I didn't make Vasquez breakfast in bed for our first morning as civilians, so I had to do it for our second morning as civilians, because I don't want to be the type of guy who says he's going to do something, and then doesn't do it.

This is my first time doing my own cooking outside of the classes I took. I had written down a couple of the recipes from those classes in one of my journals, and spent a good half-hour searching through them to figure out which one. When I did find it, I marked it with an "R" in silver Sharpie on the spine.

I keep all my journals inside my nightstand. Vasquez knows not to go in it, and I trust her, so I'm not paranoid about anyone going through it. They're organized, date-wise. Inside the front cover is a space where you can write down the date you started, and the date you filled the book. It's what I spent most of last night doing when I couldn't get back to sleep last night. It had to be around two in the morning when I was tossing and turning and figured I needed to do something mind-numbing to get my brain to just shut down.

I was halfway through lining up my journals inside the nightstand when Vasquez woke up and saw the light was on. "Drake . . . what the fuck are you doing?"

"Couldn't sleep, honey, I'm sorry," I mumbled, not looking at her.

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah, just . . . doing something to turn my head off."

Vasquez watched me for a few minutes before dropping back off to sleep. She was still asleep when I got up to do breakfast.

I headed downstairs in nothing but a pair of shorts and socks, and saw the package sent to us by Hicks. As far as I know, he sent it to Hudson to give it to us when we got here, and we haven't opened it yet. I picked up the package, noticing it was really heavy, and heard glass clinking inside. On one side were, of course, addresses and names, and Hicks had bolded the words "This End Up" on it, along with a marker-note saying, "Thought you might like this, Drake!"

A smirk crossed my face as I opened a drawer and took out my service knife to open the box. The grin got bigger when I saw twelve jars of Hicks's home-brewed, secret-recipe raspberry iced tea-he knows damn well I love this stuff. And there was a letter.

"Drake & Vasquez, congratulations on serving out your terms and making it home. I thought this would make a lovely welcome-home gift for you two-mainly Drake, though-so I worked on it while I was helping Ellen and Newt settle in. If you'd like this at your wedding (or if Hudson would like some at his), let me know. My number and address are on the back of this letter, so don't throw it away.

"I wish you the best of luck with your new lives. You worked hard to try and heal the scars of your past, and I hope you find new careers and opportunities that'll make you both happy beyond your dreams. It was honor serving alongside you. Love, Cpl. Dwayne Hicks (P.S., Drake, I dare you to figure out my recipe. Call me when you think you have it so I can rip it to shreds and tell you exactly why you never will)."

"I think I will try to figure out your recipe," I said, laughing.

After putting the jars in the fridge to chill, I set to work making a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and bagels with cream cheese, as well as a pot of coffee. Everything was going extraordinarily smooth when I heard a knock at the door. I realized I had no shirt on, and I was worried it was someone we didn't know. This shouldn't be the neighbors first impression of me-

I sighed when I looked out the window to see Hudson standing on the porch. Taking the frying pan off the burner, I turned everything off before going to the door.

"Good morning, man!" Hudson hugged me before walking into the house. "How's it going-ooh, are you making breakfast?"

You just invited yourself into my house, and now you expect me to feed you. "It's for me and Vasquez. We were not anticipating any guests this morning," I said.

"I woulda called, but I don't have your house number, man," Hudson replied. "Sorry."

"Alright. What do you want, Hudson?"

He sat at the nook facing the kitchen. "We gotta talk about the wedding, man. It's two months from now, and we don't have anything set up."

I went back into the kitchen to finish up. He had a perfectly valid point for coming, and I couldn't get mad at him now. "What all have you and Miranda agreed on?"

"Color scheme, number of guests, time-all that's been taken care of. We just need to take care of my end of everything. Miranda's got hers mostly set."

"So, her and Eliza have been getting shit done and what have you been doing?"

"Waiting for you to come home, man."

I honestly didn't know how to feel about that. "OK, so, who are the groomsmen?"

"Wierzbowski, Spunkmeyer, Hicks, and Frost."

"Did you and Miranda agree on a cake?"

"Not yet. She hired somebody to make samples for us and we're gonna test 'em in a couple weeks." Hudson's stomach rumbled. "Cake for breakfast sounds great, man."

"Well, you're not getting cake for breakfast." I took everything back out of the fridge to make an extra dish for him. "Are you still wanting beer at the reception?"

"I thought about it, and . . . I decided no. Miranda really doesn't want me making an ass of myself, and I feel like I should . . . you know, take away that chance by not having the beer, man. I'm not a champagne guy. I mean, I'll drink it, but I'm not a fan."

