The rain falls softly on Washington D.C. Not many are out and about, only a few dog-walkers and some old couples. A particular couple, still youthful but aging quicker than they think, walk hand in hand down the slick sidewalk, no umbrella to shield them.

As they come around the bend, they can see it, the two black granite walls that stand out against the luscious green fields. The man feels the woman shiver, and he knows it is not from the chill in the air. Letting go of her hand, he wraps a protective arm around her shoulder and presses her warm, lithe body to his own.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asks her softly, resting his cheek on her golden head of hair.

"Yes," she answers, not thinking about it for one minute. He is slightly surprised that her voice does not waver in sadness, and knows that this must be what she truly wants.

Slowly, they make their way down the little hill, glancing briefly at the three, bronze soldiers that stood solemnly as they clutched their bronze guns. The man's grip on his wife's shoulder becomes tighter as they move closer to the bottom, and the streaks of white across the granite walls become readable names.

A small book on a stand is placed at the entrance, a directory to find the name they are looking for. The woman glides her hands across each page, looking for the name and where to find it. Her finger doesn't stop on the name, but the man can feel her shudder slightly, and he knows that she found it. Slowly, she closes the book, takes her husband's hand, and steadily walks down the pathway.

The man can't believe how many names are on that wall. Fathers, sons, uncles, all types of men. His heart wrenches as he sees the various, colorful notes that cover the ground, saying "We miss you" or "I still love you," and he realizes how many people the war truly affected. It's hard to realize that when you're at home safe in a completely different country, but even harder to realize when someone you love is thrown into it.

The woman is not surprised at all, and it tears her apart. She wonders if she had fought just a little harder, that everyone might have fought just a little harder, there wouldn't be over 50,000 fathers, sons, and especially brothers who were missing from people's lives. But she has already come to the conclusion that there is no reason to dwell on something that cannot be changed.

The couple slow their pace and eventually stop. The woman's cerulean eyes gaze down the section, and eventually land on the name. She steps forward and reaches out her hand. As she gently traces the letters with her finger, her lips curve into a small, sad smile.

Maxwell James Carrigan

"Max…" Lucy says quietly, and tears start to form in her eyes. The day she received the call from her mother never left the back of her mind. Somehow, she knew it was coming. The second she picked up the phone and heard the choked sigh on the other end, she knew it had happened. But it was a horrifying blow, nonetheless. She couldn't quite come to grips on how her twisted, mischievous brother, who could wriggle his way out of anything but had a heart of gold, didn't survive. No matter what either of them had been through, Max had always been there for Lucy and Lucy had always been there for Max. Now, she felt as though half of herself was missing.

Her husband, Jude, comes up on the other side of her and smiles sadly at the wall as he reaches up to touch the name also. "I still miss you, mate," he mumbles. "It's been too damn quiet around Sadie's lately and…it's just not the same without you."

Lucy slowly steps back into his arms, and the two hold each other for what seems like ages. Though the years had past, and life had improved, the absence of their best friend was still present. They are angry that he was taken away so abruptly from them, but know that he is in a better place than he was.

Jude sighs, puts his arm back around his wife's shoulder, and slowly leads her away from the memorial, walking back into the rain-drenched city.

Now the darkness only stays at nighttime.

In the morning, it will fade away.

Daylight is good,

at arriving at the right time.

It's not always going to be this grey.

All things must pass.

All things must pass away.

All things must pass.

All things must pass away.

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