Georgetown

Washington, DC

Oakwood Apartments

December 24th, 2015

1045 hours

[Author's Note: foul language incoming!]

Cyrus POV

Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

For once, everyone woke up early. Well, everyone except for Ripley.

Alex had the bright idea of going shopping, both for groceries and any other items, at the nearby shopping center. However, Ripley couldn't be aroused from his slumber. Catherine volunteered to stay back with him, but Alex instead had me stay with him.

I tried to protest, but Alex stood his ground. He ordered me—I kid you not, ordered me—to watch over Ripley until the rest of them came back. Catherine seemed to agree with me (for once), but Alex made her stand down too.

My son has really been growing a spine. So, out of stupidity (and some pride, though I will never admit it), I relented.

Now, I was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating an egg, sausage, bacon, and cheese sandwich, waiting for the young officer-in-training to awaken.

Speaking of the devil, the boy barged in, disheveled and looking scared.

"Where is everyone?" he blurted.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Ripley. They've gone shopping. I stayed back," I replied tersely.

"... oh."

An awkward silence filled the room. I was honestly sympathetic to the kid's plight, but at the same time, I wasn't terribly fond of him, considering the nonsense with him and Erica and the fact that this vacation went haywire. I was willing to bet he wasn't fond of me either.

"Er... you hungry?" I finally asked.

"... yes."

"There's some extra eggs and meat on the stove," I said, pointing towards the pans. "Bread and cheese is in the fridge. There's coffee, milk, orange juice."

Nodding, he moved to get some food. A few minutes later, we were sitting across from each other, silently eating our meals. I didn't have any idea what to say, while the kid seemed too scared to speak. And thus, the only sounds filling the kitchen were those of us chewing our food and drinking our beverages.

I finished before he did, and ended up sipping my coffee across from him, waiting. Still, neither of us talked. Finally, I'd had enough.

"Ripley, once you finish, get ready and come to the front door," I ordered. "We're going out."

"Wait, what?" he asked, sounding confused.

"You heard me, kid."

Twenty minutes later, he finally came to the front door, where I had been waiting for seven minutes. We left the building, walking in silence. Strangely, the boy was mute, simply following me without a hint of a question.

We walked throughout a great deal of Georgetown and central DC before arriving at the National Mall. I'm not sure why I walked here, but in retrospect, it almost felt as if someone was telling me to come here.

"Cyrus? What are we doing here?" Ripley finally asked.

"Hell if I know, Ripley," I gruffly replied as I sat on a bench, looking over the vast expanse of white that was the snow-covered National Mall. A light breeze chilled the air, and gray clouds blocked out any sun. The lack of people created a deafening silence in an area that had undoubtedly seen louder, more boisterous times.

And, of course, it was where a few of my better memories took place.

"You can sit down, kid. I don't bite," I said after a few moments, noticing he hadn't sat down, as if waiting for permission. Ripley did so, sitting on the far end of the bench. Evidently, he was afraid of me. I suppose I was a little harsh on him yesterday and the day before then.

Still, it's not as if I trusted him. My trust was very valuable, with very few people in life ever having it. There were some servicemen and CIA officers that trusted over the years, but those were few in number. Interestingly, in retrospect, many of the CIA officers I trusted were former military.

And, of course, there was one other...

I turned towards the kid, who simply stared out at the vast, snow-covered lawn. For some reason, I felt a need to talk to him, try to figure out what was going on in his head.

"So, how have things been for you in the last year-and-a-half?" I asked. It was blunt, but I wasn't one for window dressing. Ripley turned towards me in surprise, as if my speaking to him was something paradoxical, like healthy deep-fried food or an interesting grammar lecture.

"I've been fine. Focusing more on my studies, going to the gym," he replied almost robotically. "I've been getting better at firearms handling, combat, tactics, strategy."

"Not bad, kid. You're considerin' SAD?"

"I... I don't really know what I want to do. Don't you need military experience for that?"

"More often than not. It's rare that one would be recruited from within the Agency itself—without military experience, at that."

"Huh."

We fell into silence again as I tried to think of something else to ask. However, Ripley beat me to it.

"I have a question," he said hesitantly.

"I may have an answer."

"Why did you stay back with me?"

"You want the truth?"

"Yes...?"

"Alex is growing a spine, and I was impressed. Don't tell him I said that, though," I grumbled.

"Wow... and here I was thinking you bent to no one."

"You're damn right I bend to no one. I fought against commies, for Pete's sake!"

"You're not a socialist, I assume."

"Not by a long shot. I sincerely hope you aren't one."

"I'm not that stupid, sir," he replied. "Besides, after hanging out with Chip and Jawa for a while, I know that we need to know our history, or we'll be doomed to repeat it."

"Their parents raised them right," I said, noting how Ripley's face shifted to one of wistfulness, likely due to the loss of his own family.

"Are you with Brezinski now?" I asked. "In terms of living accommodations? There's no other family?"

"I—well, no. Both my parents were only children, and their parents passed when I was younger. No grandparents, uncles, aunts, or cousins. Mike's parents have known me forever, so they're my legal guardians for now."

"Makes sense. You two are practically brothers."

"Why are you asking me this?" he asked suddenly. "Why do you care?"

"Because ever since the Charlie Foxtrot that was Mexico, you've changed. The issue is not that you've changed, but that you were traumatized so badly, you nearly shot yourself."

"Wha—how did... wha—"

"Alex told me. And before you blame him, he wanted me to make sure that... well... I wasn't acting like an old, crusty bastard this Christmas. Though I suppose, in several ways, that description is quite fitting for me," I sighed. "Besides, I have some idea of the situation you're going through."

"... I'm sorry?"

At that moment, I realized what slipped out of my mouth. And yet, I felt strangely calm about telling Ripley the truth.

Because, in the end, I did understand his situation.

"You know me as Alex's father. Ever wonder who his mother is?"

"... your wife?"

"Mhmm. Janet. Janet Hale, nee Farley. Officer in SAD's Political Action Group. We met during my initial years in SOG in '69. After the Academy—during which I finished my bachelor's degree—I did eight years in the Marines, mostly FORECON and MACV-SOG in 'Nam, somehow managed to leave the Corps a gunnery sergeant. Went through the pipeline and got assigned to SAD/SOG, rotating between the Ground and Maritime Branches. First time I deployed a gray man, though, I was assigned to protect Janet and her team on a nine-month op in East Berlin.

"She started out a pain in my ass. There were protocols, rules to follow, but she ended up breaking a bunch of them. She had next to no proper military bearing, and was constantly smiling or laughing over something. Her bubbly demeanor pissed me off to no end, considering the seriousness of our ops.

"But, after several months of undercover work on the other side of the Iron Curtain, we were back in the States. Suddenly, I found myself missing her cheerfulness, her pretty blue eyes, her blonde hair, oh and worst of all—the thing where all the trouble began: that smile. That damn smile.

"We were both in SAD, but I did less intelligence gathering and more DA—"

"'DA?'" the kid interrupted.

"Direct action, now hush," I hurriedly explained. "Like I said, we both did black ops, but I fought the bad guys while she subverted, deceived, and found them. Like you kids say today, I kicked ass while she took names. Now, let me be perfectly clear: during my time in the Corps, I realized that the 'intelligence' aspect of the Agency describes what we deal in, not a quality held by our personnel. However, Janet was one of the few to break that view I held, and she gained my trust as an officer.

"Still, we didn't get to see each other all that often at Langley. Sometimes, she'd brief my team on something her team found, but it'd mostly just be nods in passing. Scratch that, I nodded, while she greeted with smiles and waves."

"Seems like a nice lady," Ripley said.

"Indeed she was. Nicer than me, that's for sure. What really changed things was that one day after hours, she came back to our team room, having left something behind. I was sitting in the corner, drunk, with a bottle of whiskey sitting next to me. My father had died in a car crash in New York. Some thugs had robbed a bank and were makin' a getaway, and his car got caught in the middle of it. Car was T-boned, and it was bad enough that he died upon impact."

"Oh, man..."

"Damn right. My mother died in childbirth, and with my father gone... I was a grown man that survived 'Nam, but the news shook the livin' hell outta me. I don't recall sheddin' a damn tear, but I just drank. I stayed in the team room and drank, and drank, and drank. There was a whole bottle in the locker. She found me with a third of it left. She took it from me, despite how I protested, and had me sit my ass down.

