A few days in Morgantown was plenty, Mark mused, as they packed up the van to leave for Annapolis.

They'd left that morning, amidst promises that Madison and Perry would come visit them in Roadtown during the winter. It wasn't going to be a terribly long drive, today; just four or five hours, probably. It was getting to be a strange road trip, Mark mused, when the promise of staying in a cold, impersonal, hotel room sounded fantastic, in contrast to the dusty, haunted guest room at Sophia's parent's house, complete with notes from dead guys.

"Mom!" whined Valya, "Ana won't leave me alone!"

Mark sighed. Chris was currently driving, and the two girls were occupying the back row of the van.

And Beth was, to put it lightly, rather laissez-faire in the parenting department. He didn't like to judge, of course, everyone had their own ways. Oh, who was he kidding? He was totally judging. But it still made him grit his teeth when the two little girls got going with their backseat squabbling.

None of them had slept very well last night; Perry had encouraged everyone to stay up late on the last night of their visit, permissively letting the kids eat way too much junk food. The adults had enjoyed a few bottles of wine. Everyone was, unsurprisingly, grouchy and out-of-sorts after a couple of hours on the road.

"Mom!" shouted Ana, even louder, "Val keeps making that face at me!"

Beth shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Mark glanced down at his son, smiling a bit to see him looking out the window, quietly. At least his son knew how to behave himself. Though he had been unusually quiet this morning, come to think of it.

"She's on my side," screeched Val. "Stay on your own side, Ana!"

"She keeps touching me," Ana squealed.

Oh god, he thought. Why doesn't she make them shut the fuck up? Where's the duct tape when you need it?

"Stop pushing me!"

"Leave me alone!"

His son turned to look at him, suddenly. Oh shit, he thought, seeing what was about to happen. Little Mark had a panicky expression.

"Pull over!" he shouted at Chris, who reacted, surprised, by swerving a bit.

I am so fucked, Mark thought.

Chris glanced in the rearview at them, just in time to see little Mark throw up.

Mark sat there in shock, for a moment, drenched in warm vomit.


"Well, that set us back about an hour," Beck estimated, checking the GPS.

"We should still be there in plenty of time," said Sophia, glancing down at little Mark, who was almost asleep, with his head in her lap.

"Not soon enough," groused Mark. A change of clothes and a wipe-down with wet naps at a gas station did not equate to a proper shower.

Ana and Val were mercifully quiet, in the back seat, engrossed in their travel-sized magnetic Monopoly game.

"Are we there yet?" joked Beth, as Mark and Sophia turned to glare at her.


"Oh no, let me get that," the lobby manager practically snatched the garment bag out of Mark's hand. "We'll deliver it all to your rooms," he said. "They'll be ready in just a little while, if you would like to wait in the lounge?"

Mark shrugged.

"Fine with me," he said, following him.

No sooner than they'd all sat down, there was a hand clapped on Mark's sleeve, and he spun around, suddenly.

"Good to see you!" Victor Vogel greeted him.

"Vick!" he burst out, stunned. "Good to see you, too!"

Beth hugged him, and Mark and Chris shook his hand.

Victor grinned shyly, as he gestured to a young woman standing next to him.

"This is Nele, my wife," he introduced her, with barely a trace of an accent, in that amazed, proud fashion that Mark associated with most newlyweds.

"What?! You're married? Does Alex know about this?" Mark joked. He'd heard that Victor had gotten married, of course, but he hadn't gone over for the wedding, last year. He hadn't seen Victor, in person, for quite a few years.

Victor nodded, laughing. He'd always had a strong resemblance to his father, but Mark was momentarily taken aback at how much Vick looked like Alex had, when they'd first met, now that Victor had reached adulthood. They shared the same height, the same broad shoulders, and now, the same certain lack of hair follicles was beginning to catch up with Victor, as well.

"Eliza is travelling with my parents," he volunteered, before anyone was compelled to ask the next two obvious questions. "They arrived last night. Different hotel."

Mark nodded, as he shook hands with Nele.

"Nice to meet you, finally," he smiled at her.

"Poor Nele," Sophia shook her hand, with a sympathetic look, "You're going to have a lot of new faces to remember!"

Nele shook her head, smiling. "Of course I know the crew of Ares III," she laughed. The who doesn't? part went unspoken.


"No." his son shook his head, stubbornly, as Mark tried in vain to reason with him, the next day.

"You have plenty of stuffed animals at home. Just pick one, so that we can leave already," he repeated, there in the Smithsonian gift shop.

Sophia, a couple of aisles away, had a knowing smirk as she looked the other way. She was not getting involved, here. He was on his own.

His son was, generally, a pretty reasonable kid. But damn it, every once in awhile, he was as stubborn as a little mule. Mark had no idea where his son had gotten that particular trait. He must take after Sophia's side of the family, he thought. And with the unerring instinct that right now would be a terrible time to make a scene, he had declined Mark's (totally generous, he thought!) offer of one small souvenir stuffed animal.

Little Mark stood firm, clutching at least five.

"Please, Daddy?" He'd switched tactics again, and was giving his dad the most charming half-grin he could muster, the one that Mark himself had usually saved for when he was trying to score with cute girls, in his younger years.

He laughed, in spite of himself, but stood his ground.

