It must have been one o'clock in the morning when we all awoke to hearing a British accent barking orders in the hallway. Hicks was the first to get out of his bunk, groaning a little as he stretched and took his bathrobe from a hook on the side of the rack. "They're a little early."

"What the hell, man?" Hudson mumbled into his pillow.

Spunkmeyer sat up, rubbing his eyes and sighing. "Is this a dream?"

"No. It's our new roommates," Hicks replied, opening the door. A short, skinny man in utilities was yelling at a line of Marines as they marched down the hall, carrying their duffel bags.

"Go on! Keep moving, keep moving! Don't you dare turn to look at them! Ariker! Neslie! You're slowing up the shit-line!"

I was laying on my belly in my rack, watching with my head in my arms. Hicks stood in the doorway, seemingly protecting us. "I didn't know we were getting new roommates," I said.

"Yeah, I didn't either till last night," Hicks replied, glancing over his shoulder at me. "Try to go back to sleep, Drake.

"I gotta pee, man," Hudson announced.

"You're gonna have to wait. Why didn't you go before lights-out?"

"I didn't have to go then."

Hicks rolled his eyes. After the last new Marine passed by, he stepped out into the hallway, extending his hand to the British sergeant. "Sergeant Foster. I'm Corporal Hicks."

"I know who you are," Foster replied. "Let me put my sad sacks in bed, and then I'll talk to you and Apone, got it?"

Hicks nodded, slowly retreating back into the room. He looked up at me. "Can you escort Hudson to the bathroom?"

"He's a grown man. Why does he need an escort?" I groaned.

"Because I don't need him annoying Foster," Hicks whispered.

"I heard that," Hudson muttered.

I sighed, climbing down from my bunk. "Come on, little William, let's go tinkle."

"Shut up, man."

In the morning, everyone headed down to the mess hall, all curious about these newcomers. It's not unusual for multiple units to be on one base, but it's unusual for us.

A few minutes after we sat down, we were joined by the new unit. They waited until Foster gave them the order to sit, and none of them moved a muscle until Bishop served them. Their corporal, Neslie, was a young guy with jet-black hair and prominent cheekbones. He glanced around at us, settling his gaze on Hudson, who was alternating between eating a banana and drinking a glass of milk.

"You don't wait till everyone is served?" Neslie asked.

Hudson looked at him. "Who, me?" he said, with his mouth full.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I hissed.

Neslie glanced at me. "Smartgunner?"

I nodded. "How'd you know?"

"You have the upper-arm build of one." Neslie gestured in Vasquez's direction. "As does she."

"Yeah. We're both smartgunners," I said. "Fun job."

Vasquez didn't say anything. It was pretty obvious she didn't trust any of the new people at the table.

Apone glanced up at Foster when the British sergeant down, holding a cup of watery coffee. "You said you weren't gonna be here till this morning."

"Well, things changed. I was able to get my Marines here a hell of a lot earlier," Foster replied.

"Sacrificing their sleep?"

"They'll get plenty of sleep tonight, Apone. One night won't do them any harm."

"Sir, would you like a glass of milk? Orange juice?" Bishop asked, hovering over Foster.

"No, thank you." Foster turned to look at his Marines, and Apone's. "Who's that?" He pointed at Hudson.

"With his cheeks full of food and the tiny goatee? That's Hudson," Apone said.

"And the tall, grouchy-looking blond?"

"Drake."

"The petite Latina?"

"That's Vasquez."

Foster basically went around the table until he got everyone's name, but he'd be fucking that up for days to come. Mainly, he kept messing up Spunkmeyer and Wierzbowski, and ended up referring to them as "the gentlemen whose names I can never remember."

At first, it seemed like Foster was just as reasonable as Apone, but things changed as we got interact with his unit over the course of that first day. He didn't make casual conversation with his corporal the way Apone does with Hicks. In fact, Neslie acted more like a private than a corporal, but he definitely had the rough edge of one.

Hicks didn't dictate how we behaved around the newcomers. He gave us all our own space so we could get to know each other, but what made me anxious was overhearing him talking to Foster and Neslie about me.

