all, especially coming from California where it's as frequent as a blue moon, but shoveling is something I do not enjoy!"

"Hard work builds character," Alexander replied bluntly as he stretched his arms.

"I understood that reference, but no!"

"On the bright side, now we can actually get out of the driveway," Catherine commented.

"Don't forget that the sun and snow plows were out and about!" Ben added as he wiped some sweat off his brow.

"Yeah, and the plows laid down some salt too, I think. It's freezing, but at least we drive if needed!" Erica said.

"Hey, it's not like we need to go to the grocery store, right?" Zoe asked, adjusting her scarf to protect her face from the cold.

"We won't need to resupply for a few days, so we're fine," Cyrus answered.

"So..." I began as I saw all of the children sledding. "We don't have any sleds, and while the snow is melting from the road, it's still sticking to the ground. What exactly are we doing here?"

"I had a little idea on a game we could play," Alexander replied. "Hide-and-seek."

His suggestion resulted in us giving him confused looks, though the Hales seemed to perk up at this. Even Cyrus had a little smile on his face, which was a surprise.

"Cyrus, you're smiling. Why are you smiling?" Zoe asked, sounding astounded. "Someone take a photo and send it to the International Spy Museum!"

"Hush your mouth, kid," the elder man scoffed. "Hide-and-seek is only the greatest game in history! Plus, it's practical!"

"... I don't get it."

"Basically, it's a game of what you Americans refer to as SERE—survival, evasion, resistance, escape," Catherine explained. "The person designated as 'it' is an enemy operative. The others must evade him or her by whatever means necessary outside of engaging in combat, all while staying within a certain area on a map. Techniques include dodging into alleys, makeshift disguises, and the like. Anyone caught must join the seeker in locating the others. There is also a timer, and whoever hasn't been caught by the end wins."

"We actually had to implement the timer because Dad once didn't realize that it had gone from Mom hunting him to all of us trying to find him, and he interpreted all of our calls and texts as tricks," Erica added. "He evaded us for an entire week until we found him in a coffee shop! And even then, he tried to bolt!"

"Hey, the rules were 'whatever means necessary outside of engaging in combat,'" Alexander argued. "And I'm very competitive."

"Well, it sounds fun!" Jawa reasoned. "What's the plan?"

"In the spirit of the season, we've decided that we'll break off into pairs while Dad is 'it.' Choose a buddy!" Alexander ordered.

Quick as a flash, he laced his fingers within Catherine's. Chip and Jawa gave each other a nod and a fist-bump before standing together. As for me, I turned to Zoe.

"So, you wanna—"

"Should we—"

'Awkward...' I thought as I felt myself cringe.

"Yeah, why don't we—"

"Totally! Sure!"

Under the gazes of everyone else, I went ahead and stood next to Zoe, feeling myself get warmer, and it didn't have anything to do with the balaclava covering most of my face.

"Well, that leaves Erica and Ben," Catherine concluded, a little grin on her face. Hilariously, the two's facial expressions instantaneously changed from blank to shock.

"Well, anyways, the area is as follows: stay within 34th Street Northwest, S Street Northwest, Reservoir Road Northwest, and 32nd Street Northwest," Alexander added. "Check your phones' GPS for that. What should we do for a timer?"

"Maybe a five-hour timer, since they're rookies," Cyrus replied. "We'll meet back at the Georgetown Neighborhood Library at fifteen forty-five, then."

"Check," Chip affirmed. "What kind of head start do we have?"

"Thirty seconds," Alexander replied. "Everyone make sure you've got everything you need."

During our little check, I made sure I had my phone, wallet, portable charger, headphones, and chapstick.

Hey, the ladies aren't impressed by cracked lips. And I'm speaking from experience.

During our little check, though, I noticed Cyrus giving Ben a little death glare that said: "try me, I dare you. Because then, I'll kill you."

'Reminder to self: get the entire DOJ (Department of Justice) to protect Ben from Cyrus's wrath,' I noted mentally. 'And maybe local law enforcement and the National Guard too.'

"Everyone ready?" Catherine asked, receiving nods from all of us.