"Sorry," he grinned back. "Nice try. Pick one. How about just the panda?"

His son dug in his heels again.

"All." He hugged the armload of plush again. "Please?" His eyes, so much like Sophia's, looked up at him, pleading. It was a good tactic, Mark could see that he was fighting a losing battle.

"Two?" He attempted to negotiate, but even to his own ears it sounded weak.

"All." His son smiled, sensing imminent victory.

"Three?" He tried once more, to cull the herd a bit. "Your room at home is really small, and…"

"Please, Daddy?"

"Okay," He gave in gracefully, seeing how happy it made his son. "Don't tell your Mom," he added, knowing that she could hear him, when he saw her smile.

He ruffled little Mark's hair.

The entire Ares III crew was on hand, the following day, for the official unveiling of the brand new SSN-774-class submarine. Originally, the sub, one of the final Virginia-class vessels to be produced, was to have been christened Melissa Lewis, but Lewis herself had nixed that notion. Instead, she'd asked for permission to suggest an alternate name herself, and the powers that be had readily agreed.

"Man, I'd totally be down with a nuclear-powered submarine named after me, I don't know what her problem is," grinned Rick, nudging Mark.

Sitting a few rows back, in the crowd, Marissa caught his eye, and Rick made a quick wave at his family. His son, David, almost a teenager now, grinned back, and his twin daughters, Maristella and Marisol, waved back at him, smiling.

The ship, nameplate covered by a shroud of silver fabric, was moored nearby; her future captain standing on the podium to greet Commander Lewis. Mark had seen Lewis in Naval uniform plenty of times during training, of course, but this was the first time he'd ever seen her in ceremonial dress whites.

She looked much more relaxed these days, even so, as she accepted the honor of a submarine commissioned in her name.

An enormous magnum of champagne was smashed against the hull, and the name was revealed to be Discovery, as the crowd applauded.

"Bet you five bucks she named it that so that people will have to call it Disco, for short," Mark muttered.

Rick rolled his eyes. "Disco. Very."


The informal celebration that evening was the first time in ages that the entire crew and their families had been together, in person, as Melissa and Mark chatted together on the back porch of her Annapolis home.

One of Melissa and Robert's dogs, Daisy, dropped a tennis ball in front of Mark, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Chuckling, Mark obligingly picked it up and threw it for her, as Melissa smirked.

A few moments later, all three Golden Retrievers were sitting expectantly in front of him, tails wagging eagerly, waiting for the next throw.

"Now you've gone and done it," Melissa laughed at his expression. "I hope you weren't planning on doing anything else this evening. Your next schedule block has been officially claimed."

Mark grinned, as he threw the ball again, the dogs all happily bounding away after it. Bo was the winner this time, and deposited the ball in Mark's lap and claimed his victory head rub. Luke and Daisy eyed the ball very intently, as Mark poised to throw it again.

"Time to bring out the secret weapon," he joked. Melissa raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, Mark, c'mere," he called to his son.


"I've actually never seen them this exhausted," Robert patted the sleepy Bo, next to him, who yawned and stretched out by his master's feet, half-asleep already. Much to everyone's amusement, Robert had trained the dogs to respond to their individual names, and to respond collectively when he called, "Dukes!"

"Who are these tiny humans, and what have they done to my dogs?" asked Melissa, with a mock-accusatory tone, as she rubbed Daisy's head.

Mark grinned, watching the merry little band of kids, still full of energy, playing in the Lewis' backyard as the fireflies began to blink occasionally, from the shrubs. Six little ones; they were almost like another Ares III crew, in miniature. There was no doubt that they considered each other family just as their parents did, as little Val bossed the lot of them around. No doubt who the commander of that crew would be, Mark thought.

Tomorrow they would turn in the rental and catch their flights home.

It had been quite the experience, this little road trip reunion.

"Have a good flight, man." Rick clapped him on the shoulder, "Do your pilot a favor, and try not to get left behind this time?"

Mark grinned.

"Be careful on the drive home; watch that speed limit," he replied, sardonically, bending down to hug little Marisol. "And what do we tell Daddy when he's driving?"

"No barrel rolls!" the twins chorused, as the rest of the group laughed. Rick rolled his eyes.

Mark shouldn't have been surprised, but he totally was, anyway, when his son suddenly appeared, holding the bag from the Smithsonian, and presented each of the four little girls with one of the stuffed animals.


"Dad," his son asked him, the next evening as he was, finally, snuggling down to go to sleep in his very own bed, "what was your favorite part of the trip, and what was the worst?"

Mark thought about that for a moment, as he tucked his son in.

"I can tell you what was the worst," offered Sophia, from the hallway, where she stood, unpacking suitcases and loading up the washer. "All this laundry."

Mark grinned. He couldn't argue with that.

"Was it when I barfed on you?" asked little Mark, grinning. "That was the worst, right?"

He couldn't argue with that, either.

"Well," he paused, thinking of the many long journeys he'd taken, since that long ago day at Cape Canaveral with the Ares III crew. "I guess you could say that I've done a fair bit of travelling in my time," he began.

"Understatement of the century," quipped Sophia.

"And the best part of the journey is always coming back home."

Mark kissed his son goodnight.

"It is good to be home," little Mark agreed, sleepily.

And home to me, is wherever you are, he added, silently.