Georgetown

Washington, DC

Laverty's Bridal Boutique

December 21st, 2015

1500 hours

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPECIAL SHOUT-OUT TO @Ericahale717 FOR THE IDEA!

Erica POV

"Actually, I just realized something," Nancy said before she helped me out of the dress. "You're the splitting image of your mother, right?"

"... yes?"

"And she's getting married?"

"Yes, our father... died. Now, she's remarrying... with a new man."

"So, who's walking her down the aisle?"

I didn't quite understand what she meant until I remembered the tradition of the father of the bride walking her down the aisle and "giving her away," so to speak. However, it didn't necessarily need to be the father, and I wanted to get Ben back for what he did.

"Well... my brother is," I responded, making Nancy's eyebrows rise.

"I... I'm sorry?"

"Well, my maternal grandparents have passed, so... my brother offered to do it. Considering that I'm basically a younger version of my mother, if you took a photo with him in a tuxedo with me, it'd look almost exactly like the real thing!" I reasoned, weaving together one of the most bogus excuses I had ever created.

"Brilliant idea! I'll have him in a tux in just a few! Come to think of it, I wonder why we have tuxes even though this is a bridal boutique..." she muttered as she walked away.

I couldn't help but internally grin at the fact that she took the tale of BS hook, line, and sinker.

'Now, are you grinning at the fact that you get to see Ben in a tux?' the voice in my head said irritatingly. I chose not to respond, not wanting to give it the satisfaction.'

'Listen, you can't ignore me, you idiot. I'm a part of you! The inner machinations of your mind may be an enigma—even to you, apparently—but I know what's up.'

'Really? And what, may I ask, is it?'

'You have a crush on him and you're interested in seeing what he'd look like on your wedding day. It's called a fantasy, you dumbass.'

'It's not a fantasy! He got me into this situation, so I'm just getting him back!'

'Revenge? Are you serious? That's so stupid, but I'm not surprised, considering that it's coming from you, Erica Ripley!' the voice chastised.

'YOU LITTLE BIT—'

"And, here we are!" Nancy announced as she opened the changing room door to reveal Ben... in a tuxedo.

He looked... good.

'Yes, just "good," which is why there is drool pooling in your mouth and your carnal side is beginning to show up again,' the voice deadpanned.

"OH!" I accidentally gasped to the surprise of Nancy and Ben. "Sorry, sorry! I just..."

'C'mon, c'mon, think of an answer!' I thought furiously.

'No commentary,' the voice replied cheerfully. 'You want me to shut up, I'll shut up!'

"Umm... your tie is a bit crooked... bro. Let me just—" I said as I stepped forward, my body acting independently of my mind. Reaching out, I adjusted his already-straight bow tie, feeling myself become even more flustered at the closeness. As it seemed, Ben felt the same.

"Er, thanks... sis," he stammered out. "Glad I got you here to keep me in line."

"Very, very nice!" Nancy said, delighted. "You two look excellent! Young man, your mother will be very lucky to have you walking her down the aisle! Here, let me get my Polaroid!"

"Uh—" "Wait, no! It's alright—"

"It's fine, it's fine! I'm the only one here, anyways! Besides, I'm never working a shift where anything good happens, so it's nice to actually get to do something for a change!" she replied cheerfully as she rushed back towards us with her Polaroid in hand. "Now, come over here!"

Too flustered to even argue, we followed her directions: standing in just the right spot with just the right background and just the right lighting, arms linked.

"Now... smile!"

'Let's see if you can manage this, Erica,' the voice taunted.

"Aaaand, one! Aaaand, two! Aaaand, three!" Nancy said, snapping three shots of us. "Excellent!"

"What's going on here?"

Our heads jerked towards the mirror where the voice came from. It was none other than...

"Grandpa?!?" I squeaked as he marched towards us. He stopped next to Nancy, taking in the scene. His eyes widened until I thought they were going to fall out of his skull into his glasses.

"Granddaughter. What... is... this?" he slowly asked, his tone indicating a great deal of restraint.