"One, two, three..." Cyrus began closing his eyes. Almost immediately, Zoe grabbed my hand and darted for the nearby woods, dragging her with me until I began running along with her. Soon, we were laying behind some snow-covered bushes, though we were no more than thirty yards from Cyrus who was still counting.

"What are you doing?" I whispered furiously. "We're gonna get caught!"

"The last place he'll expect us to go is the most obvious one!" Zoe replied.

"Ah, yes. The cinematic technique. It's not like those folks are protected by plot camo or anything!"

"Oh, shut up!"

Everyone else had already booked it, including Berica (surprisingly enough). Cyrus had just opened his eyes and began scanning the area. Remembering what Catherine said about improvisation, I flattened myself against the snow, even throwing some of it on myself and Zoe. She quickly followed suit, and we were soon decently concealed by the time Cyrus's eyes locked on us.

He stared our way for a few moments before turning around and walking in the other direction. Zoe and I breathed sighs of relief.

"Zibbel, you are crazy," I groaned.

"I'm a New Yorker. Crazy is my middle name!" she laughed, her eyes shining with mirth. "Also, 'plot camo?'"

"Plot armor, but in terms of concealment, rather than cover."

"You learned that from Chip, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. Gotta pass Conducting Warfare somehow, and it's not like Call of Duty and Battlefield are any real help. So, what now?"

"Let's just—" she began before our cell phones began vibrating. We pulled them out, only to find ourselves in a group text with Catherine, Alexander, Jawa, and Chip.

Catherine: What are the chances that Cyrus is currently looking for Ben and Erica?

Chip: Are you saying that he's stalking them?

Me: This is Cyrus we are talking about.

Alexander: He's stalking them, all right. He doesn't hate Ben, just Berica.

Zoe: Aren't fathers supposed to be the overprotective ones?

Alexander: No commentary. But, in fairness, I already know Ben.

Jawa: True.

Zoe: So are we just playing hide-and-seek for no reason now?

Catherine: Well...

Chip: Yep.

Jawa: Without a doubt.

Me: ... so what now?

Catherine: Well, keep playing, and find some way to amuse yourselves in the meantime. Have fun, children!

Alexander: AND DON'T BE STUPID!

I looked up from my phone, finding a grinning Zoe.

"What's that look?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, it appears that I need to introduce you to an amazing literary world!" she exclaimed, her hands waving in what appeared to be NYSL—New Yorkers' Sign Language.

"I dunno..."

"Oh, come one!" she ordered, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the library. Once inside, we found some chairs by a fireplace, allowing us to shed some of our clothing as we warmed up.

"Zoe, why exactly did you—" I began before I stopped, gaping at her uncovered face. Her mussed up hair, pretty green eyes, flushed cheeks, and cute little smile made her look... well... adorable.

'Oy vey... WAITHERLIPSAREMOVINGWHATISSHESAYING?!?'

"Mike? MIKE!" she said, snapping her fingers.

"SSSSHHHHHH!" several people hushed at once, making both of us blush in embarrassment as we squeaked out "sorry" simultaneously.

"So..." I said quietly.

"So..."

"Why are we here, again?"

"So, you remember when we were talking about the Intelligence Institution series?" Zoe asked.

"Right..."

"I wanted to show you some fanfiction!"

"... I don't know how I feel about this."

"Oh, because it's on Wattpad?" she scoffed indignantly.

"Zoe, it's fanfiction," I sighed. "I'm not much of a reader myself, but I draw the line somewhere. Besides, last I checked, didn't you say yourself that fandoms are toxic as crap?"

"... okay, well that last part was a broad-brush statement, but it doesn't apply to every fandom! Besides, what I actually said was that fandoms are jacked up, not necessarily toxic!"

"Explain."

"Well, there is a huge shipping war between Beliza, Jeliza, and Zock, so... yeah."

"So that's Brock/Eliza, Jeremy/Eliza, and Zofia/Brock? Didn't Jeremy commit treason against the USA?" I asked, scratching my head in confusion. "I've only seen the trailers for The Force Awakens, but it would be like shipping Rey with Kylo Ren!"