". . . Everyone here is physically healthy," Hicks was saying, "but we do have one Marine with post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Combat-related?" Foster asked.

"No. An accident on the lab next to Gateway Station. He's receiving treatment, but . . . please, treat him with the same respect you'd show anyone else."

"Which one has it?"

"Drake." Hicks folded his arms over his chest, giving Foster a stern look. "You're not gonna go harangue him, are you?"

"No. What the hell gave you that idea?"

"I don't want to hear about anyone asking Drake about what's going on in his personal life."

Foster didn't reply right away. He glanced at Neslie, then Hicks. "Alright. I will leave Drake alone, then."

I noticed Hicks's expression changing, fading into something akin to regret, like he should've worded what he said differently.

In the gym, Hudson and I sat by a bench press, chewing fat wads of bubble gum, while watching everyone attempt to interact with each other. "If I wasn't dating Miranda, I'd say their dropship co-pilot is kinda hot," Hudson whispered.

I looked over at the treadmills, seeing a young lady with very short, wavy red hair running on one. I think her name's Lyden. A few minutes later, she got off the treadmill, and approached us. "Hi! You guys must be . . . Drake and Hudson. Only two I haven't met yet. Which one of you is-"

"I'm Hudson. He's Drake," Hudson chirped. "We're best buds." He slapped my shoulder and hugged me.

All I did was grunt at him.

"Nice. I'm Lyden." She held out her hand. "How long have you been in this unit together?"

"I've been in for about five years," Hudson replied. "Drake and his g-I mean, friend, Vasquez just joined us two years ago."

Hudson almost spilled the beans. I reached behind his back, and pinched him hard, almost digging my nails into his side.

"Ow! They're our smartgunners."

"Our corporal is a smartgunner. You guys met Neslie?"

"This morning, yeah."

Lyden leaned in to whisper. "He seems a little distant at first, but he's really friendly when you get to know him."

"Just like you, Drake."

"I am not friendly, period," I said. I made eye contact with Lyden, taking note of how she appeared to genuinely believe that.

Hudson rolled his eyes. "You don't need to announce that, man. Hicks told us to behave, and that goes for you, too." He looked back at Lyden. "So, where're you from?"

"Dublin, Ireland," she replied.

"Is your whole unit from Great Britain and that area?"

"Pretty much. Me and Neslie are from Ireland. Foster, Ariker, and the rest are English-though, Ariker might be Scottish. No one's really sure."

"How's that possible?"

"Well, he's . . . he's a felon. He was serving a life term when the USCM announced a new program for juvenile delinquents to enlist and have their sentences terminated. He doesn't talk much about his past, and doesn't like people asking."

Hudson looked at me. "You and Vasquez came from that."

I nodded. "And I don't like people asking about my fucking past, either."

"I guess that explains why you're not very friendly, Drake," Lyden replied. "You and Ariker might get along."

I didn't offer a response to that, aside from blowing a good-size bubble and letting it pop. There are plenty of Marines who came in from prison. I wasn't going to get along with any of them just because of that.

I was glad when it was time for me to head down to sick bay for my daily therapy with Doctor Ranelli. I was tired of being around so many people and dealing with new faces. When I was alone in the hallway, my emotions were threatening to crash, unable to fully comprehend all the changes that literally happened overnight. After closing the door behind me in Ranelli's office, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good morning, Drake," Ranelli said, from his desk. "Fancy some coffee?"

"Yes, please," I replied, sitting on the couch, and giving another sigh. "Did you see the new squad that came in last night?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." Ranelli took a full pot of coffee out, and angled it above a cup. "Would you like flavored creamer? I have amaretto, white chocolate raspberry, hazelnut-"

"I'll try the amaretto."

Ranelli added the creamer to a mug, and carried it over to me. "So, I'm guessing part of this session will consist of you listing everything you don't like about this new change," he said.

"Yeah. I kinda wish Hicks said something to me beforehand, but I don't think my feelings would change. I don't hate the new guys, but I also . . ." I frowned. "What's the right word?"

