I awoke the next morning to hear Hicks banging on my door. "I let you all sleep in long enough! Time to get up, get dressed, let's go!"

I looked at the clock. It was only seven-thirty. That's not sleeping in. Eight would be sleeping in. Grunting, I pulled myself out of bed, and began searching around for something to wear that wasn't dirty. Like Hudson, I tend to leave my dirty laundry on the floor. Unlike Hudson, I don't leave it until it starts to smell.

I gave myself a quick shave before getting dressed and leaving the room to join everyone in the mess hall. Something actually smelled good, and I spotted a dish stacked high with what looked like real muffins and not bran muffins.

To be honest, I have nothing against bran muffins. One a week is good to keep your system moving. One every single day will constipate you. Feeling backed up and weighed down isn't pleasant, and it really hurts your performance during daily exercises.

"This is a treat, you guys, so don't expect this every day," Hicks said. "Take one, Hudson, put those back."

"Tomorrow, we should get some real biscuits, man," Hudson chirped with his mouth full. "Real biscuits, real gravy. Let's get some fucking chicken tenders and real waffles, too, man."

"How about you behave for the next week, and maybe I'll consider it."

"Deal, man!" Hudson practically showered Hicks with spit-soaked crumbs.

Sighing, Hicks looked at the rest of us, brushing the crumbs from his hair. He waited, and then said, "You're welcome, everyone."

"We were gonna say 'thank you' when we're done," I replied. "Keep your shirt on."

"You don't have any manners, Drake, so I wasn't expecting a 'thanks' from you."

People snickered a little.

"Well, fuck you guys," I muttered.

Things got quiet after breakfast. I joined Hudson and Wierzbowski in the exercise yard to take a walk. It was getting warmer and warmer as summer got closer, so we all felt more inclined to go outside more often.

"Have either of you been in a natural disaster zone?" I asked, just for shits and giggles.

"I was. Right out of training, too," Wierzbowski replied. "Earthquake in Peru."

"How . . . nerve-wracking was it?"

"Well, we all had to run when the sirens sounded that a tsunami was coming in. Now, we anticipated it for sure, but we were trying to get people out of there before it hit."

"It was a fucking mess, man," Hudson added. "I watched a whole shack get dragged out into the ocean. Watched some people drown, too." Hudson was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, the first time I watched someone die as a Marine wasn't from combat. It was that earthquake. There had to be, what, seven-eight people that got caught in the water. Others were yelling, and then we had to push them inland. I turned around, and . . . boom, there're dead bodies floating up and washing up in the sand. Honestly, I didn't . . . I didn't kinda think about it till later, man. I didn't know 'em. It was still an odd . . . sensation, watching people die. It's different when you're out there protecting yourself, but something like the drownings is just . . . a lot more gut-wrenching. It's something you can't do anything about."

Wierzbowski nodded. "That's why you need to be good at detaching yourself from your emotions. At the time, I was still trying to keep myself from wanting to drink. I didn't really care about anything else. It's awful in hindsight, but . . . the past is the past, whether we're ashamed of it or not."

I didn't respond right away. A few minutes passed, and I said, "I'm just asking in case we get called to where that hurricane's gonna hit. I've never done this before."

"A few words of advice; be careful. Some people can get hysterical. Some may demand things from you. If they get violent with you, don't be afraid to defend yourself. Don't go off alone. Always have a buddy with you. Consider every structure unstable until you thoroughly check it." Wierzbowski glanced ahead before returning his gaze to me. "I hope we don't get called down there, but if we do, we do."

That night, I was dreaming about a place being battered with wind and heavy rain. I could see one traffic light swaying erratically, the red light blinking steadily. I could hear someone screaming for help.

When I shot upright, I dismissed it as my PTSD-infested brain latching onto the idea that we might be doing cleanup after the hurricane.

Early in the morning, I couldn't sleep anymore. I put my boots on, and grabbed my robe before leaving the room. When I stepped out into the hallway, I saw light under the door to the lounge. Wondering who could be in there at this hour, I peered through the glass to see Hicks sitting on the couch, watching the weather. He must've seen me through the corner of his eye, because he gestured that I could come in.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

"It hit. Look." Hicks gestured to the map on-screen. Sure enough, the hurricane had begun smashing into the coasts of Florida and Georgia. "Every USCM base in that area was evacuated. Every base on the east coast is on standby, and that includes us."

"How do they pick us for this shit?"

"I dunno. I'm not involved with that process. That's an officer's job." Hicks grinned a little. "You can sit down, if you want."

"I couldn't sleep and I saw the light was on. Didn't plan on staying."

"No big deal. Tell you what, get dressed, and I'll take you down to the shops for some real coffee when they open in-" Hicks looked at his watch, "fifteen minutes."

After getting dressed and going back, I ended up playing a few pool rounds with Hicks before we headed down to the area of the base that privates can't go unless we have a corporal with us. "You're pretty good at pool, Drake," Hicks said while punching his information into a keypad by a door. "Very steady hand, I noticed. Hell, I've been working with you for two years, and this is the first time I noticed you're a southpaw."