"As it turns out, while most of my SOG team had gone home, there were two guys still there: Hospital Corpsman First Class Ronnie O'Neil—who was attached to my Force Recon company in 'Nam—and Staff Sergeant Milton Jackson, a Ranger from the 75th Infantry, also in 'Nam. She managed to find O'Neil and Jackson, convincing them to keep the situation quiet.

"Their combined efforts kept me under control as they discreetly got me out of Langley and back to my apartment. O'Neil gave me a final checkup, confirming that I'd be fine if I slept it off, then left to receive his in-laws at the train station. Jackson was going to stay, but Janet remembered that he had been up for nearly two days straight due to some issues with a new batch of SOG recruits. She told him that he needed to sleep rather than watch over someone sleeping, so he relented.

"Janet could've left after that, but she instead stayed. I didn't fall asleep right away, and ended up making a long conversation with her. From what she told me the next morning, I said everything: from how confused I was that my father was gone despite his valor in World War II, to how annoying she was, to how annoying it was that I thought she looked and sounded beautiful, etcetera."

"So... you spilled your guts... drunk?" Ripley summarized.

"Yes, precisely. And she stayed the night, sleeping in a chair and making me breakfast the next day—thankfully, it was Sunday, a day we both had off. It was awkward, to say the least, considering I didn't have a damn clue what happened the night before. Everything she said just got me flustered to no end. But, the weird thing was that she was flustered too. Before she left the apartment, she thanked me for what I said about her smile and laugh. I proceeded to cuss myself after she hailed a taxi and left.

"Some weeks later, I was deployed again, supporting a joint op between the Navy, NSA, and Agency. I had snagged a photo of Janet before spinning up, and kept it with me damn near all the time. A few months later, when I was back in Langley, I began to... court her, thankfully minus the intoxication. A year-and-a-half later, after receiving approval from her parents, I proposed, right in the same team room where she found me. Two months later, we were married as Mr. and Mrs. Hale in '72.

"She brought out the best in me, and we were happy. Eventually, she was pregnant, and Alexander Nathaniel Hale was born in '75. Nathaniel was actually her idea, in honor of her uncle that died fighting the Japanese in World War II, though Alexander was mine. Upon Alex's birth, Janet resigned from the Agency, wanting to devote her time to being a mother. I even began considering leaving the Agency myself, and began quietly searching for civilian jobs."

"Wait... you nearly left the Agency? You?" Ripley asked, astounded.

"Surprising, I know. But, the three of us were happy. I had been a Company man for a while, and I wanted to move on, especially after a deployment to Afghanistan in the first half of 1980. Hell, I honestly didn't want Alex to go down the same route at the time. I planned on encouraging him to be anything else—a tradesman, a businessman, an aviator, even a Marine or soldier or sailor—but I did not want him to be a Company man.

"As such, I trashed any plans I had of enrolling my son into the Academy of Espionage, and made sure to never mention the institution to Janet. I wanted a normal life for him, and she agreed. I had even successfully secured an interview in a well-reputed business, and was set to leave the Agency in a month.

"But then, shit hit the fan on Christmas Eve. Our neighbors—old friends of ours—were watching Alex while Janet and I went for our evening stroll. I had left my 1911 at home for some odd reason, thinking I wouldn't need it. She left her pocket pistol behind too. It turned out to be the worst decision either of us could've made.

"It was a quiet day, with little activity. I wasn't looking around like I should've, and we got caught flat-footed by a mugger with a pistol. It was a revolver, chambered in .38. He was erratic, almost as if on drugs. Come to think of it, he was on drugs. I had encountered cocaine a few times in my life, and he reeked of it. We did what he asked, no heroics, acting as calmly as possible, but it wasn't enough."

"Wait... so she—"

"Yes, Ripley. Two shots to her chest, one to my leg. He took off. That bastard had to cock the hammer on the revolver. I always carried my Colt cocked and locked, so I could've drawn quickly and killed the sonuvabitch. But, all I could do was watch Janet bleed, and the pressure I kept on her wounds didn't do shit. The police arrived, then later some medical personnel, but it was too late. She... she died... in my arms. It was hard returning home to Alex. Worst damn Christmas I ever had.

"The mugger was caught on January 5th, but when the police tried to apprehend him, he fired his gun. The cops returned fire and put him in the ground. Even when I got word of the incident, I didn't feel much better.

"When we had her funeral on January 17th, I remember finding it funny. There were so many people she barely or never knew—Marines, Navy corpsmen, SOG men—and their connection to her was indirect, only through me. I remember telling O'Neil that it wasn't my funeral, but my wife's. He just nodded his head. I was either criminally insane, in shock, or it was just the dark humor I developed during my time in the Corps. Probably all three.

"Things changed after that 1980 Christmas. I decided that I would never screw up again. Hell, I took it as a sign that I wasn't meant to break the Hale tradition of espionage. So, I stayed in the Company and canceled my private sector plans. Plus, I made sure Alex did the same.

"As for the rest of the story, you've probably derived it from all the time you've spent with us: Alex never impressed me, resorted to lying, the debacle with Catherine and Erica, etcetera. And before you ask why I eventually retired, there were two factors: first, I was getting old; second, well... things went FUBAR on an op in '89. My SOG team—including O'Neil and Jackson—was gone. That was it for me. And, of course, things were getting nowhere fast with Alex, so I went underground. After that, he practically lived at the Academy with little to no contact with me. After graduation, he conducted some ops overseas, including one in Britain in 1995. Two years later, following an elopement, Erica was born."

"... and then when 9/11 happened, you jumped back into the fight?" Ripley asked.

"A-firm. The rest... is history."

"Well... it certainly explains why your EDC is basically Batman's utility belt... Sorry, that was bad. Forget I said that."

"The point I'm trying to make, Ripley," I began. "Is that despite all the issues I have with you, I still would like you to be of good physical and mental health. I realize now that I have made mistakes in the past: as an officer, a husband, and... and as a father.

"I made mistakes that got my teammates and wife killed. I failed in too many ways as a father. I'd rather you not make the same mistakes, Ripley. And beyond that, I know you're a kid, and you're not honestly not ready for this sort of thing. I've seen some grown men lose their minds from the sort of trauma you faced. The only difference between you and them is that... well, nobody was around to keep them from pulling the trigger or thrusting the blade."

That last bit received silence from the kid, who drooped at my words.

"Well, then what am I supposed to do?" he quietly asked.

"I can't say for sure, kid. There are three solutions I can think of off the top of my head: see a shrink, talk to someone close, or fight back. My opinion? It takes some combination of the three. I went with the third option, and look what happened. You're going down the same path. Some fights must be fought alone, but not everything can be done alone. That's why there's options one and two."

"..."

"My suggestion? Talk to the Academy's chaplain, or the psychiatrist in the infirmary. One of the best things I can recommend—especially when considering my past experience—is to find someone close to you that you can confide in. That person can be a sounding board to help you figure things out."

"Huh..."

"To this day," I sighed. "There's a load of crap that still lives with me. I still need to work on finding my peace, whether it be with God or something else. But, like I said: don't repeat my mistakes. Find peace and continue to live, not survive."

"I... I'm not sure how to react to all of that. I know it might not help, but... I'm sorry about your wife. And your parents," he said after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm. My condolences as well for your family."

"Thanks."

Silence fell over us once again as we stared at the wintery Mall. Though it had grown colder while we talked, I felt strangely warm, as if...

As if I was wrapped up by one of Janet's hugs.

"Dagnabbit," I chuckled under my breath, looking up at the sky.

Catherine POV

I loved Alex dearly, but his idea of leaving Ben with Cyrus was one of the stupidest things he's ever done. It's like leaving one of Santa's elves with the Grinch and expecting things to blow over well.

We split up upon arrival at the shopping centre, with Alex watching over the boys whilst I chaperoned the girls. Now, Erica and I sat in a corner while Zoe was shopping for baby clothes—apparently, one of her older cousins recently had a little girl, so she was sending a parcel to them.

"So, Erica... there's something that's been gnawing at me," I began, maintaining a casual tone. "Last night got a bit heated. But, there was one detail that I still remember from then, as well as the night prior..."

"Mom, what the hell are you talking about?" Erica blurted.

"Language, dear. Besides, remember two nights ago when Ben commented that he had kissed someone? You reacted in a very interesting manner..."

"Don't—"

"Then last night, the two of you revealed that you kissed... in Colorado. You kissed... and you didn't tell me?!?"

"Mom!" she whisper-shouted, her face reddening. "Stop!"

"I want to settle things, Erica, and ensure that what I believe is true. Have you and Ben been in a relationship?"