"You're feeling a little territorial. That's a completely natural feeling. And, coming from you, I'm not surprised. You value your space, and you're not good with change. That I noticed when we moved here two months ago."

I nodded. "It happened too fast. That move happened too fast."

"It's a part of life. You will, at some point, reach a stage in your life where you'll be more in control of your surroundings, and allow change to happen gradually, at your own pace. Now, as you were saying, you don't hate this new group of Marine, but you don't fully trust them. It'll be some time before you do. They may not even be staying with us for very long."

I was silent for a few minutes, trying to enjoy my coffee, and get it in my system. "I overheard Hicks telling Sergeant Foster that I have PTSD."

"He has to. You wouldn't want anyone unintentionally hurting you, now, would you?"

"But . . . it's not a result of a combat. It's a result of something that no one in Foster's squad knows about, and . . . I feel like it's just gonna generate curiosity and people are gonna do the opposite of what Hicks says. I've already fucked up in front of one of them because Hudson can't shut his mouth for two minutes." I set my cup down so I could mock Hudson. "'Hey, man. She's really hot, man. I'm gonna impress her by being obnoxious, man. Y'know, man, I still think she's hot even though I'm dating someone else, man, your feelings can shove it.'"

Ranelli smiled as I did my terrible impression of Hudson, and then told the actual story of what happened in the gym. "I think he will apologize to you before the end of the day, maybe try to help you repair the damage you've done."

I shook my head. "I made a shitty first impression. There's no way Lyden will want to be around me. I . . . God, just like everyone else."

"Ferro took the time to get to know you. There's no reason Lyden won't do the same."

"They're two different people."

"But, did they both have a low opinion on you?"

"I don't know if Ferro did."

"Alright, here's a better example; you had a low opinion of Hudson when you first met him, correct?"

"Yeah."

"And now, you're friends. People's thoughts change after getting to know someone."

"It took me and Hudson two years."

"Hudson is about as hard-headed as you are. That's probably why."

I grinned a little. "True."

"Don't give up on improving your impression, Drake. With time, you'll learn what works and what doesn't with different people. Now, how did you sleep last night?"

"I was woken up when Foster's unit came in. Then I had to escort Hudson to the bathroom."

"Any nightmares?"

"Not last night."

"How was your appetite last night and this morning?"

"On and off. Mainly off, but my mood swung really bad when we were all in the lounge last night, so I felt really hungry and ate two candy bars from the vending machine."

"What made your mood swing?"

"I don't know. I guess . . . I wasn't listening to my brain when it was saying, 'You need to be alone, or else you're gonna crash.' I don't get why I keep crashing, over and over and over again. How is that possible?"

"It's one of two things, or a combination of both. One is that you're pushing yourself too hard, when your mind still isn't ready. Two is that your body is beginning to fight off something. It is cold and flu season, after all."

I shrugged. "I have been feeling a little sluggish ever since we got back from Norway. I thought it was fucking jet lag."

"It's quite possible you're a little sick. However, don't discount the fact that you may be pushing yourself too hard when it comes to interacting with other people. There's still a part of your subconscious mind that doesn't want to come out of your shell, and that part of your mind is incredibly powerful; it's where your emotions and thoughts go when they're suppressed. It's where your dreams and nightmares originate. It's possible that it's also where your illness is born. Now, that's only a theory, but think about it for a moment. No one ever consciously decides to be depressed, or suffer from trauma. Your subconscious is where the awful parts of your life, the parts you wish you could forget, go to hide, and wait for the perfect moment to re-emerge."

"Never thought of it that way before. If it's so powerful, why bother trying to change my thinking, then?"

"It can change with time and practice. Only if you let it go for an extended period of time will it become less and less controllable. You're not the worst case I've ever seen. Hicks let his problems go on for far longer than you."

"You're right if you're talking about my PTSD, but not about . . . my guilt complex and constant feelings of regret. I've let that go on since I was sixteen."

"When's your birthday?"

"December seventh."

"Oh. That was two weeks ago."