I snorted. "I fucking eat with my left hand, but you notice it when we're playing pool. You sit across from me, for crying out loud."

"I'm usually trying to keep Hudson from dumping the whole yogurt bowl in his mouth."

"Point taken. Still, what's your point in noting that I'm left-handed?"

"Lefties tend to be seen as more creative and intelligent."

"And I'm neither. I'm really defective somewhere."

Hicks smirked. "No, I think you're a lot more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You got a 'B' on your GED, after all. I wouldn't expect someone who didn't finish high school to score that high. Plus, there's lots of different types of intelligence, Drake. You have exceptionally high emotional intelligence. You've really taken what Ranelli says to you, and applied it. Heck, you've been taking the initiative when it comes to helping the rest of us with our emotional problems-"

"That's because I feel guilty, or because you approach me." I shrugged. "I don't know why you approach me. I haven't even fixed myself yet."

Hicks looked down at his boots, sighing. "People trust you, Drake. That's why. They see how much you've changed, how much you've really grown as a person. They see who you really are, and they genuinely like you. Wierzbowski and Hudson have gotten really close to you over the last couple months. That means something, right? You didn't have friends in your civilian life, and you have a lot more friends now. What . . . What's running through your head when you tell yourself 'I'm not good for anything?'"

"That's just it. I'm not good for anything. I-I don't understand why I know I've got people who care about me, but . . . at the same time, I'm . . . I'm so unhappy. You know, I've got moments where I feel loved, but then I have moments where I just feel alone and angry."

Hicks nodded. "I get it. It happens. The important thing is to not let that control you."

When we sat down with our coffee, I was tempted to ask Hicks how his relationship with Carlisle was going. It's been about a month since they started trying to make things better between them, and Hicks hasn't said much about what's going on. Once I managed to ask, Hicks set down his cup, and took a moment to think.

"So far, so good," he replied.

I frowned. "Are you sure? I expect an answer like that out of Wierzbowski, but . . . not you."

"Well, I wish I could put it into better words for you. I'm sorry. I mean, we're not fighting, we're not talking about the past very often. Things are calm. That's all. You get that?"

I nodded. "I was just asking. After all, you did want me with you when you talked to Carlisle about how your problem flared up again."

"You're right. I do trust you with stuff like this." Hicks took a sip of his coffee, glancing out the window with a blank gaze. "How come you haven't found yourself a romantic relationship?"

I looked down, hoping Hicks didn't see me flushing red with nerves. I'm really not ready to tell him about Vasquez yet. "I thought it was obvious I'm not interested in searching yet."

"Hanging out with Wierzbowski and Hudson while they have girlfriends doesn't make you want to find your own special someone?"

"I'm pretty sure my PTSD is an instant turnoff."

"That's not true. You just need to find the right person to be patient with you."

And I have that with Vasquez. "I'm not interested right now. I want to recover, and then I'll look."

"Alright, makes sense."

I sighed and rubbed my face. "I'm not emotionally ready, that's all."

"Fair enough. We'll drop the subject now."

I shouldn't even bother mentioning how much the day dragged. The only difference to yesterday was that it felt like we were waiting for something to happen.

A good number of us were anticipating being sent to the areas being wrecked by the hurricane. Dietrich was already stocking kits and checking her equipment. Honestly, it got tiring to hear about, so I decided to hide out in the armory.

Well, I wasn't alone. As I rounded a corner to the benches in front of a rifle rack, I saw Spunkmeyer sitting on the floor, hugging his knees. His face was red and wet from crying.

"What happened to you?" I asked, sitting on the bench.

"Nothing," Spunkmeyer muttered. "I don't feel like talking to anyone."

"OK." I stared ahead at the racks, gazing blankly at the individual rifles resting on them.

Spunkmeyer glanced up at me, then put his head on his knees again. "I know I told you I try not to hold grudges, but I've been holding one against Hudson for two years. I kinda just realized that a little while ago."

"And that upset you?"

"Yeah. That and just . . . the whole thing being brought up again."

"I can understand why you don't want it being brought up again, but you guys have been living together in the same confined spaces for the last two-three years, so it's gotta be killing the both of you."

"It's been killing me, that's for sure. I doubt it's been killing Hudson."

"You'd be surprised. He wants to make up to you. He's not that big of an idiot, dude, he really does care about everyone in this squad. You haven't noticed that he's been trying to be more in tune with what he's feeling and how others feel?"

"It doesn't explain why he didn't try to make things up a long time ago. Yes, I noticed, but I've been waiting for someone to just say something about this. When you brought it up a couple weeks ago, I had lost all expectations, so that's why I wasn't sure what to do." Spunkmeyer sighed. "This whole thing is stupid. Only a Goddamn kid would be moping around with something like this. I really don't care if I'm friends with somebody or not."

"You have an extreme fear of abandonment. Deep down, this fucking bothers you to no end."

"How would you know? You weren't adopted by the most . . ." Spunkmeyer took a breath, "heartless bitch that walked the planet."