"Well, yes, but these are fangirls we're talking about! They thirst over some male characters and boom! Said male characters turn into the epitome of ridiculousness!"

"... how exactly?"

"The male characters become male Mary Sues... Gary Stus?"

"It rhymes, so it makes sense that it's the male version," I reasoned. "Let me guess: the male characters the fangirls are thirsting over check literally every box: tall, hot, funny, muscular, charming, rich, getting along with all their friends, good for honeymoon time..."

"Imma stop you right there, but only because you're absolutely right," Zoe interrupted, shuddering. "And some of the things they post... it's a madhouse on social media, even beyond the fandoms!"

"What about fanboys?"

"Well, they're there, but there aren't as many of them as you'd think," she explained. "You're more likely to find them watching movies, playing video games, making memes, and simulating persons/events rather than writing fiction and drawing art. Think cosplay, fan films, and such. Again, it's not that they can't write fanfiction or that girls can't game or cosplay, but that's just the way it's been, as far as I can tell."

"Huh... I honestly didn't know that."

"But to answer your question, fans in general can be a bit crazy."

"At least we have the option of just not reading the fan material if it's crazy, right?" I reasoned, trying to be optimistic.

"That's my principle: if I don't like it, I just move on to something I do like and not waste my time."

"Ah, free markets!" I sighed in a faux-dreamy voice.

"You've been hanging around Chip for too long," she replied with an eye roll.

"Hey, in regards to economics, Chip is actually brilliant," I defended. "Plus, he's against communism!"

"Chip, all of us oppose communism in all of its forms! None of us trust the mainstream media nor take politicians' and celebrities' opinions at their first word!" she fired back. "Even though I'm from New York and Jawa's from California!"

"Okay, okay," I chucked, raising my hands in surrender. "The irony being our status as government employee candidates aside, what about the fanfiction you wanted to show me?"

"I've got it right here!" she replied, pulling out her phone and accessing Wattpad. "Here's a few!"

"Hmm... okay, okay, okay," I said as I read down the list. "What's that one? Mission Christmas Joy - An Intelligence Institution Tale?"

"Oh, yeah, that one's by an author called 'BravoEchoGolf3, or BEG-3.'"

"'BEG,' huh? I bet that fic is trash, 'cause this fool is BEGging for attention," I laughed, reading the acronym.

"Be nice, Mike!" Zoe scolded. "This person must've worked hard on it!"

"Fine, fine. I'll read it and judge it!"

A few minutes later, and I wasn't sure what to think of it. It seemed to be mostly cringe, save for the combat-related parts. That I had some respect for as a fellow gamer and first-person shooter enthusiast (Call of Duty is a favorite of mine, especially the Infinite Warfare campaign).

Seriously, why is this fool writing at all? It's complete trash apart from the combat scenes. Who in their right mind would read this?

And what kind of name is BEG-3?

"This is kinda cringe, not gonna lie," I told her. "The romantic tension is terribly written!"

"Oh, sure, Mr. Playboy has an opinion on romance!" she replied sarcastically.

"Hey, it's not like I was sleeping around!" I argued.

"Yes, which is precisely why you've had at least a dozen girlfriends before the age of eighteen," she huffed almost... bitterly?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Miss Zibbell, do I detect bitterness or... jealously?"

"No, of course not!"

"You're totally jealous!"

"Well, excuse me for not wanting one of my best friends to be a swinger! My life's too weird as is!"

"You can't blame me for being a ladies' man!"

"Right, right, right. I'm sure you showed 'em a good time."

"I was a gentleman about it, not a heart-breaker or some male thot! Plus, it's not like we were 'sleeping together!' The only time I slept with a girl was because we were watching a movie and I fell asleep on her couch next to her. If I 'slept' with her, her father would've put a few rounds in me! He's literally a Marine!"

"I—I'm sorry, run that back. Did you just say... a male thot?!?" she asked.

"Well, yes. I don't have an actual body count, just a kiss count!"

We stared at each other in silence before she clapped a hand over her mouth, appearing to suppress her giggles.