"You're not letting her push you around, are you?" I asked, cracking an egg over the pan.

"No. I made that decision myself, man." Hudson watched me work, and fell silent.

I was expecting him to continue listing things we needed to do, but it was like all the thoughts got backed up in his brain. When I finished up, I dumped the excess olive oil from the pan and put it in the sink before taking the completed dish of food to Hudson. "Maybe if you actually ate breakfast at home, you'd be thinking more clearly," I said, sliding the plate and a fork in front of him.

"I kinda panicked before I came here, man," Hudson replied.

"What kind of panicked?"

"Just . . . worried I'm gonna screw this up." Hudson stuffed part of a bagel in his mouth.

"You didn't think you'd ever be doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Getting married."

"Ten years ago? No."

I poured him a cup of coffee. "I don't think any couple goes into a wedding with full confidence. Not because you guys have doubts about your love, but because there's pressure from everyone to have . . . a spectacular day that you both are gonna remember for the rest of your lives." I started digging into my breakfast. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, me and the guys aren't gonna put too much pressure on you. Wierzbowski was almost scared shitless when he got married, but everything turned out OK."

"You passed out right before the minister did the vows, man."

"I know. Everything after that turned out OK."

"Got a point. The reception was fun. I've never seen the big guy so happy."

"And you weren't totally drunk outta your skull. Little tipsy, but not getting-naked-on-the-dance-floor smashed."

"Yeah." Hudson smirked, but it faded. "I haven't even rented a tux yet, man. Jesus, there's so much to do."

"Shut up and eat your breakfast. You'll panic less on a full belly."

A few minutes later, Vasquez came downstairs in her bathrobe, and I felt bad because I never gave her breakfast in bed, but . . . I tried to be positive about it. "Good morning, honey!" I said, raising my coffee mug.

"What happened to you doing 'breakfast in bed,' jackass?" Vasquez snapped, walking into the kitchen. She waited until I set my cup down to slap my cheek.

"I didn't think we were gonna have company," I replied.

"That's not company! That's Hudson!"

"Not even a 'buenos dias,' man, sheesh," Hudson mumbled.

"He has a perfectly valid reason to be here, and that's his wedding," I said.

"It couldn't wait till we were up and dressed?" Vasquez replied.

"He doesn't have our phone number, yet."

"That's a shitty excuse to come here, knowing full well you could be indecent."

I snorted. "Baby, I am never indecent."

"Drake, I am the only human being in the world that will ever want to see you naked. Please don't ever leave this house with no clothes on."

I kissed her before picking up my coffee again. "I love you, too."

Hudson glanced at us. "You two ain't even married yet and you're already acting like a couple that's been together fifty years."

"You just noticed?"

"No, I've noticed, man."

We spent most of the morning trying to lay out plans for the wedding. At some point (after I finally got dressed), Hudson and I headed out to look for suits, because it really wasn't something we should put off.

Hudson was coming real close to panicking. We were left alone in a small room, completely surrounded by mirrors. I helped him with his tie and then patted his shoulders, looking him up and down. "You look . . . fancy," I said.

Hudson looked at himself in the mirrors, and then sat down on a cushion in the center of the room. "Doesn't feel right, man."

"Is it too loose or too tight?"

"I don't know."

I sighed. "What's going on, buddy?"

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

I sat next to him, glancing around at our reflections. "Are you repressing memories again?"

"I don't think it counts as repressed when they start showing up at night," Hudson replied, quietly. "Last few nights have been hard. I keep . . . having dreams that we're still in that colony. I dreamt that . . . you didn't make it out of that first battle in the hive. I dreamt that me and Hicks were the only ones left till . . . I got yanked under the floor grating in a room we were trapped in."

"You haven't been seeing this during the day, have you?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. I dunno, it . . . it's . . ."

"Awful and not fun to deal with."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"As long as it doesn't go beyond just nightmares, I think you'll be fine. You have lots of people to talk to if you feel like things are getting out of hand. Is that all that's bugging you?"

"Sorta."

"Still worried you're gonna fuck this up?"

Hudson nodded.

"Well, you've got a good group of friends behind you. We won't let anything go wrong, OK?"

Hudson let out his breath. "Thanks, man." He stood up, looking himself over again. "You think I look good?"

"Sure do. Why? Do you want to try on a different tux?"

"Well, uh . . ."

"Dear God, Hudson, don't keep me out here all day trying on suits."

Hudson flushed red. "OK . . . we'll do one more . . . and then get you outta here before you have a tantrum."