"No, but I know what it's like when something that seems silly to others just keeps tormenting you. You can't cover this up. You can't tell yourself it doesn't bother you. It does, and it always will until you confront it. Trust me."

Spunkmeyer sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"At this point, you're just gonna have to be brutally honest with Hudson. You both need to sit down together, and talk. You might yell at each other, you might become really angry with each other, but you have to let it happen. You've let this go on for too long, so the only way you're gonna feel better is to just let it all out. Go ahead, scream at Hudson for abandoning you. Let him scream at you for not listening to him. Do it. I can talk to Ranelli about setting aside a room or something so you guys can do this without anybody else listening."

Getting up to sit next to me, Spunkmeyer said, "All my life, I've heard stuff like that just makes things worse."

"Well, whoever told you that is wrong. Whoever told you that has never dealt with real people before."

A very weak smile was tugging at the edges of Spunkmeyer's mouth. "Hey, I trust you, Drake."

I gave him a wide smirk, and patted his shoulder. "Thanks."

"Can I talk to you 'bout one more thing?"

"Absolutely."

Spunkmeyer's Adam's apple bobbed a little as he swallowed nervously. "Ferro told me about you and Vasquez, and she told me that . . . she's open to the idea of . . . her and I having a relationship. I mean, years and years ago we kinda had feelings for each other, but we didn't think it was possible to ever pull something like that off. Now, we're . . . w-we're looking at you, and . . . everything kinda came back."

"Just because Vasquez and I can work in this environment and still have a fully functional relationship doesn't mean another couple can. You and Ferro have different personalities compared to me and Vasquez. But, if you really think you have genuine feelings for each other . . . I say go for it."

"Where do I start? What do I do?"

"Take her out to dinner and talk. You guys have been working together for a few years, so, you should be way past fucking small talk. You should be able to go right into those deeper conversations. Hell, if you're nervous, maybe Vasquez and I can come with you and sorta . . . demonstrate how to do that." I realized I probably shouldn't have said that right after I said it, because Vasquez doesn't enjoy going out. Maybe she'd change her mind if I said Hudson and Miranda weren't going to be there.

"If you're really willing to do that, then . . . by all means, do it. I would appreciate all the help I can get, and I probably should repay you."

"Don't worry about that, OK?" I roughly grabbed Spunkmeyer's hand and shook it. "You're handling this well. I'm proud of you."

A more genuine smile blossomed on Spunkmeyer's face. I had a feeling that not many people have said "I'm proud of you" to him, so he needs to hear it. Frankly, I've never taken on the big brother role, not like Hudson has. Maybe Spunkmeyer will feel a lot better with two older brothers (hey, at least we don't get together to dunk his head in the toilet).

Sometime after dinner, Hicks came running around to tell us we were indeed going to where the hurricane just hit. Spunkmeyer was ordered down to the hangar to load supplies onto a plane, while Dietrich and Bishop pushed carts of medical equipment out into the hangar. The rest of us just had to be ready to get dressed as quickly as possible at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning.

Vasquez and I were given heavy overcoats and sidearm holsters because we were not carrying our smartguns. Everyone else was wearing their standard armor, and only a couple guys were carrying pulse rifles.

The noise didn't die down till ten-thirty at night. I lay awake long after things got quiet, unable to get my mind to settle. I could still hear banging and echoing and yelling. As I tossed and turned, it wasn't going away. It continued to drone, and it was starting to merge with some of my other thoughts and memories.

I glanced at the clock. Only thirty minutes had passed. Oh my God, I just want to sleep. I stared at the clock, but that seemed to make it go slower. My heart was pounding, and suddenly I wanted to cry.

Not feeling like I had a choice anymore, I got up. I went next door to Wierzbowski's room. He twitched when he got the sense that someone else was in his room, and he slowly lifted his head. "What is it, Drake?" he muttered.

"I can't sleep."

"Nightmares?"

"No. I can't get to sleep at all. It's like my mind won't stop . . . moving, I guess."

"OK. Well, go ahead and sit. I'll do my best to get your head to settle down." Wierzbowski moved onto his back so he could sit up, and turn the light on. "Is it your usual thoughts, or is it something else?"

"Both. All the rushing around and prep you guys were doing earlier . . . I can't stop hearing it. There's just banging and people yelling orders and the echoing of voices and machinery. It's mixing with some of my other memories and I don't like it."

Wierzbowski nodded. "I take it you're a little nervous about tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I shouldn't be-"

"No, you'd be insane if you weren't a little nervous at all. You think the rest of us aren't nervous?"

I was quiet for a moment. "Last night, I had a dream that I was standing in a flooded road. The wind was bad, the rain was bad, and there was a traffic light blowing all over, with just the red light flickering steadily. Someone was screaming for help."

"I take it that's been bothering you all day."

"Somewhat. I just don't know what it means or whether I should even care."

"The good thing is that you won't be alone when we go down there. Hudson and I will probably stick by you the whole time. I wouldn't worry too much, alright?"

Question: What do you think Spunkmeyer dreamt about after being poisoned?