"Grandpa... hi! We were just... picking out a dress for Mom's wedding!" I stuttered.

"Well, if that's the case, don't you think it'd be better if your mother was present?" he asked sternly.

"Yes, but we wanted to surprise Mom!" Ben blurted out, making Grandpa shoot a quick glare at him. "Er... Sis looks just like Mom? And I'm walking her down the aisle?"

"These are your grandchildren, sir?" Nancy asked. "Oh, they've been good browsers! Let me tell you, I've had some people come in here and act like complete idiots, but these two did well!"

"Really, now?" Grandpa replied in a clipped tone that Nancy didn't seem to notice. "That's good. I expected their parents to raise them right. But, unfortunately, the browsing has to come to an end. Their... mother... will be coming back shortly."

"Okay, I'll just help your granddaughter out of the dress and your grandson can take care of his tux, then you'll be good to go!"

Thankfully, getting undressed and redressed didn't take long, but Nancy and I emerged from the changing room to see Grandpa glowering at Ben. I felt a need to rise to his defense, but I didn't, feeling too embarrassed.

"How much do I owe you?" Grandpa asked, pulling out his wallet.

"Oh, nothing!" Nancy replied cheerfully, making Grandpa stare at her in confusion.

"Miss, there's no such thing as a free lunch."

"True, but not only am I feeling the Christmas spirit, I've secured a future customer for the boutique!"

Grandpa raised an eyebrow before nodding and putting his wallet away.

"Smart gal. Thanks very much."

"Of course! Here's the photos," she said as she handed me the paper-clipped Polaroid photos. "You three have a very Merry Christmas!"

We left the store, with me pocketing the photos. I wanted to throw them away so I didn't have to remember this mortifying moment, but once again, my body acted without direction from my mind.

"If what I thought happened in there, it better not have happened," Grandpa growled, his eyes boring into the back of Ben's head, making him gulp.

"Grandpa! It was my idea!" I blurted out, making the two stare at me in shock. "I got Ben caught up in my mess!"

"What are you doing?" Ben mouthed, eyes wide.

Grandpa chose not to reply, responding with a resounding "harrumph," marching us forward.

'Took the blame, eh?' the voice asked.

'Will you shut the hell up?'

Zoe POV

"... and that is why I despise Percabeth and ship Perachel instead!" I finished, biting into my chocolate croissant. "Dang, these things are awesome!"

For context, Mike and I had left the library after a long discussion of Seymour Gray's Intelligence Institution series. We disagreed on a few things, including whether or not Jeremy Hamilton and Milo Harrington would finally get killed in the next book.

I didn't think they would, but Mike was unwavering in his belief that Jeremy would get assassinated by SEAL Team Six (as ordered by the CIA) and that Milo would die from a blood clot (i.e., eating too much bacon).

In retrospect, the latter makes complete sense.

We had the munchies, so we went to this little French shop—Le Café du Quartier—where we got some chocolate croissants and hot cocoa. Let me tell you, this is some of the greatest stuff I've ever tasted. Now, we were sitting at a picnic table in Book Hill Park, enjoying the food, drink, snow, and each other's company.

"Not gonna lie, your explanation has changed my entire view of the Percy Jackson and Heroes of Olympus series," Mike sagely replied. "I can't believe that Frazel is the only healthy tier one ship!"

"I know, right? Percabeth, Jiper, Solangelo... what in the blue hell?!? All the good ships are tiers two and three with the secondary and tertiary characters—Chrisse, Coach Mellie, Gruniper, Charlena—now those are wholesome! And the Hunters of Artemis and Amazons? They're overrated, if you ask me!"

"Oh, yeah. 'Cept for Thalia, they were just a bunch of whiny yahoos. Oh, and Bianca? Her entire arc was just a big hell-to-the-no, chief. What was Rick thinking?"

"I dunno, but whatever the case, it spawned a fandom war on the Internet," I remarked with a shrug. "Plus, it resulted in a bunch of other ships. There are a few that make some sense—consider Jeyna, for instance, prior to the whole amnesia thing—and the long shots like Perlia which are still somewhat grounded in reality. But there are also a bunch that make me consider the sanity of our generation."

