As we got closer to the day I had to meet with civvie representatives about whether or not I could become a civilian myself, my dreams got worse. Sometimes, I dreamt about the day I went to prison. Other times, I dreamt I was being sent back, with no chance of coming out again. They felt vivid and real, and I'd wake up at all hours in a cold sweat, or crying.

It was times like this where I wanted Hudson. I felt a horrid emptiness in my chest every time I woke up from a nightmare. As the days moved on, it felt like a hammer was beating down on my sense of optimism, trying to crush it till there was nothing left. Even when I wasn't having bad dreams, the days were filled with panic and hopelessness and an awful feeling of uncertainty surrounding leaving the Marines.

"Frankly, I don't think there's too much to worry about in terms of actually leaving," Doctor Ranelli told me when I finally sat down in his office a couple of mornings before my meeting.

"Why is everyone telling me that?" I moaned, rubbing my face.

"Because we had to submit reports about you to the representatives. Hicks selected five people to write summaries regarding why you should be allowed to leave and rejoin civilian society."

"And you were one of them?"

"No, but I did have to submit a psychological report."

"So, these people know about . . . what's wrong with me."

"It's a solid factor in why they'll let you go. Even though you've been receiving treatment and have shown a considerable amount of progress, staying in this type of environment might be slowing down your progress. Now, I did mention that the shock of moving from a military lifestyle to a civilian lifestyle might be temporary, but large setback in your progress, as well as the thought of you being separated from the people you've come to depend on for emotional support. Regardless, your PTSD has been taken into consideration as to why you should leave. They think it may be best for your mental health. I think it'll be better for your mental health if you leave. You doing something productive for civilian society will help you feel like you've righted your wrongs. It will help you feel like you've proven that you're not the lost teenager you once were."

"See, that's . . . that's another thing that's driving me nuts. I don't know what to do when I leave. I'm not good for anything except carrying a big weapon around."

"Stop right there. You are good for things, if you take the time to examine your personal talents. If you think about it, Drake, you would make a fine therapist. You have an ability to connect with someone on an emotional level and read them. You care deeply about how someone is feeling, and you strive to help them feel better. That's what I've observed between you and your companions."

"That's just between them," I said. "I could never do it with strangers."

"I used to think the same thing right before I started taking classes. The thing about therapy is that it's very flexible. There's different types and methods of helping people analyze and overcome their emotional problems. Even something as simple as talk therapy-what I did with you-varies from psychologist to psychologist. My personal method consists of getting to know you and getting to know your behaviors and thought patterns, before figuring out what would work best for you for every session. You might like it, and your clients might like you a lot more than you think they would."

I sighed. "I haven't even fully managed my PTSD yet."

"You still have some hurdles, but not as many as you did when you started. There will always be hurdles. Always. As I've said before, it's not something that can be cured, but the more you learn about it and how it effects you, you can better manage the symptoms and prevent them from severely disrupting your daily life."

"Well, I'm not going into psychology. That means college. I don't want to do college. It means . . . classrooms a-and a lot of people and they're all gonna be younger than me and the feeling that people are gonna pressure me into saying and doing things I don't want to do. I-I don't want to be known as the guy who refuses to talk to people. I can't do it."

"You need something that offers you similar comradeship to the Marines. You need to be surrounded by somewhat like-minded individuals, who would understand you when you spoke to them."

I nodded a little. "Spunkmeyer . . . told me becoming a police officer might be a good idea."

"Absolutely. Anything in the security field would be excellent for you. It's similar to what you do now, and it offers you a sense of comradeship. If you're serious about that, you are going to need to take some tests that will allow you to handle firearms."

"I'm coming from the military, though. Doesn't that-"

"Will not apply to a civilian job. There are certain licenses you need, and you will need to take some psychological exams in order to be qualified."

"Jesus. If I have to do a psych exam, I'll fail."

"Not true. Three or four years ago, you may have failed, but you do have a good chance of succeeding now. I'd be happy to get some of this set up for you after you get settled."