"What the hell, Mike?"

Her laughter was infectious, and I was soon giggling along with her.

"Well, I couldn't determine the male equivalent to 'thot,' so..."

"Har de har har, Mister Brezinski," she replied with an eye roll, but the mirth remained. "You need to improve your vocabulary, maybe step away from the emergency medicine."

"Says the girl who's all about languages, communications, and cryptology!" I argued back, referencing her skill set.

"Say what you want about BEG-3, but at least the author has a better vocabulary than you."

"Look at us," I chuckled, having recovered from the laughing fit. "Two idiots in a library, talking about fanfics—"

"LOVEBIRDS! WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING?!?" someone bellowed from the other end of the library, eliciting several "ssshhhh"s from other patrons.

'Well, what a fabulous day this has been so far... I wonder how the others are doing...'

Jawa POV

Chip and I were, beyond a shadow of a doubt, going way off-book.

We had effectively abandoned the game as we arrived at Georgetown Shops, having taken the "scenic route" of finding hiding spots and disguising ourselves (i.e., swapping jackets and hats... in retrospect, it would've been better not to do it with two boys with seven inches' difference in height).

"So, now that we've abandoned the game, what do we do?" Chip asked, scratching his head.

"Well, we could always fall back on our secondary objective," I mused.

"... which was?"

"The Secret Santa, man!"

"Oh, yeah. So, who'd you get?"

"Do you really expect me to tell you?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, we did rig it for Ben, Erica, Zoe, and Mike. That's half the group already, so you might as well tell me!"

"Your logic is not sound," I replied bluntly.

"C'mon, one brother to another?"

"... no."

"Dagnabbit," he cursed. "Fine. You go do your thing, I'll do mine. Lemme know if you need a hand getting things off the top shelf, shortie!"

"Go jump in the Potomac, farmboy!" I called as he walked away, receiving a laugh and a salute in return.

As I looked towards the shops, I realized one major problem: I had no idea what you were supposed to get for a middle-aged (at least, I assumed she was) woman.

I'm not sure how long I just stood there, lost in thought, until I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me. I turned around to see a confused-looking, five foot nine, thirty-ish year-old police officer.

"You okay, man? You lost or somethin'?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

"Er, thanks officer, but no," I replied. "Just unsure of what to do."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Well... actually, do you have any idea what a woman would like for a gift?" I asked, hoping that he had some sort of experience with... well, females.

The policeman looked at me for a few moments before a sly grin slowly grew on his face.

"Oh... I see."

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, feeling more confused than ever.

"I see exactly what's going on here."

"You... know what I'm doing?" I pressed, surprised. Either it was a freak guess or this cop was one helluva detective.

"You're tryin' to get yourself a gift for your girlfriend!" he laughed. Immediately, my heart leaped into my throat as I felt myself blush in embarrassment.

"Wh-what?!? No!" I stammered out.

"Oh, so you're askin' her out? My man! Shootin' your shot takes guts!"

"N-no, she's just a friend!"

"You keep telling yourself that, young brotha," he chuckled. "I remember when I was like that once... it was not so long ago..."

"No! I mean that she's my chaperone! She's old enough to be my mother!"

"... oh," he responded slowly, his teasing tone gone.

"Although," I admitted. "I will confess that I had a crush on her at one point. But in my defense, so has nearly every other boy that's laid eyes on her."

"Ah... reminds me of my little sister when she had a crush on this firefighter, of all things," he sighed, rolling her eyes. "Of course, she was a teenager, so I can't be surprised. Then again, I'm fairly certain everyone has at least one crush in their lives that's years ahead in life and experience."

"Damn straight."

"But she had to fall for a firefighter. Freakin' hose jockeys... Well, my rivalry for the boys in red aside, is this a Secret Santa, or is she a close family friend?"

"Actually, it's the former," I answered. "I decided to vacation with some friends for the break. We're being chaperoned by one classmate's parents and grandfather. No gag gifts, though. The lady is the classmate's mother and a good friend. I just don't exactly know what to get her."