I know most people really take their time with finding the right suit and all that crap. Part of my brain was still in military mode, so we moved through that process quickly. After finding a suit Hudson liked, the tailor made notes and measurements and prepared to have it hemmed. Then it was my turn. I was less fancy than Hudson, but I have to be more fancy than the rest of the groomsmen so, you know, I can be easily identified as the best man.

I also had to go through the process of making my own notes to send to Wierzbowski, Spunkmeyer, Frost, and Hicks, so they knew what specifically to wear. All they had to do was get fitted.

Wierzbowski was probably going to have a longer waiting period to get his suit fixed up because his size is difficult to find, so I called him first once I got home. Hudson left me with the information I needed to access the military satellite to call my unit, and it took awhile for my device to be registered. Once that was done, though, I'd be able to call my old unit whenever I wanted.

I realized it had been a little over two days since I spoke to them, and I wished I had called them sooner. Whatever. I needed to let my mind and body recover. I sighed, waiting for someone on the other end to pick up. A moment later, I saw someone reaching to adjust something, and then Hicks sat in front of the screen.

"Hey, Drake!" Hicks said, standing up. "Hold on, let me go get everyone. They've been missing you."

I didn't say anything until Hicks came back with the rest of the squad in tow. I saw three people-two guys and a girl-that I had never seen before. They kinda hung back. The two guys looked like they were replacements for me and Vasquez, and the girl was probably Hudson's replacement.

Hicks let everyone crowd around the camera. "Your place looks nice, Drake," he said.

"Thanks. I got your present, by the way," I replied.

"You didn't drink it all the first day, did you?"

"No. Actually, I didn't open it till this morning." I rubbed my face. "Last couple days were kinda rough."

Hicks nodded. "You and Vasquez are doing OK, though?"

"Physically, yeah. Tomorrow, I'm heading to Pentagon City to take some tests in order to get a weapons permit and shop around for a security job."

"That sounds great, Drake. How's Hudson?"

"Well, that's kinda what I'm calling about. We're getting things set up for his wedding, and I've got the type of suit the groomsmen are gonna wear. You and Wierzbowski and Frost and Spunkmeyer just have to get measured."

"When did he say the wedding is?"

"October twentieth."

"Of course he's rushing things," Wierzbowski muttered. "That's two months from now."

"We know," I sighed. "It's his and his bride's choice, so, nothing we can do there."

"Right," Hicks said. "At least we're getting somewhere."

I got a chance to talk to everyone individually, and Wierzbowski told me that after I left, Hicks secluded himself for the rest of the day. It wasn't as bad as me when Hudson left, but it was still fairly obvious that my leaving left a gaping hole in Hicks's heart.

It did remind me that Wierzbowski's contract would be ending in December. He'd probably be home in time for Christmas, which, in all honesty, would be great. We can all get together, as civvies, and enjoy each other's company.

It seems so simple, and yet it's what I want more than ever.

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to get dressed up for my psychological test and interview. Part of me was so anxious that I was pretty sure I'd get lots of points taken off for showing up looking too casual.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I tucked my shirt into my shorts, giving a quiet sigh. I hoped I looked good enough. I felt immensely sick thinking about the tests; I wasn't even sure I wanted breakfast.

I ate something anyway, because I know I get into a really foul mood when I'm hungry, and these people need my test results to be accurate.

Vasquez was still asleep, so I left a note on the kitchen counter saying that I'd be back in a few hours. This was the first time I was going out alone as a civilian, and it felt strange. Most people would probably think I was odd for thinking it's strange, but it was a feeling I'm not sure how to describe. My papers might say that my criminal record is clean, but I don't feel clean.

It was early, but a few people were out and walking or jogging. I saw a couple out on their porch, watching their dog in the front yard. I overheard the woman say, "Never seen him before."

"New neighbors across the street," the man replied.

I looked forward, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. I really didn't need my thoughts running rampant right before a psych exam.

On the Metro to Pentagon City, I stared out the window. The train was fairly crowded, and I could feel every thought in my head threatening to burst from their confines. As I got off at Rosslyn to transfer to the Blue Line, I spotted a USCM recruitment poster. The depiction of the APC and the Cheyenne dropship and the Conestoga-class transport ship wrenched my heart as memories of being inside each with my friends and teammates flooded the forefront of my mind.

I waited until I was seated in the train to allow a tear to roll down my face. I quickly wiped it away with my wrist at the next stop, hoping no one standing too close to my window saw it.

When I got off the train, I had to walk down a few blocks before arriving at the police and security building Ranelli instructed me to go to. Once inside, I was directed to the rooms Ranelli was using. For the written exam, I was going to be alone with the booklet and answer sheet. As soon as I sat down, Ranelli placed a radio on one of the desks. "Is there anything you'd like to help you relax?" he asked.