"You'd do that?" I took a breath. "If . . . you think being part of security personnel somewhere is good for me, I'll . . . give it a shot."

All I knew that morning was that I would be going in before Vasquez. Hicks was nice enough to get real coffee for everyone, but he was saving the real food for our departure date.

He sounded convinced Vasquez and I were leaving, so I guess I shouldn't worry too much.

After breakfast, I followed Hicks and Apone down to an office where two guys in nice suits were sitting at a desk. Everyone shook hands, and Apone and Hicks sat behind me while I faced the two guys. The room was way too quiet for my liking; I was afraid everyone in a ten-foot distance could hear my heart beating.

"Everything OK? You look a bit nervous," one of the reps said.

I gulped. "F-Fine. I'm fine."

"You've served six years in the USCM, in order to terminate a life sentence for triple homicide, grand theft auto, and leaving the scene of a crime. You do know just enlistment won't clear your name, correct?"

"I know." I swallowed again, past a round of tears slowly working its way up my throat. "I know for damn sure I'm guilty as all hell. Not denying what I did."

The rep looked at Hicks. "Corporal, were you correct in stating you believe Private Drake should be allowed to become a civilian?"

"Absolutely, sir," Hicks replied.

"Is there anything about Drake you feel might put him at risk of committing a similar crime?"

"No, sir."

"Can you briefly summarize your report in favor of Drake rejoining society?"

"I can summarize it with the words of the people he's worked with for the last six years. I can summarize it with his actions, and . . . I guess the feeling people get when he's in a room. I know at first glance, he doesn't look warm, or friendly, but you don't necessarily have to wear a smile on your face all the time to be a good person. I've been serving for a little over nine years, and I have never encountered someone like Drake before. If I just met him today, it would never cross my mind that he had once been a juvenile felon. That's how much he's changed and grown."

"Do you believe his diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder has been a hindrance in his daily performance?"

"No, sir."

"If he was to be given, say, another two years of service, you believe he'd cope well?"

My heart skipped a beat. Two years? No, no, no . . .

"I think he would at first, but would begin to falter after some time."

No, please, no! I can't stay another two years! Don't do this to me!

I was covering my face with my hands, and through my fingers, I saw a paper being slid in front of me.

The rep gestured to the bottom of the paper. "Sign the left space if you want to negotiate a new contract. Sign the right space if you want to receive your discharge, with full benefits, and a wiped criminal record."

The silence returned, aside from my heartbeat. I looked over my shoulder at Hicks and Apone. Hicks was nodding and smiling at me. I knew I was going to be leaving them behind. I knew it would likely be a long time before I ever saw Hicks again.

I signed the right space anyway.

I felt like another weight lifted off my shoulders.

Vasquez was getting out, too, thank God. We didn't get all excited and jumped up and down when we realized we were so close to leaving and not having to hide our relationship anymore. We spent some time alone together, laying next to each other and expressing our happiness in a way only we could understand.

Vasquez was smiling and crying at the same time. I was grinning like an idiot and petting her head.

"I don't have a ring, yet," I whispered.

"I know you don't," she whispered back.

"But I'm not gonna tell you when I get one."

"You couldn't surprise me if you tried."

"Is that a challenge? If so, I accept." I kissed her cheek. "I love you."

Her smile got bigger. "I love you, too."

I hugged her, and pulled her closer. "On our first day in our new house, I'm gonna make you breakfast in bed."

"If you get out of bed before I do. I think you're going to sleep till noon."

I smirked, kissing her again. This much bliss after a month of sadness and uncertainty felt like someone put my heart in the basket of a hot air balloon as it floated away.

Of course, I had to tell Hudson. That afternoon, I eagerly awaited his call, sitting in front of the screen in the comm room with a smile on my face. My heart beat faster when the words "Call incoming . . . Signal origin: Washington, D.C., U.S.A." appeared onscreen.

It was only eight in the morning on the East Coast, so it didn't come as a surprise Hudson was holding a bowl of cereal and had a cup of coffee and two chocolate-chip muffins on his desk (well, Miranda's desk, but for some reason, she's allowing him to make a mess . . . that's true love right there). He smirked when he saw me. "That was fast, man."