"Well, jewelry's out of the question, since that's likely out of your budget and the sort of gift a lover gives," he reasoned. "Clothing? Maybe if you know what sizes she wears. Linge—WAIT NEVERMIND!"

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, not catching what he said.

"Er... let's just say that it's reserved for... honeymoon time."

"... I don't get it."

"Good, good. Word of advice, kid: maintain your innocence, and don't let go of it easily!" he warned in a panicked tone.

"Okay...? Well, what do you get for your wife? That is, assuming that you're married."

"I am, actually. Generally speaking, whenever I'm not on duty during Christmas, it's usually me cooking dinner, us watching some movies, and a little bit of 'fun,' so to speak. Oh yeah, and something I made in the shop."

"'The shop?'" I questioned.

"Well, it's interesting, actually, because before I joined the force, I did a brief stint as a welder. I went to community college, worked hard, and earned my associate's degree. I picked up a bit of auto maintenance too, which is quite useful if a cruiser breaks down. I'm not a welder by trade anymore, but I've helped out friends with odd jobs on off days and I like to make some things for my wife. Some of it's practical, some of it ain't."

"Wow... not sure I can match that," I replied, impressed.

"I'm not too sure how I got her, honestly. I wasn't and still am not quite what you'd call handsome, nor am I the smartest fella on the block. And charming? The last word someone could use to describe me. We met in community college, where she was training to be a respiratory therapist. She was basically the hot, friendly, and popular chick. Me? I was the ugly, quiet, and barely social dude. She was always nice to me, though. Honestly, I can't believe it took a year for me to notice her advances."

"I'm sorry, did you say a year?" I asked, astounded.

"Yep... I was oblivious as hell," he sighed, sounding embarrassed. "I guess I was so worried of misinterpreting her friendliness as flirting that I... well, misinterpreted her flirting as friendliness. Finally, during Christmas nine years back, I finally showed her that I reciprocated her advances. Badda bing, badda boom, and one day, she woke up married to a cop."

"Quite a love story."

"Don't I know it. All of my buddies love reminding me of my obliviousness, and they seemed to have more of a problem with that than the fact that it was the cliche hot, social girl-ugly, quiet boy relationship."

"Ouch," I muttered. "Sounds like two of my classmates."

"Let me guess: boy meets girl and they've got the feels. However, they think those feelings are unrequited, but everyone else knows the truth. Furthermore, one or both of them are so insecure about the whole situation, they freeze up at the idea of feelings beyond the platonic level."

"... that was accurate. Brilliant detective work!"

"I wish," he snorted. "It was a total guess. My sister-in-law likes writing 'fanfiction' on this thing called 'Wattpad,' and she loves to run her stories by me. Teenagers these days... and I thought I had weird hobbies as a teen. She wrote a story about some chick in grad school getting romantic with this older, beefy, badass cop! I swear, she's thirsty for boys in blue!"

"Yeesh. But in all seriousness, everyone's waiting for the two to get together. Even my best friend, who's quite oblivious in the romance department, can see that the two are pining!"

"I hear you, man. I hear you."

"Back to my original question," I said, shifting the conversation. "Do you have any idea what I could get for my chaperone?"

"Well," he replied after a few moments of silence. "I'd first ask what she means to you. Is she just your classmate's mother, or is she an aunt, or even a motherly figure?"

I simply shrugged with a noncommittal grunt, unsure of how to answer. Catherine was certainly more than just my classmate's mother, since we had worked together in the past. On the Mexico op, when I got injured, she took care of me like she was my own mother, rather than like a corpsman. Plus, she had given me some excellent advice regarding school.

"I'm gonna hazard that she's like an aunt to you," the officer said. "Meaning that you can get her something meaningful. Perhaps a practical item would work. Something that shows her that you care."

I considered his words for a moment before it clicked: I had the perfect idea.

"I've got it!" I declared, proceeding to excitedly explain my plan as he nodded in approval.

"My man! That's how you do it!" he said with a smile and a fist-bump.

"I gotta run and find it! Thanks so much Officer..."

"David Ramirez," he replied, shaking my hand. "Just call me Dave. Everyone does."