"No, and I'm pretty sure we won't be!"

"Come on, Erica! He's a nice boy!"

"It's not about that!"

"Then what is it about?"

"Look what happened to you and Dad! Your relationship went FUBAR fast!"

"There were mistakes made. Admittedly, on both of our parts. It's not as if you don't have a chance! And besides, yes, it's often a good idea not to have relationships with coworkers, but there are several counterarguments to this. Firstly, you and Ben are in the same career fields, so you understand each other, thus facilitating easier communications. Secondly, unless things go sideways, logistics are easier to manage in the realm of commuting and living. Lastly—and this one is a bit strange, I'll admit—such relationships can strengthen one's professionalism because they are tests of professionalism."

"Mom, I'll be honest, your logic doesn't make an ounce of sense," Erica replied after my lecture.

"Oh, please! It makes perfect sense. Besides, I think it's a good idea! You can't be a particularly good officer if you're not in a good state of mind! You've admitted that you like him, so why—oh. You're afraid, aren't you?" I finally realized.

"No, I'm not!" she angrily replied.

"You are... is it because of what Hallal did? Or is it because of what Ben has become?"

Erica simply turned away, remaining silent. I shifted myself closer to her, draping an arm around her shoulders.

"Darling, you know you can talk to me, right? Or Zoe, who you seem to have a new friendship with?" I asked as gently as I could.

"Yeah, yeah..."

"I can't empathise, but I can sympathise. All I can say is that you can never let fear or doubt rule your life. Find what makes you happy... just don't do anything stupid, illegal, and/or immoral."

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"You could probably take a lesson in pep talks from Dad."

"Oh, hush," I laughed, tickling her a little and making her giggle.

"Mom, we're in public!"

"Okay, okay..."

Alexander POV

"I have no clue what I should do!" Chip groaned as we walked through the crowd of people.

"Dude, it's a Secret Santa! How hard could it possibly be?" Mike asked.

"It's hard, okay?"

"Well, I'm glad I planned ahead," Jawa smugly said. "Sir, did you figure out what you wanted to get?"

"Well," I began, grinning at my gift recipient. "It's tricky, but I have a few ideas. In fact, why don't you three continue on? I just remembered that there's something I need to take care of... irrelevant to the situation."

"We're heading to Lumberjack Dan's over there," Chip said, knife-handing the outdoorsman's goods store.

"Okay, boys. Good luck," I acknowledged. As the boys walked off, I made haste to the store I wanted to see.

I stood outside, looking up at the sign, considering whether or not it was the right choice. A lot had happened, but at the same time, it was a risk I was willing to take—great chances for failure, but great chances for success. And the success would be amazing.

With confidence in my step and courage in my heart, I entered.

Mike POV

"So, fellas? What's up with you two?" I finally asked as we entered Lumberjack Dan's.

"Oh, just figurin' things out," Chip replied. "I'm stuck, man. Hopefully here I can figure something out."

"I guess we can safely rule out Erica, Zoe, and Catherine, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"This store was your idea, and I know that as practical as you are, I'm not sure if you'd consider stuff like this," I noted, gesturing towards all the outdoorsy equipment around us. "To be a proper gift for a lady."

"Y'know what? I'll give you that, Sherlock Brezinski," he replied with a laugh. "But remember: figurin' things out is Ben's job, not yours."

"Har-de-har-har."

"Guys, focus!" Jawa interjected. "What on Earth are we going to do for the Secret Santas? Or rather, what are you two gonna do?"

"Well, I know what I'm doin': consider the receiver, maybe seek professional help, and get the darn thing!" Chip declared.

"... are you just going to ask a store clerk?"

"Yep. See y'all in a while," he replied, walking deeper into the store.

"Well, I guess that leaves me," I sighed. I wasn't new to the idea of getting gifts for girls, but I felt more of a connection with Zoe than I did with any prior girlfriend. I wanted to get her something special, from the heart.

"Mike, you mind if I take a wild guess as to who your recipient is?" Jawa asked.

"Sure, but it's not like I'm gonna tell," I scoffed in reply, putting on my best poker face.

"Is it Zibbell?"

"... no."

"You suck at lying, Mike."

"Shut up. How'd you guess?"

"One: you like Zoe. Two: the fact that you're this hesitant over choosing a gift. Three: while walking here, you looked at some different stores—clothing, perfume, and the like."

"Fine, it's her. What am I supposed to do?" I groaned, racking my head for answers.

"Dude, I've never courted a female before. How would I know what to do?" he replied with a shrug.

"Don't you have sisters?"

"In case you haven't noticed, we're Americans, not Greek gods."

"I retract my former statement. C'mon, you're the Brainiac! Shouldn't you have some ideas?"

"In this area? No. However, let me ask you something: what is something that you think she would like?"

"I don't know! Some ideas I have are for established relationships, some are flat-out childish, some—wait, that's it!" I exclaimed, a light bulb going off in my head. "I know what to do!"

"Should I be worried?" he asked snarkily.

"No, but I will need you to come with me!"

"So we're just abandoning Chip?"

"Who's abandoning who, now?" someone suddenly asked behind us. A quick turn revealed Alexander, who looked cheerful as he sidestepped an exiting customer.

"We're... going to the bookstore," I finally said, deciding to be truthful. Deception felt silly at this point.

"The bookstore?"

"Don't ask, sir," Jawa sighed, making me roll my eyes.

"C'mon, buddy! Let's go!" I said excitedly, dashing out of Lumberjack Dan's, with Jawa on my heels.

This was going to be epic...

(A bit of context for this next bit... I don't own this meme)

Chip POV

"Excuse me, sir? I'm lost," I told one of the clerks—whose name tag read "Billy"—a bearded, red-headed man.

"You ain't an LT, are you, sir?" Billy replied in jest, before changing to a more serious tone. "My bad. Nobody gets that one."

"Butter bars, right? Can't spell 'lost' without 'LT?'" I asked, making the redhead laugh with delight.

"No way! Damn, nobody ever understands that one! You in the Army or Marines?"

"Actually, I'm still in school. Parents are Marines, so I've picked up a few things. You?"

"One of the boys in those godawful ACUs," he replied. "Eight years, Eleven Bang-Bang. Now, just a college student helpin' out the family business."

"Well, that explains why there are so many redheads in the staff," I joked, making Billy laugh.

"In all seriousness, now, do you need directions to the exit or is there something in particular you're lookin' for?"

"I'll be honest, I'm not sure what I'm looking for. I'm getting someone a gift, but I'm not entirely sure what to get him."

"You have a budget?"

"Fifty bucks, sir."

"Okay then, describe him."

"Well," I began, recalling every memory I had of Cyrus. "He's old, practical, and grouchy. Between you and me, I've got a good feelin' that the last one may be due to stuff he went through way back in the sixties."

"'Nam?" Billy asked, making me nod and his mood darken. I didn't know much about Cyrus, but I did know that he was over there. "It was a hell the US probably shouldn't have walked into, but the troops were just doing what they had to do. Came home wounded only to get middle fingers and spat on. 'Nam was a shitshow, but those guys didn't deserve the hate they got."

"Amen to that."

"That depressing topic aside, I think I have something that sounds right up your man's alley. He your grandfather?" he asked as he led me towards a section of the store.

"I believe the term is... 'grand-uncle.'"

"Okay, well... what do you think of this?"

He presented the item he had in mind, and bells went off in my head. This, as it seemed, would be something that Cyrus would appreciate.

"Heck yeah!"

Cyrus POV

"... and that, kid, is why you start your taxes earlier than you think," I said, concluding my story.

"That... actually makes a lot of sense," he replied as he maneuvered around another pedestrian.

After my talk with Ripley, I felt oddly more at peace, or balanced, or however the hell it's said these days. Now, we were having a comfortable-ish conversation.

He asked me for advice regarding the Academy and career paths, which I explained during the rest of our time on the bench. However, as it turned out, we had been sitting there for so long, it was already 1400. So, we decided to go get lunch at a small diner nearby.

"You been here before?" Ripley asked.

"Yes. Get the Lunch #11. It's the best damn thing on the menu."

"How much meat is there on it?"

"Plenty. You're a growin' boy, Ripley."

"You sound like Catherine now," he replied with a small laugh.

"I'm bein' nice, kid. Don't push it."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, now—" I began before stopping, noticing something forty yards ahead of us. In a small alley, there was someone in a big trench coat, his face obscured. He was probably just a hawker, but I still had a feeling that there was something I needed to do that involved him.

"Ripley, do me a favor. Get a table for two, back corner, facing the door. I'll be there in a minute."