"I've been waiting hours to tell you something," I said.

"What? Oh, shit, today was your meeting . . . how'd that go?" Hudson put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

"I'm getting my discharge."

Hudson swallowed, and set down his bowl. He stood up, and I heard him go to the door and yell, "Miranda! Drake's getting out!"

"Seriously?" Miranda shrieked excitedly.

"Yeah!"

"Tell him I can't wait to see him soon. I gotta get going. See you tonight, sweetie."

"Love you, pumpkin." Hudson gave Miranda a kiss before coming back to the computer desk. "Sorry, man, I had to tell her. Now, we can set a wedding date! When're you leaving?"

"This coming Saturday. Vasquez is going with me."

"That's awesome, man. You're coming right here?"

"Right to the city, yeah."

"You won't be mad if we come and meet you guys, would you?"

"No, not at all. I look forward to it." A feeling of longing slowly pierced through my chest. "I look forward to seeing you in person again."

"I look forward to seeing you, too, man. Good luck, and we'll see you soon."

I didn't do anything elaborate the way Hudson did, but I felt awful that Wierzbowski still had four months before he could get his discharge.

"I'll be OK," Wierzbowski told me. "I'll look after Spunkmeyer, and Hicks. I know Hicks probably doesn't need looking after . . . but he's going to miss you."

"I'll miss him, that's for sure," I replied. "Hopefully, we'll get to see each other for holidays and stuff like that."

"Hudson's making him one of the groomsmen, right?"

"Yep."

"You'll see each other sooner, then." Wierzbowski paused, giving me a nervous glance. "Is he making me a groomsman?"

"There's you, Hicks, Frost, and Spunkmeyer."

"Ah. Same as mine, except I added Crowe."

"Hudson said he's working on keeping it somewhat small. So far, Miranda hasn't given him a hard time on it, but she's worried about what certain people in her family might say."

"Eliza's family is a pain in the ass to deal with," Wierzbowski sighed. "Remember how she showed up at base one night, crying-"

"Because her cousins weren't being very helpful during her dress fitting? Yeah, I remember. I don't know what it is with girls and making a dress-fitting a big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's a wedding gown. It's something she's only going to wear on that special day, and . . . maybe she can pass it down to her daughter."

"You and Eliza still haven't discussed kids, have you?"

"We did, but . . . I was honest when I said I don't feel ready. I'll bring it up again when I feel . . . more ready."

I can't believe I'm sitting here, writing my first entry as a civilian, on a plane. I'm so in awe right now that I'm not even queasy.

It's a long flight, so, get cozy.

I woke up pretty early this morning and got dressed before heading to the courtyard to do some thinking. To be honest, I didn't know what to think about. Maybe it was just to enjoy the Venetian air one last time.

Last night, Hicks took me and Vasquez out for a drink, where he revealed to us that he had suspected since day one that the two of us were in love.

"It was pretty hard not to read your body language around each other," Hicks said. "That's why I wasn't surprised when Drake told me you were getting on getting married when you became civilians."

Vasquez glared at me. "You told him?"

"On LV-426. He asked me what my plan was for when I became a civvie, and I . . . I told him," I said.

Instead of locking herself in her mind, Vasquez let her guard down. She sighed before rubbing my shoulder and calling me an idiot in Spanish. Then she looked at Hicks. "How come you never said anything?"

"I would've stepped in and said something if your relationship was effecting your performance on the job. Not to mention, I knew you both came from the same prison, and went through boot camp together. That's what it said on your papers. You didn't start this the day you entered this unit. That much I could tell. And, listening to you, I can tell you don't let petty shit get in the way of what you're supposed to do. That's why I let it go."

I glanced at Vasquez, then back at Hicks. "Well, I guess we don't have to hide the fact that we love each other anymore." With that, I hugged Vasquez, and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

Hicks actually smiled, and took a sip of his drink. "If you need anything while you're getting settled, don't hesitate to call me. I've got way too many leave days under my belt, and Apone's threatening to tell Russell if I don't start using more."