I suddenly felt like everything in my stomach sank to the bottom of my abdominal cavity. "So, I completely forgot about . . . my own birthday."

Ranelli nodded, a sad smile on his face.

"And no else, even my own girlfriend, didn't bring it up."

"Well, there was the Christmas party-"

"OK, I really don't care about gifts. I just . . . no one . . . remembered. Not Vasquez, not Hudson, not Hicks. Wow, that's a real easy way to feel so unimportant."

"You're not unimportant. Things like this happen."

That didn't stop me from feeling awful. I asked Ranelli if we could continue my session later, and he said that was fine. When I left sick bay, I didn't know who to confront first. I decided not to confront Vasquez, because we're trying not to argue so much, so I looked for Hudson. Turns out, he was in the lounge, talking and laughing with Lyden. I was experiencing a combination of feeling sucker-punched in the stomach, and that my blood was boiling with anger.

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to go in there and explode on Hudson. My anger began slowly leaking out through tears, and I felt nauseated.

I didn't want to let the new unit see me like this, so I quickly headed down to my room, climbing onto my bunk, and laying there. I cried while staring up at the ceiling, hoping and praying no one walked in on me. Much to my misfortune, though, Spunkmeyer came in, and looked up at me. "You doing OK, Drake?"

All he got was a sob.

"Do you want me to get Hicks?"

I shook my head.

"Do you need someone to listen to you?"

I nodded.

"Alright, fire away."

"Everyone-including me-forgot my birthday," I said. "I . . . It was two weeks ago, and . . . I know it's really fucking petty, but . . . I can't . . . I don't know."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was in boot camp during my birthday. No one cares-well, actually, the drill instructors knew. One of them came up to me that morning and said, 'It's your birthday, Spunky, but we're gonna treat you like everyone else. No fucking cake for you.' You know, their spiel about how you're not special and all that shit."

"I spent two birthdays in jail," I said. "How do you think that went?"

"OK, it . . . it doesn't matter 'bout that, alright? I'm just saying that it's not the end of the world if people forget your birthday."

"But, I've made friends here. They should know. Hicks should know."

"Shit happens, Drake. I don't know what else to say that would make you feel better. I mean, I don't think lying here sulking about it will make anything better."

I sighed. "I know, but I'm just . . . really upset at everyone right now. If I approach them now, I'll yell at them and make everything worse, and I don't want to do that in front of the new guys."

"That's understandable. If you want, we can go into town and get something to drink."

"Thanks, but no thanks," I replied. "Did enough drinking at the Christmas party."

"Oh, yeah, how was that?"

"Not bad, but not wonderful, either. Hudson spent the whole time drinking and stuffing himself. I had to deal with a flashback. Hicks was nice enough to sit and talk with me, though."

Spunkmeyer thought for a moment. "You know, when I first saw you, you struck me as the kinda person who goes to parties for the sole purpose of flirting with every chick in the room. I'm glad I was wrong."

"You're dead wrong, because I can't flirt to save my life."

"You think you're bag. Have you seen-"

"Hudson? Yeah, it's gonna be awhile before he finds someone who can put with him and his crap."

"Really? Vasquez was telling me that Hudson's hooked up with a girl you guys met in D.C. a few months ago, and they did pretty well at the party."

I was half-expecting Spunkmeyer to ask if Hudson and Miranda had sex, but that wasn't in his nature. "Yeah, they talked a lot. Hudson was . . . Hudson, but it didn't look like his friend hated him after awhile."

"If she can put up with him, more power to her."

"I hope so," I replied, sighing. "No one should have to die alone when they get older."

Question: Was it really Hudson that set off Drake, or does he still need to learn when is a good time to announce that he's not friendly?

Author's Note: This story was tough to start. On one hand, I wanted to just keep going with Drake, and on the other, I was tempted to start a spinoff with Hudson as the protagonist. I really don't want to work on three projects all at once, but I'm definitely not abandoning anything. I may do the Hudson story after finishing Hicks. I may put Drake on hold if people would rather see a story from Hudson's point-of-view. Anything could happen, but that doesn't mean I'm going to quit writing.