"But what about what Alexander said?" he asked before I walked off.

"There's a whole SWAT team in there, and they just got off duty. You're safe. Now go," I ordered. With a nod, he went in while I moved towards the man in the trench coat.

I made my movement as casual as possible, so as to act like another pedestrian, not a hunter closing in on his prey. Finally, when I was close, he looked up towards me, a glint in his eyes.

"Hey, old-timer!" he hissed.

"You talkin' to me?"

"You wanna buy some death sticks?"

"You don't want to sell me death sticks," I replied, trying to throw him off balance.

"I don't wanna sell you death sticks," he agreed, opening his coat. "I've got watches, though! Distinguished gentleman like you needs a proper timepiece, rather than that plastic, overpriced junk you've got," he said, pointing towards my Timex, which was a birthday gift from Erica.

"Really?" I asked, looking at all the shiny watches. This had to be a joke, maybe with a hidden camera. "These?"

"Yesiree! Look here: genuine gold ticker, and what a bargain it is! Ten bucks!"

"Uh-huh," I groaned, realizing that the "threat" was just a dumbass hawker. I was about to walk away when I noticed what was on his wrist: a Rolex Submariner. However, this one looked familiar.

It was silver, black, and white. There was a small scratch on the face, around the two o'clock position. However, there was one thing in particular that set off alarm bells: the metal watch band was simple, save for a single engraved eagle.

"How about that one?" I asked, pointing at it.

"This one? Not for sale. Now, how about this—"

"No, I think that Submariner is a much better fit," I insisted.

"Okay, you want it? It'll cost you ten big ones, old man."

"Eh, I've got thirty bucks," I lied. "Hey, it's more than what you would've gotten if you sold me the gold one."

"Ten K, what do you think this is, Walmart?"

"Why not? If you're selling a genuine gold watch for ten dollars, I don't see why thirty ain't enough for a Rolex."

"Okay, old man, that's enough," he replied angrily, moving one of his hands towards his pockets. "Pay it or scram."

"I've got a better idea," I retorted. "I'm smelling a lot of cocaine coming off of you, more than any user I've met, so you're obviously a dealer. Plus, you're about to pull out a knife and threaten me when my armed friends and some cops are right around the corner. Threatening an old man and dealing drugs? Doesn't look good on you, pal."

At my bluff, his eyes widened. Not able to see out of the alley he was in, he looked scared for his life.

"I can just shout for the police... right now..." I said.

"Wait, don't! Whaddaya want? I'll do what you want!" he hastily pleaded.

"The Submariner. Now."

"Here, take it!" he said, quickly taking it off and tossing it at me. "Are we good here?"

"Yeah, we are," I replied, a smile growing on my face. "Get outta here, go home, and rethink your life."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, running off into the alley. I looked down at the Rolex as I walked back towards the restaurant, seeing the engraving on the back.

Once again, I could feel myself grin.

"Hot damn," I chuckled as I pocketed the watch and entered the diner.

Alexander POV

It wasn't hard to figure out what to get for Jawa. He was a practical young man, so I acquired an item that I knew he would find useful.

"Excellent!" I said to myself, my wrapped package in hand, courtesy of the redheaded cashier (there were a bunch of redheads in this store. "Now, just gotta wait for Chip!"

"What do you mean, 'wait for Chip?'" a voice behind me asked. A quick about-face revealed none other than Catherine, who was looking a little confused.

"I just got what I needed to get," I replied with a shrug. "Our resident southerner is still somewhere in the store. I'm just waiting on him."

"Well, this is rather... convenient. I'm here for the Secret Santa gift."

"It isn't Erica or Zoe, is it?"

"How did you—"

"Catherine, I don't think there's anything in here you would possibly get them."

"True, true," she acquiesced. "If you must know, it isn't you."

"Hallelujah," I replied sarcastically. "I'm gonna guess that it's Chip. And before you ask: outdoorsmanship, camping, rugged, woodsy—all words that come to mind when thinking of him."

"Well, he was born and raised in a small town in the countryside. I couldn't think of anything beyond the cliches! I mean, remember when we watched that John Wayne film? True Grit, I think it was called? He reminded me of the Marshal!"

"Hon, I can think of a few other characters that would make way more sense, but I'm not going to elaborate. If Chip is your recipient, this is the place to go. By the way, where are Zoe and Erica?"

"They're off doing their own shopping."

"Oh, at least they're together."

"That reminds me, Alex," she said, pulling a folded-up flyer out of her pocket. "There's an event occurring at a place called Montrose Park, occurring at 6:00 PM. It seems that there is a team-up between local churches and businesses, the police and fire departments, and the District of Columbia National Guard for a Christmas festival!"

"Hold up, a collaboration between churches, businesses, police officers, firefighters, and National Guardsmen?" I asked, finding myself confused by the conglomeration. "That's quite a bit, don't you think?"

"Yes, but it is a large event. Proceeds will be going towards a private charity combating homelessness in DC."

"A noble cause. Besides, it's probably better than relying on the government, since a lot of money just gets wasted on the bureaucrats," I sighed.

"True! Plus, I thought it would be fun, especially for the kids! And perhaps it would get your father to lighten up..."

"Cath, promise me that you will at least try to be nice to Dad?"

"Fine..."

"Wait, is that...? Yep, that's Chip," I said, seeing the tall boy walking towards the checkout area with something in his hands. "Cath, if you're gonna go shopping, now is the time."

"And on that note, I think I see something over there!" she exclaimed, dashing towards a different corner of the store. A more careful look revealed that, indeed, it was something that the young man would certainly love for Christmas.

Erica POV

"Okay, I have no idea who your recipient is, but are you sure that is good?" I asked, puzzled by Zoe's purchase at the Walmart. This shopping center was seriously bigger than I thought it was.

That, or the stores are more compacted than expected, or someone screwed up the architecture.

"Definitely!" she replied with a grin. "Now, how are you going to gift your recipient?

"I legitimately have no clue."

"It's not me, is it?"

"I thought the whole point of the Secret Santa was that we didn't know who did it!"

"Yes, but since you've been trained by Mr. Grinch himself, I'm pretty darn certain you have no idea what you're doing, especially if romance is involved."

"What are you insinuating?" I asked as we stepped outside, eyes narrowing.

"C'mon, be real! If it was one of your family, you wouldn't say a word. If it was me, you'd probably just get a bunch of chocolate and call it a day. You'd definitely have more trouble with the boys, but anything practical—especially where Chip is concerned—and you'd be fine," she deduced. "There's only one other option on the table, Hale."

"Ergh, fine. It is Ben, but I don't know what to get him," I admitted.

"Well, are you getting him a gift as a friend? Or something more?"

"... the latter."

"Wow, you actually admitted it. But, you know what, I'm gonna refrain from squealing like a crazy shipping fangirl for the sake of time. Now, what are your thoughts?"

"I really don't know anymore. It's all confusing to me. I mean, Mom has a point: I can't let fear rule my life. But still..."

"I hear you, I hear you," Zoe sighed, patting me on the back. "Let me tell you something, though: as happy as I would be for you two getting together, I think that one of the best things you can do for Ben is simply being there. No grand gestures, no materialistic BS. For the gift, make it something from the heart."

"Huh... you know what?"

"What?"

"I think I might just have an idea," I replied, proceeding to explain the idea.

"That's unusual..."

"It's the best I've got."

"Still, it's something you came up with, and I think he would probably appreciate it," she agreed.

"So... you think it'll work?"

"Are you trying to seek Ben's affections or actually help him through his messed-up time?" she asked, sounding serious for the first time since we learned about Ben's attempted suicide.

"Well..."

"Erica, I'm serious. Shipping aside, what you're suggesting is a major decision."

"I know, I know!" I hissed, making her fall silent. "I... I admit the former is tempting. But... I think I really do want this to help him... somehow."

In response, Zoe simply stared at me, as if she was an interrogator trying to process my statement. Finally, she smiled.

"Okay, lover girl. Let's do it."

A LITTLE WHILE LATER...

Catherine POV

"We at Ground Alexander have enjoyed serving you. Please disembark the vehicle in a calm and collected fashion, and ensure that you have brought all of your personal belongings and trash with you. Thank you for riding with us!" Alex announced in his best pilot impression as we arrived back at the apartments at 4:30 PM, eliciting giggles and eye rolls all around.

"Okay, that was a good one," Erica admitted, holding the package that was her gift for whoever the recipient was.