"Thanks, Officer Dave!"

"Happy to help! Good luck, buddy!" he called as I dashed towards the shops.

'Operation: Get-a-Gift is a go...'

Chip POV

In retrospect, sticking with Jawa was likely the better idea, considering that I wasn't the most intelligent nor creative fella around.

... okay, I am creative and intelligent, but not necessarily in the right ways. For example, I can come up with numerous strategies to perform a kill/capture mission on a high value target, but I can't figure out what to get Cyrus Hale for Christmas. Jawa probably had his Secret Santa in the bag.

'That boy probably already got his present,' I thought. 'Heck, he probably has too many ideas!'

"Lord have mercy... what are you supposed to get for a man that's been kicking Commies' butts longer than you've been alive?" I grumbled.

I kept looking around the different shops, trying to see which ones would be places of interest.

"Not that... not that... definitely not that..." I muttered to myself as I passed by the numerous stores. "What would be good?"

After perhaps a good twenty minutes of wandering, I gave up and entered a large department store, believing I had earned some respite from the cold. I began to wander around, answering attendants' offers of assistance with the intention of simply browsing.

I ended up walking for around half an hour (including accidentally wandering into a ladies' undies store) until I found myself near a little shop selling foodstuffs, complete with an old lady that seemed to be struggling to carry her groceries.

Call me cliche, but I decided to ask her if she needed help. My parents raised me to be a gentleman, after all, so I had to at least try to live up to their standards.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but do you need some help?" I asked, trying to be as polite as I could.

"Oh, thank you, young man. If you don't mind, I could use some assistance," she replied. "It's tricky to carry it and balance on a cane, eh? Goodness, my daughter was right..."

I carefully took her large bag from her hands and started walking with her slowly out of the store and onto the sidewalk.

"Where are you headed, ma'am?"

"Oh, just to the corner, dearie. I'm here with Ellie—my daughter—for a little Christmas shopping. I told her I could handle the food while she took care of the presents for the little ones... my grandchildren: Lukey and Mimi. Lukey's seven and Mimi's just six months old. They're just adorable!"

"Oh, that's nice!" I replied. "Is your daughter going to be there?"

"Well, she said she'd be there an hour ago, but if you know Ellie, punctuality was never her strong suit! Unless someone was actively watching her, she was late for everything! She still is! I swear, that girl would've been late to the birth of her own children if it weren't for my son-in-law!"

"Wait, isn't that impossible?" I asked, looking at her in confusion. My father already gave me "The Talk," much to my chagrin, and this knowledge combined with what the old lady said threw me for a loop.

"Exactly!" she chuckled, making me laugh. This lady was nothing short of hilarious, with a dash of savagery! "I'm so glad she married Ryan. He's such a nice boy, and quite good with children! He's watching my grandbabies now."

"He's a punctual one?"

"Most definitely! His father was in the Navy, and raised him with discipline. Ryan himself isn't in the military, but he runs his company with military discipline while maintaining the efficiency of a private business!"

"Sounds like your daughter found a keeper!" I replied, feeling impressed.

"That she did, that she did. I'm glad I taught her something at least. Oh, here she is now!" she said as we arrived at the corner, where a young woman in her late twenties was closing the trunk, presumably after loading her goods. "Ellie! I'm here!"

"Mom, what are you—" Ellie began, before freezing at the sight of me.

"Howdy!" I greeted, trying to be as jovial as I could. Yes, I got a word-of-the-day calendar from Jawa too.

"Oh, this is..." the lady began, turning towards me. "I'm sorry, I don't think I asked for your name."

"Chip Schacter, ma'am," I replied.

"Ruth Lyons," the lady said cheerfully. "And this, as you no doubt figured, is my daughter Ellie."

"Nice to meet you both. Where would you like me to—"

"I got it, thanks," Ellie said, taking the bundle of groceries and setting them in the car. Her mother, meanwhile, started reaching for her purse.

"Uh, no ma'am, it's fine," I said.

"But I have to pay you back somehow!" she insisted.

"No, please. I was happy to help! Consider it a Christmas gift!"