"Perzoe?" Mike suggested with a sip of hot chocolate.

"Nope!"

"Pernico?"

"That would never work..."

"Person?"

"I've never understood that one, not gonna lie..."

"Perianca?"

"That doesn't even make any sense!"

"Perlypso?"

"Oy vey..."

"Pertemis?"

"Do not get me started!" I groaned as I experienced flashbacks of all the "Guardian of the Hunt" stories I once saw. Not only was it cringe after a while, some of it was so stupid. Percy would get abused and put within inches of his life by the Hunt (which would definitely spark an uproar if the sexes were flipped), but he'd forgive them and stay.

Because logic.

"Okay, I won't," he chuckled. "That aside, what's with the fandom being filled with Percy Jackson/[insert character here] ships?"

"He is the titular character," I reasoned. "Also, there's a lot of odd fantasies out there among members of the fandom. Still, you'd think that there would be some other ships, maybe some Roman stuff, but no! The fandom—and even Rick, to a degree—seem to forget that Camp Jupiter and the Romans exist! If they do, they're always over at Camp Half-Blood! And let me tell you—"

"Relax, Zo!" Mike laughed, cutting off my rant. "It's just fiction! You don't need to rave and rant about it!"

"It's a whole load of BS, if you ask me! I mean, have you seen Tumblr, for one?!?"

"Okay, okay," he admitted, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, if you got to remake the series, what would you do?"

"Remove all the toxic dumbassery, for one," I snorted, taking another bite from my croissant. "Hunters, Amazons, and all the stupid relationships can be cut. Secondly, you know what would've been epic? Some sort of SWAT team or special forces unit!"

"... I don't follow," he replied, tilting his head like a confused puppy. It was almost adorable.

"C'mon, there's a bronze-shootin' Mossberg 500 in canon, so why not have a bunch of dudes armed to the teeth with body armor and guns? Throw in some helicopters, airplanes, boats, and some of those fancy quad-tube night-vision goggles, and boom! You've got SEAL Team Six with demigods!"

Mike stared at me for a few moments before his eyes lit up and I was graced with bellows of laughter.

"Zo, that's got to be the most amazing idea I've ever heard! How did you even—"

"Uncle Abraham—Papa's brother—is on NYPD SWAT. He's told me and my siblings all sorts of stories from his training, and more rarely, the lighter moments from his missions. It just turned the gears in my head!"

"I can see it now," Mike declared dramatically. "A team of elite demigods, fulfilling the prophecies and taking on missions beyond any of their brethren! They have no need for 'slice and dice,' for they prefer to 'shoot, move, and communicate!' Now that's a story worth reading! Zoe, write this fanfic quickly!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" I giggled as I felt a lightbulb spark in my head. "What if the team members were based off of us?!?"

"Us?!?"

"Oh, please, don't act as if you haven't considered what we'd be like in this universe!"

"I have never once considered that. Now that I am... I guess I could see it working out. Some sort of joint task force between the camps..."

"And the members of the gang slot perfectly into the roles of a tactical unit!"

"Lemme guess, Chip would be carrying the big gun," Mike replied matter-of-factly. "He'd be sad if you didn't give him the big gun."

"I mean, yeah! Chip could be the heavy weapons guy, Ben could be the dude calling for fire support, Jawa could be the sniper-slash-team leader, and you—" I theorized, stopping as I got a vivid mental picture of what Mike could look like.

He'd be one of the operators that chose to wear his sleeves short, exposing his forearms and biceps to the elements. As long as he could avoid a helmet, he'd wear a baseball cap indicating loyalty to the New England Patriots.

Plus, he'd be the team medic, the "Doc." The one saving lives.