"I can't believe that shopping took so long!" Chip exclaimed as he manoeuvred out of the SUV. "It's 1630 already!"

"We've been at it for a long time, buddy!" Jawa replied, reaching up to clap his friend on the shoulder.

"Mission accomplished, nonetheless!" Zoe said delightedly. "I just gotta send this package to my cousin!"

"I don't think there's any post on Christmas Eve or Day, dear. Maybe Boxing Day?" I asked, looking towards Alex, who nodded as we entered the building. "Yes, you'll have to wait until the 26th."

"Dangit!"

"Wonder what these two have been up to?" Alex questioned aloud as he opened the door to our apartment. "Dad? Benjamin? We're back!"

"In the kitchen, Alex!" Cyrus called back. After removing my boots and coat, I went to the kitchen, looking towards the dining area to find none other than Cyrus and Ben... playing chess?

"Hi!" Ben greeted, looking quite cheerful for someone who just spent much of the day with Cyrus.

"Evening, gentlemen. What exactly are you doing?"

"Chess, of course. I'm down a rook and three pawns, Ripley's down two pawns, a bishop, a rook, and both knights," he replied as he moved his queen. "Check."

"Urgh," Ben grumbled as he reluctantly moved his king to escape the check. Subsequently, Cyrus captured the queen, which was also threatened. "I'm no expert in chess, but this is a bit much to handle."

"What do you think we did back in the day, kid?" Cyrus responded, almost... good-naturedly?

"Hey, guys! Dad, what's up?" Alex asked as he came in.

"Nothing much, Alex. I thought Ripley would be a better player, being a nerd and all, but I was wrong."

"Hey!" the boy gasped indignantly, whilst Cyrus crossed his arms, a massive grin on his face.

"Checkmate, kiddo."

"Wha—but—aw, crap!" Ben groaned, toppling his own king in acceptance of his defeat. "That was deceptive!"

"We're literally in the CIA," Cyrus deadpanned. The two then shook hands, shocking me.

"Who are you and what have you done with Cyrus?" I asked, finding this mutual respect to be quite surprising.

"Simmer down, Catherine. Let's just say that we had a talk earlier. As it turns out, we're a bit more similar than we thought. Not by much, just a bit."

"It was surprising, I'll admit," Ben replied with a small smile. "I guess we just understand each other a bit better."

"Wonderful!" Alex cheered, a bright smile upon his face. "Now that's the Christmas spirit!"

"So, what's on the docket for tonight?" the elderly man asked.

"Well, we're going to a Christmas festival in the local park!" he replied, showing them the flier. "Looks like fun!"

"Y'know what? It sounds like a bang-up time," Cyrus replied, making Alex smile.

"Excellent! We roll out at 1730!"

Jawa POV

The next hour was mostly uneventful. Mike and I got into an arm-wrestling match (I beat him, so he ended up thrashing me in Mario Kart), Zoe had dragged Erica off somewhere (something about a makeover, I think), Cyrus was talking with Alexander, Catherine, and Ben, and Chip just sat on the sofa, contemplating something.

"Chip, how are you doing?" I asked, sitting on the couch and facing my friend.

"Just fine, brother," he replied.

"Are you alright? There isn't anything wrong?"

"No. Just... thinking."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Well... how do you reconnect with people you lost a connection with?" he finally asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I replied, confused by his odd question.

"I've been thinking about a few things the past couple o' days. Hank, specifically."

I only became further confused by his statement. Chip and Hank—damn near every time I saw them—were at each other's throats. As far as I was concerned, the two brothers hated each other, so Chip's sudden thoughts were... well, sudden.

"Hank?"

"Well, you remember how I once said that his favorite hobby was sending me to the emergency room?"

"Yes...?"

"That... was a lie. A big, fat lie that I concocted. I guess it just helped me sleep at night."

"I don't understand."

"Well, we weren't always belligerent brothers. We were once the best of friends," he sighed, a thousand-yard stare adorning his face. All that was necessary was a ripple dissolve, and it would be the perfect cinematic flashback. "Y'see, Ma n' Pa couldn't always be around, despite everythin' they tried. They were definitely around for most of our lives, but not nearly as much as a civvie's parents. We often relied on each other, though not for cookin'. Let me tell you, the only person in my family who's as bad as me is Hank.

"Anyways, we always walked to and from school together. Our parents were always strict on makin' sure homework and chores came first, then we could go out and play. We played with some of the other kids, includin' Hannah, who you met that one time you visited. Come to think of it, she's probably the only female friend I ever had for a while—"

"Chip? Sorry bro, but focus," I reminded.

"Right. Anyways, Hank and I were close, did practically everythin' together: fishin', frog-giggin', huntin', shootin'—Pa was always there for the last two—sports stuff, wrasslin', roughousin', etcetera. Plus, we always had each other's back. Once, I got hurt bad enough that Hank carried me all the way to Doc Hudson—and yes, that's his actual name. Farm boy turned Navy doctor turned small town doctor. Long story short, Ma wasn't home and Pa was deployed, so he ran for a few miles, with me in a fireman's carry, 'til he reached Doc Hudson.

"I had several good role models growin' up, but for a long time, I idolized Hank. When he left for the Academy, I was sad as could be. I don't remember cryin', but I wouldn't be surprised if that happened.

"He got to come back to visit a few times, but he had changed. He didn't hang out with me anymore, often doin' somethin' on his laptop or with his textbooks. It was as if I didn't even exist. Eventually, it turned into an argument. Apparently, he was being mocked—bullied, even—for bein' a small-town boy from the South. He was considered a hick, an idiot by his peers within his fancy boardin' school. I remember bein' confused, considerin' that he was the smartest of the both of us. As for the accent—which we apparently have—they also made fun of that, and I guess that was the basis for the bullyin'.

"But, I didn't understand what he was going through and kept arguing. Probably said somethin' along the lines of him turning his back on family. He threw a punch, and I hit back. Ma n' Pa found us with a bunch o' bruises and bloody faces. Ma patched us up and Pa grounded us.

"After that, it was pure animosity. We despised each other with a passion, and the only real reason we had truces was because our hate for each other made Ma cry."

"Wait, seriously?" I exclaimed. However, after thinking about it for a moment, it made sense. Mrs. Schacter was a tough, disciplined Marine, but she was also a mother, one who cared more about her children than anything else in the world. It probably broke her heart to see her two precious sons constantly fighting.

"Yep. I just ended up makin' up a whole bunch of lies to try to make myself feel better about hatin' him. Some kids have daddy issues, some have mama issues, while I had brother issues. Lucky me," he grumbled. "Now... I'm regrettin' everythin' from the past six years. All the arguin', the anger... but I still think it's his fault for all o' this."

"Well, this is a pretty weird situation," I said, making Chip look at me with a "you-don't-say" expression. "A lot of things point towards him being at fault: he threw the first punch, he didn't really explain things to you in a mature manner, etcetera. But, I don't think you can wait for him to admit that."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked, almost whispering.

"Be the bigger man. Honestly, that's all I can say," I answered seriously. "Someone has to take the first step."

When nothing but silence came back at me, I patted my friend on the shoulder and went to get ready for the festival. Chip needed a minute or two to think over what I said.

https://youtu.be/pZSTu98-Cus

(In regards to Sheriff Davidson... I got some inspiration from Andy Taylor in The Andy Griffith Show  and this man... I don't own this clip)

Ben POV

After some preparation, we walked to the park where the festival was being held. Everyone was in good spirits, including Cyrus.

The conversations I had with Cyrus earlier today, as I said prior, gave me a better understanding of the typically grouchy elder. Furthermore, his advice was... actually, very helpful. It was oddly comforting, in some twisted way, to know that there was someone who had some semblance of what I experienced.

Okay, in retrospect, that's an extremely twisted thought, but at the time, all I thought was that someone who could somewhat empathize. It felt like I didn't have to give up, that I could somehow put it all behind me.

Nothing would ever be the same again, but there was at least a chance to move forward.

"Huh, looks like it's mostly set up!" Erica noted, seeing how several stands were set up, with people already operating them. Furthermore, much to my surprise, there were several men assisting with the setup of lights, speakers, and other decorations.

So what was the surprise, you may ask? They were wearing prison uniforms and under the close watch of several correctional officers.

"Are those... inmates?" Catherine asked, soudnign as surprised as me.

"Yeah, it's one of them prison work details!" Chip explained. "Long story short, the nonviolent offenders with good behavior are given opportunities to do work. This allows 'em to have more purchasin' power in the prison commissary, and teaches 'em a thing or two! I remember back in my hometown, once some college students who were home on summer break decided to steal their parents' alcohol and get drunk. They ended up damaging some other folks' property and drivin' like idiots.