She stared at me for a few moments before beginning to smile.

"You remind me a lot of my husband, Jack," she said. "You're just like him: chivalrous, honest, not one to seek out a reward... he was a Marine in Vietnam and Korea, and became a policeman later on. Even as a child, when he was in the Boy Scouts, he always wanted to find ways to help."

"Seriously?" I gasped in awe. "Now that's an American hero! Is he here too, by any chance? I'd like to meet him!"

"Sorry, dear," Mrs. Lyons replied with a sad smile. "He was killed in a shootout a few hours before he was set to retire. Saved some children's lives from a gang, but gave up his own."

"... oh," I said, my mood dropping instantly. "I'm... I'm sorry—er, I mean... my condolences."

"It's alright, dear. It's like one of his brothers-in-arms said: 'He's in God's personal battalion of Marines—someone has to serve as Heaven's sentinels, after all.'"

(Author's Note: This is a reference to "The Marines' Hymn," with one line being: "If the Army and the Navy ever look on Heaven's scenes, they will find the streets are guarded by United States Marines!")

"I... hope I didn't bring back any bad memories."

"Please don't worry, Chip. I'm at peace, and I know he's in the Lord's hands. We all will be one day," Mrs. Lyons replied, gently laying her hands on mine and giving me a soft smile.

"I... yes, ma'am," I said finally, receiving a soft pat on my hands in response.

"Thank you, young man. Just take it from me: savor your time on God's green Earth, and keep your family close—blood or not. I better go now, but I hope you have a wonderful Christmas."

"Thank you Mrs. Lyons, Miss Ellie," I replied with the best smile I could manage. "Y'all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!"

With that, the two women got in their car and drove off. As for me, I ended up staring blankly at the spot where their car just was, before soon plopping down onto a bench. As I sat, staring at that one patch of pavement, I found myself pondering Mrs. Lyons' words.

Savor your time...

Keep your family close...

The words only served to trigger old memories I had tried to bury. As much as I mentally protested, my conscience only seemed to gain further ground in my argument against myself.

'Call him...'

I didn't want "the voice" to be right, but as it seemed...

It was.

The plot thickens as Jawa makes a friend, Chip has a crisis, and Mike and Zoe bond over fanfiction, of all things.  Strange how life works, eh?

There was a lack of Berica in the chapter, but I deemed it necessary to focus on some of the other characters, especially Chip and Jawa.  My versions deviate significantly from canon, I know, but I believe it makes them more interesting characters.

A hint of Zike for those that like it.  I'm trying to make their relationship significantly smoother than than of Ben and Erica.  Furthermore, their relationship is more founded on friendship than Berica, and that's for a good reason: Zoe and Mike, in canon and fanon alike for some reason, are both logical human beings that know how to communicate (at least, much better than Erica; the difference between Ben and them is slight, but they're still better communicators than Ben).

Welcome to my universe, where I disregard a great deal of canon and even some more popular fan theories.

Now, onto some important announcements.

I apologize for not getting back sooner. The past few months have been filled with personal problems that I had a tough time getting through. It's getting better, but I still can't write as frequently as I used to, to my dismay.

Worse, I'm starting to have increased difficulty in articulating my thoughts. Given this, along with the aforementioned personal issues, uploads will be sporadic. I hope to finish this story, but it will take time to do it right. For this reason, I kindly request everyone to refrain from asking for updates. It's overwhelming my inbox.

I appreciate that everyone took the time to read and comment, but I don't think I can get back to everyone's comment this time around, as far too many are in my inbox. I'll read as many as I have time for, but I can't reply to all of them. Once again, I apologize.

On a brighter note, for those interested, I finally have the first bit of content for another Spy School book—Mind the Gap: a Spy School Collection.  It's my own attempt to answer the many unanswered questions and missing details within the Spy School universe created by Mr. Stuart Gibbs.  This ranges from an exploration of Chip's background to the relationship of Catherine and Alexander.  There is some seriousness, but it's mostly designed to be a comedy.

That's all I've got.  Take care of yourselves and each other. Until next time.

- ADF-2