I suddenly imagined myself as an injured demigoddess, laying on the ground with an arrow in my gut as an empousa was about to strike me down. Suddenly, gunfire erupted, and I turned my head to see the boys—all kitted up—emerge from smoke, laying waste to the demon lady and many other monsters. While Ben, Chip, and Jawa charged the monsters, Mike ran towards me and slid—yes, slid—on the ground until he was kneeling by my side. He looked at the arrow and then me, before flashing me a smile.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna get you outta here," he promised, his voice projecting strength and confidence that shook me to my very core. He stabilized me, occasionally drawing his pistol and firing rounds at the enemy with ease. Once finished, he lifted me as if I weighed nothing and carried me to safety, getting me further hot and bothered.

'OOOH! YES, SIR! TAKE ME AWAY!'

'WHAT IN THE BLUE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?' I mentally screamed at the voice in my head.

'Just checking in, Zo! I know I'm a part of your mind, but whoooo! Those are some very hot thoughts!'

'LEAVE ME ALONE!'

"Zo? Zoe? What were you going to say about me?" Mike asked, waving his hand in front of my face.

"Well..." I began, feeling a sudden rush of confidence. "You'd be the team medic. A pretty good-lookin' team medic, if you ask me."

Mike's eyes comically widened and his jaw dropped, almost as if I just casually suggested that we engage in debauchery. However, his shock was quickly replaced by a mischievous-looking smile.

"Is that so? Something you'd like to tell me, Zibbell?" he said flirtatiously.

"Oh, I dunno... maybe I shouldn't have said that. Don't wanna inflate your ego, Brezinski."

"Oh, no, Zo. You've already got it inflated."

"Oy vey..."

"My question though, is where you'd be fitting into this little spec ops group. Would the ladies be spies, intel gatherers?"

"Well, I am proficient in several languages..." I remarked casually.

"Would you be wearing one of those... shall we say... nice-lookin' outfits like a Bond girl? Skintight? Flattering?"

"Oh-ho-ho! Slow your roll there, Mister Brezinski," I laughed, surprised and excited at his boldness. "I guess Erica and I would be spies supporting the demigod special forces unit... but in terms of the outfits, I'd only wear what you suggested if I wanted you to drool all over the floor."

"Zo, I don't drool," he fired back with a snap of his fingers. "I'm more disciplined than that."

"Yeah, and Ben sucks at math," I sarcastically replied as I locked eyes with him.

"Back to the demigod operators though... Are you saying I'd be your knight in shining armor? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Eh, I think you'd be more of a dude in sweaty, dirty cammies. I like it more than shining armor, anyways."

"Well then..." he chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

"STOP!"

"HEY, YOU STOP RIGHT NOW!"

At the shout, we jerked our heads towards the scene some-thirty feet away: a man with a knife and bag in his hands was running from three policemen.

"What in the—"

Chip POV

I eventually gave up my search, electing to return to the starting point.

I didn't like giving up, but I had no choice. After hearing what Mrs. Lyons said about keeping family close, it became hard not thinking about it.

After texting Jawa, we decided to rally at the park. Based on his texts, it seemed like he had found what he was looking for, the lucky guy. I had to wonder, though: who was his Secret Santa? Or rather, who was his receiver?

"Tarnation..." I grumbled, scuffing my boot against the sidewalk. "This is so stupid—"

"POLICE! GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!" a man bellowed from somewhere behind me, making me take cover in a nearby alleyway.

"KNIFE, KNIFE, KNIFE!" another shouted.

I peeked around the corner to see a man in a face mask run from three police officers with a knife and bag in his hand. The officers were evidently giving it everything they had, but the mugger was gaining ground.

The mugger shoved another pedestrian into the street, making one of the officers abandon the pursuit and a car come to a screeching halt. The other two officers kept chasing the suspect, while their third colleague just barely pulled the civilian out of the road before another car rear-ended the first vehicle, causing it to surge forward.

'Should I help?' I briefly thought as the mugger approached my position.

'BOY, THAT FOOL HAS A KNIFE!' a voice in my head bellowed.

'Lord, help me...'

I proceeded to make one of the dumbest decisions I have ever made in my lifetime. Right before the mugger entered my trajectory, I charged out of the alley and tackled him, making us crash (him first, thankfully) into a snow-covered garbage can as the knife and bag fell to the ground. Falling back on muscle memory I gained from the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, I successfully restrained the mugger and kept him from hitting me long enough for the police officers to arrive at our position.