"I think we'll be OK," I said.

Hicks was quiet for a moment. When Vasquez got up to use the restroom, Hicks took that opportunity of it being just me and him to talk to me about something on his mind. "I kinda have to keep reminding myself that Ellen Ripley isn't Paige Carlisle. She doesn't know what happened with . . . all the stuff in my past and my . . . my issues."

"Did something happen?" I asked.

"Not like something bad, but I just needed to step back and talk to somebody else so I can go back into this with a little more . . . I guess confidence is the right word." Hicks glanced at his glass, then pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "Anyway, when I was at home with Newt and Ellen and getting them adjusted, I found it difficult to find things to talk about, and for a moment, I was wondering if I had made a mistake. I panicked on the inside, and in doing so, I kinda revealed to her-Ellen-my little nervous habits and I found myself . . . closing myself off again, similar to how I was before Paulson's death. You know, I was wearing my scarf around the house so I could play with it. Every moment I was outside, I smoked-not casual, like I'm doing now. I mean, once one was out, I lit another. She took notice of that, and was really quick to associate it with my nerves."

"Any idiot would be able to tell you're nervous just by watching you play with your scarf and smoke your cigarettes," I snorted.

"She's not an idiot, Drake. She noticed I was nervous, and I had to be honest that I wasn't comfortable taking our conversations further. I don't know if she appreciated the fact that I walked away rather than faced them, but I feel it's what I had to do so I don't . . . break down or explode. I know what happens when I come close to breaking down or exploding; it sets me on a path to either mania or depression, and I don't want either of those coming back."

"OK, so you did the right thing by coming back to your unit and talking to people who care about you. You shouldn't be ashamed over that. I mean, you're not gonna have me anymore, so-"

"Drake, let's hold the phone right there. This is not about you. I can talk to Wierzbowski, or Spunkmeyer or anyone else in this unit."

I felt like I got punched in the stomach.

"Don't give me that look. I'm going to miss you as much as I miss Hudson-"

"Well, you could've stated that earlier! You made it sound like you weren't gonna miss me at all!"

Vasquez sat back down next to me. "You really want to start fighting several hours before you're supposed to leave?"

I released my breath. "No."

Hicks shook his head. "I worded my thoughts wrong, Drake, I'm sorry."

This morning, he apologized for every fight we had that we never properly resolved. Like Hudson's departure day, we had real food for breakfast, and within a couple hours, we left our rooms with our duffel bags over our shoulders.

My first pause was in front of Ferro. We never argued. Not once. I know her crush on me a few years ago was what led to me telling her I was already with Vasquez, and then she and Spunkmeyer decided to revisit old feelings. I didn't bother shaking her hand; I went right for a tender hug.

Ferro took a breath, tears rolling down her face. "I'm gonna miss you, Drake."

I hugged her a little tighter. "I'll miss you, too."

She stood on her toes to kiss my cheek, and I kissed hers, even though it was wet with tears. I rubbed her back, whispering that everything would be OK and that she'd see me again soon.

Next, I stopped in front of Spunkmeyer. The poor guy was already crying, so I gripped his shoulder, saying, "You gonna make it?"

He nodded, but the tears flowed more.

Sighing, I hugged him. "You'll make it, buddy. You got an important job to do; keep your girlfriend happy. Can you do that?"

Again, he nodded, and looked up at me, hazel eyes sparkling. "I'll do the best I can."

I patted his shoulder, and then moved on to Wierzbowski. I now know how Hudson felt standing in front of me on the day he left; if I had any reason to stay, it would be Wierzbowski. Unlike when Hudson left, though, Wierzbowski was smiling through his tears. He looked proud, and that made me try to smile through my own tears.

"You've got a fresh new life ahead of you," Wierzbowski said. "That's what you've wanted."