"Sheriff Davidson—who's also justice of the peace—decided to give 'em a punishment that fit the crime: either they went to jail, or they had to fix the stuff they broke, and if they couldn't fix it, they had to pay for the specialists to do it. However, they couldn't call upon their parents for money, so Sheriff Davidson paid 'em by the hour—out of his own pocket—to help with whatever needed to be done: repair jobs, cleanin', etcetera. Ultimately, they didn't serve jail time or get anythin' on their permanent record, but they didn't get to enjoy their summer one bit."

"So... hard labor?"

"In essence. Long story short, they learned from their mistakes. Now, last I heard, all four of 'em are sober. Two became tradesmen, one a doctor, and one a Coast Guardsman. They still keep in touch with Sheriff Davidson, sayin' he turned their lives around."

"Hold on a minute. 'Sheriff who's also justice of the peace?' Why does your town sound suspiciously like Mayberry?" Cyrus asked.

"Probably because it's pretty doggone similar, though I ain't entirely sure why..." Chip replied with a shrug."

"Still, one helluva sheriff and justice. Set those kids straight real quick."

"Yeah. Not all inmates are bad people," Zoe added. "Heck, I'm willing to bet that they don't respect the people we despise—murderers, child molesters, gangbangers..."

"It's the Christmas spirit, guys," Alexander said with a smile. "There are definitely exceptions to the rule, but people do deserve a second chance at life."

It was a bit ironic coming from Alexander, but I kept my mouth shut. He had redeemed himself, after all.

"Looks like people are already comin' in," Jawa noted.

"Time to party!" Mike exclaimed.

And party we did... reasonably, of course.

It was honestly a spectacular sight to behold: in one area, police officers and firefighters appeared to be having a rap battle, much to the amusement of the crowd. In another, the two groups of first responders had engaged each other in a snowball fight, with kids getting involved. One policeman hammed it up further, jumping in front of another officer and taking a snowball for her.

"I'm hit!" he wailed dramatically, faux-dying.

"Nooooo!" she screamed equally dramatically. "Why? Why?!? C'MON, BOYS! DESTROY THE HOSE JOCKEYS! FOR DAVE!"

"FOR DAVE!" the other police officers bellowed, intensifying their snowy attacks.

"Cap, the Five-O are too powerful! We must retreat!" one of the firefighters shouted before she was pelted by snowballs.

"Curses! Foiled again!" the captain growled, shaking his fist. "WE SHALL MEET AGAIN, DOUGHNUT EATERS! WE SHALL MEET AGAIN!"

I suppose this was one way for police and fire departments to do community outreach.

"Isn't the National Guard supposed to be here?" Erica asked over the commotion.

"I have no idea!" Zoe replied as we maneuvered around some random people in the crowd.

"It'll probably be some sort of epic entrance," Cyrus answered. "The American military specializes in epic entrances!"

"Well, that explains D-Day!" Chip jested.

Suddenly, though, it started to get crowded. A little too crowded, too fast. I didn't feel like I was having a panic attack, but I was certainly getting claustrophobic. I ended up darting away from the group, trying to get out. Once again, my mind flashed back to Mexico... I really didn't need to relive that.

Soon, I found myself in a more isolated section of the park, panting as I collapsed and caught my breath. I wasn't sure what came over me, but I didn't like it. What was confusing was the fact that, prior to my mental collapse with Alexander and Catherine, I had tried to maintain some sense of normalcy. Sure, I was quieter about it and focused my energies towards studying and gym time, but it's not like the crowds at the Academy were worse than here.

And then, it occurred to me. I was in the open, not in a protected facility. Yes, SPYDER had gotten to me before, but the organization had collapsed. Mop-up was conducted by US and UK military forces. And this is the only reason that I believe that SPYDER is gone: the military finished them off. Not the CIA, not MI6, but the military. Military intelligence is probably not much better than ours (based on the snarky remarks by Chip and Jawa), but the military is still probably better than the CIA or MI6 as a whole.

I suppose this was why Cyrus said the most competent Company men he ever met were generally prior military.

"Kid?" someone suddenly asked behind me. Speak of the devil.

"Cyrus?" I asked, sitting up.

"You ran like the Roadrunner at the sight of Wile E Coyote! What's going on?"

"Uh..." I began, not knowing how to explain it. Finally, I determined that there was only one option: the truth. "I panicked. Too many people, too many potential threats."

"I understand," he replied calmly as he sat down beside me. "Remember what I talked about earlier?"

"Yeah..."

"I get it, I really do. Just remember: buddy system, okay? Some fights need to be fought alone—"

"—but you always need some help," I finished, remembering the message he delivered earlier that day.

We fell into a silence, watching the chaos that unfolded afar: the music, the laughter, the ridiculous shenanigans. It reminded me of simpler, happier times. And yet... it felt like somewhere I shouldn't be.

"How did you do it for so long?" I asked.

"Isolate myself?" he replied, to which I hesitantly nodded. "Well, I just imagine that I'm in a war zone all the time. Y'see, kid, combat changes you. Even guys that only do it for the minimum amount of time have some difficulty walking away from that. In several cases, I've met men that stayed in just because they couldn't go back to civilian life. We're not meant to have good lives. Hell, if we're lucky, we do what needs to be done and that's the end for us. The really lucky ones get to come home to their wives, kids, and families. But a lot... don't get their happy ending."

"Like us," I replied sullenly.

"No, like me. It's probably too late for me to right the wrongs. You've still got a life to live, kid. And you get just the one, so use it wisely."

"I can't walk away from my past."

"I'm not askin' you to. But you've got a future, Ripley, one that you can shape. You can't control the outcome, but you can damn well control how much effort you put into it. This includes accepting responsibility for your actions... but remember, you can't take the blame for someone else's actions. Consider this: one man's ancestor brutally murders another man's ancestor. Assuming that there's no bad blood between the two, should the victim's descendant hate the murderer's descendant?"

"... no?"

"Precisely. Blood feuds like that are stupid. Similar deal with Hallal. He made his decisions. You're guilty of nothin'. As long as you think that you're guilty of somethin'... it'll eat you for the rest of your life. And trust me: I know what that's like. So find your shoreline, what guides you home. Improve yourself and keep love in your heart: for yourself, your family, and... maybe someone special."

At the last note, I couldn't help but turn towards him in shock. Was he implying what I thought he was implying?

"Look, kid. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the deal between you two is," he sighed, holding up his hand before I could interject. "I'm still against any sort of relationship for you—I know, surprise—since I think that the best thing you can do now is focus on bettering yourself. However, if you decide to court her in the future, after you've locked your shit down... I would allow it."

Whatever response I had in my head never reached my mouth, so I just stared at him in stunned silence.

"She thinks highly of you, and you of her. You two seem to have a good level of trust for one another, so... how could I not see a possibility of something happening? Can't hover over her forever, after all. What you two end up doing is your business, but should something spark... I just ask that you refrain from conducting fornications, alright?" he asked.

I could feel myself blushing from his bluntness as I tried to answer, but ended up stammering out a bunch of gibberish.

"Kid?"

"S-sir?"

"Just stop."

"Okay. Wait—crap!" I exclaimed, Cyrus's words triggering something in my head. "I forgot to get Erica—oh, wait. Dammit!"

"And the cat comes out of the bag," Cyrus sighed, shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar, Ripley."

"Gah! I completely forgot!"

"Before you go on a diatribe," he interrupted, pulling a small package out of his jacket's inner pocket and handing it to me. "That'll do the trick."

"Wait, what?"

"Consider this my Christmas present to you: helping you get a Christmas present for Erica."

"But I didn't have any responsibility in this!"

"Actually, you did," he replied. "Remember how we went into that store on our way back from the diner? I said I had to pick up a few things?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I noticed you eyeballin' something."

"Wait, you mean you got that? How did you know I thought that'd be good for Erica?"

"One: you wouldn't ever use it. Two: I'm damn near positive that with anyone else, you wouldn't have this much hesitation. Three: I know my granddaughter pretty damn well."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Thanks?" he suggested sarcastically.

"Yeah... thanks."

"Of course. Just remember: for any given situation, take your time and do it right."

"And don't make the same mistakes you did?"