And yes, I have MCMAP training.

... I've spent quite a bit of my childhood at Camp Lejeune, okay?

"Yo, yo, yo! Give me his hands!" the tall, muscular officer—"R. Mason," based on his name tag—said, holstering his sidearm and bringing out handcuffs. Complying with the order, I shifted myself until the suspect's wrists were exposed, allowing the officer to slap the cuffs on him. "I'll take it from here, dude."

"Damn, son!" the shorter, mustachioed officer—"D. Johnson"—exclaimed as he holstered his sidearm. "Helluva tackle!"

"Thank you, sir," I quickly replied, feeling the adrenaline coursing through me. Meanwhile, two police cars had pulled up on opposite sides of the street, red and blue flashing lights filling my vision. Officers disembarked from the vehicles and ran towards the scene with some more officers who were on foot patrol. Three moved to help Officer Mason while the rest ran towards the vehicle collision.

"C'mon," Officer Johnson said as he reached down, clasping my hand and pulling me to my feet. "You did good, kid."

"You steal an old disabled lady's money, you nearly get a dude run over, and you cause a collision?!? What the hell?!?" Officer Mason growled as he and the other officers yanked the slush-covered suspect to his feet. "Come on! You're under arrest for robbery, battery, and public endangerment!"

One of the officers opened the rear door of a nearby squad car while the other three pushed the suspect inside, ducking his head so that he didn't hit the frame.

"This is illegal! You didn't read my rights!" the mugger suddenly protested as he was secured in the backseat.

"Sir, your Miranda Rights are read upon interrogation, not at this time," a raved-haired officer sighed almost tiredly as she closed the door. "Nice work, Rick," she congratulated, flashing the gigantic officer a smile.

"Err... thanks, Maria. But, that wasn't me. It was that dude there," Mason stammered out before pointing towards me (if I wasn't mistaken, he looked a little red in the face... perhaps it was the cold). The officers glanced at me before nodding, all shouting congratulations and giving me thumbs-up as I brushed the slush off my coat and face.

"Dispatch, this is Adam-113, 10-15. I say again, suspect in custody," Officer Johnson reported on his radio. "10-78, four civilians on scene, status to follow. Also, we have a 10-93, two-vehicle collision. Over."

"Sir? Are they going to be okay?" I asked, motioning towards the collision. The team of officers had successfully retrieved one of the drivers and were trying to get the other one out, using their batons to smash the windows and force open the doors.

"Don't worry, those guys know their stuff," Officer Johnson replied calmly. "You've done enough for one day, young man. What's your name?"

"Schacter, Chip Schacter."

"You doing okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm not hurt. They need help, though."

"We'll get 'em the help they need. One second," he replied before turning towards the crash. "Ramirez! What are we lookin' at?"

"Pedestrian's okay! One motorist conscious, the other's knocked out!" the officer in question shouted. "Both need EMTs!"

"Gotcha, Dave! Dispatch, this is Adam-113. Be advised, two civilians are unharmed, but we need EMTs for the other two. One of them is unconscious at this time... 10-4, Adam-113 out," he said on his radio before turning to me. "Alright, Mr. Schacter, you did good. Now, are you with anyone else?"

"Classmates, Christmas break," I replied.

"So you're still in school. Parents?"

"Deployed, sir."

"... deployed?"

"They're in the Marine Corps, sir."

"Damn, that explains a lot," he joked, earning a chuckle from me and bringing me down from my adrenaline rush. "Your parents raised themselves a fine young man, I see."

At that moment, my phone began to buzz. After receiving a go-ahead from Officer Johnson, I pulled out my phone to see numerous notifications from most of the gang. I turned around, moving to respond, but saw none other than Zoe and Mike, waving from beyond the police cars.

"Friends of yours?" Officer Johnson asked.

"Classmates, sir," I replied, waving back.