I nodded. I knew I was starting fresh, but I also knew my memories weren't going to leave me alone anytime soon. We hugged, and I really tried not to sob like I did with Hudson. Wierzbowski patted my back, looking down at me. Eventually, he let go.

"This isn't goodbye," he said. "We'll see each other soon. Let me know when you get settled so we can visit you."

My chest was aching so much, I'm surprised I didn't suffer a silver flower flashback because of it. My last pause was in front of Hicks. He held out his hand, and I took it, shaking it firmly.

"Take care of yourself, Drake," he said, softly. "You're gonna go places, you're gonna meet people. You're gonna get everything you've ever wanted. I know it." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he took a breath, tears forming in his eyes.

"Are you gonna be OK?" I asked.

Hicks didn't respond right away. We had worked together for six long, tumultuous years. I couldn't believe we were parting ways, and I don't think he did, either. He was trying not to burst into tears. I could see the unbearable pain behind his eyes.

Hicks typically isn't generous with his hugs, not like Hudson is. Hudson hugs everyone he knows whenever he damn well pleases, while Hicks saves his for certain moments. This was one of those moments. He initiated the hug, gripping me hard. I think he was having a hard time putting his thoughts into words, and I didn't want to imagine how he felt if he finally managed to interpret his thoughts, but I was long gone. I hoped this hug was enough.

When we half-pulled away, Hicks's face and eyes were red. I wanted to tell him he didn't have to hold his composure. Finally, he let out his breath, and more tears rolled down his cheeks. "I think Paulson would've loved to know you. I think he would've loved to see what his plan was able to produce."

That's why I was so special to Hicks. That's why he tried so hard to help me when I was first diagnosed with PTSD. Not only was it because he understood what I was going through, but because I met him due to his old mentor's program. He didn't want his friend's plan to fail.

"What was Paulson's first name, again?" I asked.

"Adrian," Hicks replied. "Why?"

"If . . . I have a son, would you be OK with me naming him after Paulson?"

A smile blossomed on Hicks's face. "You go do whatever you fucking want, Drake. If you wanna name your son after Paulson, that's fine by me. And if you have a daughter . . . call her Adriana, if you want." Hicks patted my shoulder one last time before letting me go.

Like the day Hudson left, the rest of the unit followed us out to where a bus was waiting to take us to the airport. We were flying right to D.C., no connecting flights, no extra stops. I waved to everyone, and even Vasquez was giving out her last handshakes and hugs.

A ball of nervousness and excitement was sitting in the pit of my stomach as I got on the bus. I looked out the window at my teammates, my brothers and sisters, my friends. They were the family I didn't have growing up. They were always going to be my real family.

As the bus drove away, I saw Hicks was the only one standing by the gate, watching us leave. He didn't pull out his cigarettes. He watched, and I could've sworn I saw the glint of a tear rolling down his face as the rising sun hit it.

Fortunately, our flight wasn't being delayed today, but we had a little bit of time before needing to board. After getting some coffee, we sat near our gate, in silence. We were surrounded by civilians, none of whom took notice of us. I put my arm around Vasquez, and nuzzled her cheek. "You doing OK, honey?"

"Not sure yet. I feel . . . almost lost," Vasquez replied.

I nodded a little. "We'll be fine. We can do this." I kissed her. "Besides, you can talk to me about anything on your mind."

"I don't know how to explain it, Drake."

I thought for a moment. "You know, we can call each other by our first names, now."

"It's going to be a very long time before I get used to calling you 'Mark.'"

I smirked. "You sure about that, Jenette?" I kissed her again. "We'll be home before we know it."

Vasquez glanced at me, then rested her head on my shoulder.

When our flight was announced, I tapped her nose. "That's us, baby, time to get up, and then go sleep on the plane."

"Don't do that, Drake."

She's been asleep for the last several hours, while I've been writing and finally enjoying that glass of mimosas I asked Hicks about when Hudson left. It's been a good flight so far, but I should stop drinking and get some sleep myself if I'm going to be able to function when I get off the plane.

Question: How do you think the loss of three of his best Marines will effect Hicks's mental health?