"Lock down that sass, Ripley."

https://youtu.be/WMjOLX_PSUM

(The following section is based on this amazing clip... obviously I do not own this video, Stripes, the DC National Guard, or any part of the US military)

Chip POV

"Hello? Testing, testing," the Army officer said into her microphone, making the masses go silent and turn their attention towards the temporary stage.

"Good evening, everyone. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Bailey of the DC National Guard's 372nd Military Police Battalion. With me is Command Sergeant Major Patrick McCloy," she said, gesturing towards the soldier standing at parade rest to her right. "As well as members of various units within the Guard, including soldiers from the 547th Transportation Company, 104th Maintenance Company, and 715th Public Affairs Detachment. We wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight and supporting this fundraiser!"

"To celebrate the occasion, the men of 3rd Platoon, 275th Military Police Guard Company have a little presentation!" Sergeant Major Patrick bellowed, his voice somehow louder than his commanders despite the lack of a microphone. "You have been warned! Now, where the hell are they? 3RD PLATOON! FALL IN!"

Suddenly, in the distance, I began to hear footsteps. Yet, this didn't sound like a disciplined march, but a coordinated... jog?

"Left..." one of the soldiers called.

"HOO!" the rest of the platoon rumbled.

"Left..."

"HOO!"

Left..."

"All right, let's do a little singing this morning!" one of the soldiers—the platoon sergeant or leader, probably—shouted as they all came into view, jogging on a sidewalk with unloaded M16A2s in hand. They wore their UCP ACUs—patrol caps and all—but with Santa Claus hats on top. "Slept late!"

"SLEPT LATE!"

"Feel great!

"FEEL GREAT!"

"Wine and women!"

"WINE AND WOMEN!"

"All gone!"

"ALL GONE!"

"Oh my God!"

"OH MY GOD!"

"Spare time!"

"SPARE TIME!"

"All gone!"

"ALL GONE!"

"Party guy!"

"PARTY GUY!"

"Bye-bye!"

"BYE-BYE!"

By this point, the platoon was running in place on the makeshift dance floor in front of the stage.

"All night!"

"ALL NIGHT!"

"Got tight!"

"GOT TIGHT!"

"Felt good!"

"FELT GOOD!"

"Real nice!"

"REAL NICE!"

"Oh-ho!"

"OH-HO!"

"Oh-ho-ho-ho!"

"OH-HO-HO-HO!"

"Platoon..." the cadence caller shouted as he maneuvered his way into facing the rest of the soldiers, all of them still running in place. "A-one... two..."

"BOOM-SHAKALAKALAKA-BOOM-SHAKALAKALAKA-BOOM-SHAKALAKALAKA-BOOM-SHAKALAKALAKA-BOOM!" the entire platoon roared as they moved into positions of attention, facing their battalion commander and command sergeant major, both who looked stunned at the sight before them. I suppose this was as much of a surprise to them as it was for us.

"Where the hell have you been, Sergeant?" Colonel Bailey asked.

"Training, ma'am!" the sergeant shouted.

"TRAINING, MA'AM!" the rest of the platoon shouted.

"What kind of training, son?" Sergeant Major Patrick asked.

"Aaaarmy training, Sergeant Major!"

"AAAARMY TRAINING, SERGEANT MAJOR!"

"Alright, boys! Just like last night, only better! Men! Right shoulder, ho! ... Order, ho!"

At the sergeant's orders, the platoon carried out some basic rifle drills.

After that, though... things got a little complicated.

"Sidestep, right! Why did the chicken cross the road?!?"

"TO GET FROM THE LEFT TO THE RIGHT!" the platoon bellowed, slamming their buttstocks to the ground with the beat and maneuvering their rifles in a disciplined drill.

"Right!"

"HET! HUT!"

"He stepped out of rank, got hit by a tank!"

"HE AIN'T A CHICKEN NO MORE, NO!"

"Left flank, left! ... Queen Anne salute! Three, five, seven!" the sergeant counted, the platoon twirling their rifles in time with the numbers. "Aw-huh! ... Razzle-dazzle!"

"HUT, TWO, THREE, FOUR!" the platoon shouted as they turned sideways, holding their rifles by the barrels and raising it until it was shouldered again. Then, they kept turning.

"THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPED OVER THE LAZY DOG!" they shouted before they faced the battalion commander and command sergeant major at attention. "MA'AM!"

At the conclusion of the drill, the entire audience burst into applause. It wasn't anywhere near as good as the Marine Corps' Silent Drill Platoon, but I had to admit, it was extremely well done.

"That's how you put on a show!" Jawa cheered.

"Amen to that, brother!" I replied as I continued to clap.

https://youtu.be/7svnwK1fG0I

(The following is based on this hilarious video in which a drunk man got a little carried away... I don't own this video)

Cyrus POV

"There you are, Ben! Where did you disappear to?" Catherine asked as we rejoined the rest of the group, which had thankfully moved towards a less crowded area, drinking hot chocolate from a stand set up by—you guessed it—that French family.

"Just... feeling a little claustrophobic," Ben replied. "I'm good now."

"Well, hope you guys are ready for a drink," Alex said cheerfully, handing us both cups. "Cheers!"

"Hm, this is pretty good," I said, marveling at the taste. I hadn't tried it before, but it certainly lived up to the praise everyone else gave it.

"Well, well, well! Nice to see you again, miss! And it's Mister Linebacker himself!" a policeman greeted, nodding towards Erica and Schacter. It was none other than the police officers we saw when Chip assisted with a mugger's arrest: Johnson and his companion, Mason.

"Rick the Brick?" Erica blurted out, making Alex choke on his hot chocolate.

"You really had to tell her that, didn't you?" Mason sighed, looking down at his partner.

"Hey, there's a reason we call you that!" Johnson laughed, gesturing towards the younger officer's muscular physique. "You folks doin' alright?"

"Oh, just fine. Just fine. You fellas on duty?" Alex asked.

"Sorta. Community engagement and all that, but we're also helpin' to secure the area."

"Not gonna lie, it seems like a pretty safe place to be: you've got cops on security, firefighters for medical, and the flippin' National Guard! All you need are some fighter jets to complete the party!" Zibbell said.

"Throw in some Marines, and it's perfect!" Schacter added.

"Ah, this is a great evening..." Mason said happily as he received his cup of cocoa.

"Uh, fellas? Is that one of your officers over there?" I asked, noticing one officer ten yards away that appeared to be having some trouble with some disorderly people: two males and a female, all wearing college sweaters. It was likely that they were students at one of the nearby colleges.

"Crap! Maria!" Mason muttered, quickly moving towards the situation. Johnson followed quickly behind. Looking towards the scene, it appeared that the college students were inebriated in some way—probably pot, based on the smell—and they were acting belligerent. The officer, "Maria," seemed to be trying to get them to calm down, but the students weren't backing down.

Johnson and Mason quickly arrived and began trying to deescalate the situation, but at that moment, one of the male students shoved Maria back, making her nearly fall. Mason quickly stepped forward, placing himself between Maria and the students.

"Hey! Don't do that! Back the hell up!" he barked, making the students step back.

"Hey, this is harassment! You're assaulting us!" the female student slurred out, evidently high.

"You wanna know what assault is? What your little buddy just did! I don't want to make any arrests, so you better leave!"

"My dad is a police officer, and my uncle, and my—" a male student said before Mason cut him off again.

"How about you shut your mouth! You wanna drop another cop's name again? Nepotism won't save you, and if you try it, you're just makin' those guys look dirty! You guys scram, now!"

"What're you gonna do about it?" the shoving student, pushing Mason.

"You and that little bitch of yours?" the female student taunted, pointing at Maria. "Huh, pig? Watcha gonna do? You and your little bitch?"

"Yeah, copper! Is that bitch your girlfriend?"

"That's it! DAMIEN, HOLD MY COCOA!" the muscular officer shouted, handing the cup to his shorter partner before he—I shit you not—picked up the belligerent kid and carried him all the way to the gate, with Johnson and another male officer helping to herd the other stoned students that way. As soon as they arrived, he set down the college student, who just seemed to realize just how big Mason was.

"NOW GET THE HELL OUT! YOU'VE LOST YOUR PLAYGROUND PRIVILEGES!" Mason barked, pointing towards the street. Wisely, the young idiots bolted off into the night. It just goes to show: a college degree does not make you intelligent.

Mason turned around and began walking back towards the festival, evidently fuming. He cheered up slightly when Johnson returned his cocoa cup, but he seemed pissed. As for Maria, the male officer that helped Johnson was talking to her, fussing like a mother hen as they walked towards us.

"David, I'm fine—"

"That punk put his hands on you!"