"C'mon, let's go," he said, patting me on the back and leading me towards the two. Right before we passed the cars, Alexander and Catherine cleared the corner, their cheerful expressions shifting to ones of concern.

"Holy hell, Chip! What happened?!?" Alexander gasped, hustling forward.

"I'm good, sir," I quickly replied, not wanting everyone to worry.

"And you are?" Officer Johnson asked.

"Alexander Hale, Officer. I'm one of the chaperones for him and his classmates," Alexander quickly explained. "What happened?"

"Long story short, young Mister Schacter here stopped a mugger! What a tackle!"

"Are you alright, dear?" Catherine asked kindly, stepping forward.

"Yes, ma'am, all good," I responded. "Just on a bit of an adrenaline high, so to speak."

"Dude, we saw the chase from the park!" Mike exclaimed. "Didn't think it'd end up here!"

"Officer, will he have to appear in court?" Zoe asked. "I mean, if the mugger pleads 'not guilty?'"

"Don't worry, as long as that dirtbag doesn't plead 'not guilty,' there's damn near no way he'll need to show up."

"Okay, that's good," Alexander sighed, evidently relieved. "Is he free to go?"

"There's a brief paperwork matter if you're up for it, son. Otherwise, we can contact you at another time."

"Can I just finish it today, sir?" I asked almost frantically. I didn't regret tackling the mugger, but I did not want to get caught up in a police investigation. If word got out (via media or other means), they could learn about it in Afghanistan (they weren't doing any black ops or super-secret-squirrel stuff, so it's not like they didn't have no Internet access), and they had enough on their plate. As such, I wanted to remove myself from the situation as quickly as I could.

"Sure thing, just a minute," he said as he went to one of the squad cars. When he came back, he had me fill out a section of an incident report and recorded a quick testimony, with Alexander volunteering his contact information (Alexander afterwards whispered to me that it was for safety's sake).

Thankfully, the officers were friendly and efficient, and we left for Book Hill Park in silence.

"So... anyone gonna address the elephant in the room?" Mike asked after a few minutes.

"What happened, happened," I replied firmly, trying to indicate an end to the conversation. Thankfully, nobody said a word.

We found Jawa, Cyrus, Ben, and Erica in the park. Jawa held a package in his hand (wrapped in a plain brown paper bag, for secrecy), and looked excited. Erica and Ben looked nervous, while Cyrus looked madder than a wet cat.

I gave a quick rendition of what happened, electing not to speak beyond the basic facts. Thankfully, nobody asked further questions. This incident—in which people were hurt—and Mrs. Lyons' earlier words about family were still swirling around in my head, and I couldn't stop thinking about them.

The rest of the day was a blur: dinner, a quiet walk back, and a semi-relaxing game of poker in which Alexander was frighteningly skilled.

He cleaned us all out of our potato chips in seven rounds. It's understandable, though. He's a CIA officer: a master of deception.

I hit the hay while everyone else was watching something on the TV. But, as I turned off my body, my brain refused to go into sleep mode.

Savor your time...

Keep your family close...

H.J.S...

'Dagnabbit.'

Despite my research, I had trouble finding information on police procedure, so please excuse any inaccuracies.  See the following for jargon explanations:

https://policecodes.net/category.php?cat=alphabet

Also, yes: Miranda Rights are in fact not read upon arrest, but upon interrogation in custody.  Hollywood has, once again, butchered the facts like they always do.  For example, darn near nobody there understands basic physics.

AND NOBODY IN ACTION MOVIES EVER AIMS DOWN THEIR SIGHTS WHICH WOULD IN REALITY ENSURE THAT THE OPERATORS DON'T HIT A DAMN THING—

Sorry, the SGT Foley in me came out again.  Perhaps he should sent PVT Ramirez to Hollywood to educate filmmakers and actors.  I'd pay to see that happen.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!  Don't forget to comment!

Also, don't forget to check out Mind the Gap: a Spy School Collection (especially the chapter titled: An Operator and His Aviator.  I'm particularly proud of that one).

Take care of yourselves and each other.

Until next time,

- ADF-2