"I know what I signed up for! I'm not a little girl, hermano!"

"Ah, Dio!" the officer—David—cursed, with the two continuing to bicker in Spanish.

"Ramirez! Both of you!" Johnson shouted as the four met by the hot chocolate stand, making the siblings cease their bickering. "Relax, the situation's closed."

"They shoulda been charged," David grumbled.

"They're kids, Dave," Johnson sighed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "They're idiots, and they got a pretty good scare from Rick here. I'd say they learned their lesson."

"Besides, I'm pretty sure two of them soiled their underwear!" Maria added.

"They did," Mason confirmed. "The little shit I was carrying and the girl all had wet stains on their pants."

"Well, that's a helluva job you did, Mason," David congratulated, shaking his hand. "Thanks for that."

"It's fine, man. It's fine."

"Hey, Officer?" Schacter asked, making the four turn towards us. "I thought murder was illegal. You just destroyed those grown toddlers."

At that, I burst out laughing, with everyone else joining in. It was far too funny to watch those idiots get humiliated, and Schacter was right: they just got destroyed.

"Nice work with the man-child, sir," O'Shea congratulated, receiving a thumbs-up from Mason.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you just neutered him," Zibbell added, only eliciting more giggles from the group. "If he felt like a man when he pushed her, he definitely ain't feelin' like a man anymore."

"Damn straight," Johnson laughed, clapping his young partner. "I'm proud of you, Rick. Only one year outta the academy, and you're already doin' so well!"

"Oh, oh, oh!" Mike exclaimed, pointing towards the stage, where a group of police officers and firefighters had picked up instruments and were playing, drawing a crowd on the dance floor. "Dance-off!"

"C'mon, Rick! Time to show the smoke eaters how it's done!"

"B-but I can't dance!"

"Too bad!"

"Aw, man!"

Erica POV

It was a... surprisingly amazing evening.

There was no shortage of excitement, including witnessing that snowball fight, the rap battle, and the officers scolding (more like neutering) some stoned idiots... now that was funny.

Now, there was a massive dance-off with the band of first responders playing Christmas songs... heavy-metal/rock style.

The police were losing, with the firefighters having better dancers. The National Guard joined in, with the soldiers outperforming both groups of first responders. However, what really changed the game was none other than the SWAT team, who really broke down. Those cops could dance.

"Good evening everyone!" one of the firefighters announced upon the closing of the dance-off, maing the crowd cheer. "My name is Captain Flynn, and I'd just like to give a report: according to our calculations, we have raised over $7,000 for charity—" more cheers interrupted him before he could calm the crowd down. "Thank you, thank you. Anyways, it's all going very well, and we're glad all y'all are here. Now, let's calm things down a bit. A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four!"

On that note, the band began playing "Jingle Bells." Yet, it wasn't the raucous version we all knew. It was softer, slower, and oddly... romantic?

"Heh, nice," Chip said, grinning.

"Well, would you look at that?" Jawa chuckled, noticing how some people began dancing together, swaying with the beat. "Love is in the air, and it ain't even Valentine's Day."

"Christmas spirit, kiddo," Dad said. "Peace on Earth, good will to men. Now, Cath? Would you join me?" he asked, extending his hand to Mom.

"I do believe I will," she responded, smiling as he led her onto the dance floor.

"C'mon, Rick! Go ask her!" someone urged to my left. A quick glance revealed a very uncomfortable-looking Mason and a grinning Johnson.

"I—I can't, man," he hissed.

"Son, you've been head-over-heels for Maria since the academy. You'll never know 'til you try, bucko."

"But—"

"You've got one life," he said. "Spend it wisely."

"Oh, boy. Well..." he said, downing the last of his drink and trashing the cup. "Wish me luck."

"Go get 'em, kid."

It was, admittedly, funny to see the big, muscular officer that earlier stood up to a group of stoned idiots, now quivering like a leaf as he asked the female officer—Maria, I think—to dance with him. Though, she seemed equally flustered.

"Aw, heck. Zoe?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, Mike?"

"You wanna dance?"

"Eh..."

"Dewit!" Ben said, nudging his friend.

"Okay, Mister Brezinski, let's dance."

"Milady," he said in the poshest English accent he could manage.

"Milord," she replied, taking his hand.

Now, Ben and I were left together. Chip and Jawa had gone elsewhere, and Grandpa was sitting down on a bench, watching the show. I looked over at Ben, who twiddled his thumbs, looking everywhere but me.

"So... Erica?" he asked slowly.

"Hmm?"

"You... you wanna dance?"

I looked at him in surprise, shocked by what he just asked. And yet, I felt a flutter in my chest at his asking. I felt nervous, self-conscious. My only consolation was that he seemed as flustered as I was.

"S-sure."

The band changed songs, but the slow, graceful tone was the same. We were on the dance floor, just staring at each other. I felt confusion, nervousness, shock, fear, and... hope? He slowly placed his hands on my hips, and I put mine on his shoulders, encircling around the back of his neck. Based on some movies and books (courtesy of Zoe, of course), this seemed right.

"This okay?" he muttered.

"Yeah... you?"

"Good, actually."

"That's good."

In essence, we just stood in place, swaying a little, with me looking up at those... well, beautiful brown eyes of his (okay, not that far up; I'm 5' 8", he's 5' 11"). They reminded me of chocolate—happy childhood memories.

Come to think of it, when using everyone else as a metric, I'm not sure how much of a childhood I actually had.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"I never really got to tell you... I'm glad you're still here," I whispered, realizing too late that I was referencing the night I spied on him.

"What're you talking about?"

"After what happened... y'know, south of the border," I lied. "I was worried. You disappeared, then everything descended into chaos. Then, we found you. Dad said you were okay and that... Joshua was gone. I'm glad you didn't go with him. Life wouldn't be the same without you."

Ben simply stared at me, making me grow increasingly tense. I felt parts of myself warring over what I just said: half of me shouted in anger and disbelief; the other half cheered me on before yelling at the first half. But, I paid that no mind. All I felt was fear.

"Thanks, Erica. I'm... I'm glad I didn't go as well," he agreed softly.

"Ben? I just want you to know that... I have your back. I want you in my life."

"Woah... thanks. I'm happy to be here."

Out of gut instinct, I pressed myself towards him, hugging him and pressing my face into his shoulder. Surprised, he let go, before returning the hug. Once again, I was unsure as to why I was doing what I was doing, but my head relented to... my heart (I guess that's what it was).

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grandpa, sitting on a bench in the distance, watching the dance floor. Rather than rave and rant, he simply gave me a wink and a small, wistful smile.

"Alright, everyone! Now that all y'all are relaxed... TIME TO GET EXTREME!" the fire captain roared, making the crowd cheer in approval. The band continued their Christmas songs, but kicked it up to eleven.

Everyone got in on it: from the first responders, to the National Guardsmen, to all the local businesspeople and churchgoers. It was a large, chaotic Christmas dance party. And yet... it was one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen.

"Guess we're going crazy, huh?" Ben asked bashfully, scratching the back of his neck as chaos erupted all around us.

"Well..." I began, looking around. Zoe and Mike had ceased their slow-dancing and were now doing a complicated routine. Mom, Dad, Mason, and Maria had also done the same in their pairs, though not to the same intensity as our classmates. Hell, in one corner, I could even see the disciplined National Guard battalion commander and command sergeant major dancing the night away.

"Well, I suppose it's good to go crazy every once in a while, huh?" I asked, making Ben smile.

"Well, Ice Queen, ready to break a leg?" he asked, confidence seeping into his voice as "Jingle Bell Rock" intensified in the background.

"Bring it on, Smokescreen!" I replied, feeling a grin of my own.

This is a big one, so I'll keep this short.

I felt that Cyrus needed to be investigated more as a character.  Canon says that he's a Cold War veteran, and considering the way that he is, making him a Marine that served in 'Nam felt appropriate.  Oh, and of course, the story of Mrs. Hale (because c'mon, Cyrus couldn't have always been a crusty old man), and some explanation as to why Alexander is the way that he is.

Perhaps Cyrus will have his own redemption story right alongside Alexander.  Like father, like son, after all... or is it the other way around this time?

There are a lot of references in this chapter, so I added in context for those that might not have any idea what I'm talking about.

I already dedicated the book to service members and first responders, but this chapter especially is in honor of them: to the warriors, the heroes of our nation.

A very belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!

As always, please make sure to give your feedback, and I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!

Don't forget to hydrate, and take care of yourselves and each other.

Until we meet again,

- ADF-2