"Anything but dead silence," I said. "Fans, music, I don't care. Just no pure silence."

Ranelli nodded before turning on the radio, and a window fan. "Take your time with the test. If you need to pause, go ahead. I've got water bottles under the radio. I'll be back in a few minutes." He left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

Despite the quiet background noise, I could still hear my heart pounding. You'd think true-or-false questions would be easy to answer, but for a psych test, that's not the case. Some questions were admittedly easy to answer, while others weren't.

I'm not sure how long I sat staring at a question that went a little like this: "Your family approves of your lifework." I assume they're talking about my biological family and not the people I've come to call my family. How the fuck should I know if they approve of what I'm doing, and why should I care? I don't. I cut myself off from them when I went to prison.

You know what? I doubt they'd approve of what I'm doing. I marked the statement false.

I set my pencil down, rubbing my face and giving a frustrated groan. Then I picked the pencil back up and moved on.

There were a lot of questions about self-worth and how I felt about myself. Oh, joy. I don't want to think about my self-worth. However, I also noticed that there were questions that looked similar, but had a word changed to reflect whether it was asking about the past or the present.

It was easy for me to say that I've felt worthless in the past. It was easy for me to say that I've thought about hurting myself in the past. All that was easy. How I feel now, in the present, was significantly harder.

I think you might be surprised to know that I stated I don't feel worthless now. This is a true-false test, though, so I really can't go into detail about how technically, I do feel worthless, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was three or four years ago.

Unless Ranelli is the only person looking at this when I'm done, I don't know what anyone else here is going to say when they look at my answers. I'm being honest, here, even though I can't stand exposing myself to strangers. It feels like walking into a party in nothing but my underpants. It's embarrassing, and all it's doing is opening up old wounds I thought I healed a long time ago.

I knew damn well that there were answers that would get points taken off. Ranelli actually walked into the room to find me covering my face and trying not to cry out of fear of failure. He knows being a failure is my biggest fear. He didn't say a word, but gave me a cold water bottle so I could have a drink and attempt to re-focus.

Overall, it took me well over an hour to finish the written part of the test. Afterward, I handed it to Ranelli, and we went to another room to do the interview. I felt like I had just been beaten up, and I said, "I don't want to go through that ever again."

"If you pass, you won't have to go through it ever again," Ranelli replied.

"I doubt I'm gonna pass. I mean, I was . . . I was close to flipping out over a fucking question on a piece of paper. No one's gonna want me touching a gun if they know about-"

"No one is going to know about that. I was the only one watching you, and I'm not obliged to tell anyone you had a negative reaction to any of the questions. I've read the test. I knew there were going to be a myriad of questions that would be highly upsetting to you. That's why I made all the preparations to have you alone. No one else has to know about you stressing out over any of the questions."

I took a breath. "If you say so."

With that taken care of, Ranelli pulled out the questions to the interview. "You can go into detail with your answers here. It's not true-or-false, or yes-or-no."

I nodded, releasing my breath.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Why do you want this?"

"Is that a question on the sheet?"

"Yes."

Dammit. I covered my face. "I . . . W-Well, it's what we talked about before we left. A-A job in any security field would . . . give me similar comradery to the Marines. I mean, it wouldn't be exactly the same . . . but it'd be somewhat close, and that's . . . what I want. I'm not gonna get that from a retail job or college or anything else."

At this point, I felt like I was punching myself in the stomach. There were several questions like that, and although the free-response aspect of it made it easier to answer, it didn't take away from the fact that I felt like they were tearing into my mind with sharp claws.

I was honest about my emotions and my mood and pretty much everything on that interview sheet. By the time I finished, I felt like my brain was going to leak out every orifice on my head.

"Drake."

I looked over at Ranelli. "What?"

He handed me a sheet on a clipboard. "You have to sign so your results can be looked at."

I took it this meant I was done for the day and I was going to fail. I looked at the sheet, and gave a heavy sigh while signing.

"I'll try to let you know as soon as possible regarding your written test. I have the utmost confidence you'll pass; I've seen your improvement over the last four years. Don't worry."

I handed the clipboard back. "Now what?"

"Your answers will be examined. If you pass, your next step will be a physical, and I believe a shooting test as well. I'm not sure. That will be through district police."

Although I felt better that the test was over, I still felt like I was wasting my time. This was a bad idea. I'll never pass, no matter how much I've improved. Probably means I'll never get a job, ever.

As I walked back to the Metro, I thought about everything that had been asked of me. I know the purpose of the test is to see if I'm mentally fit to carry a weapon in a civilian security job; I should expect painfully personal questions, and I did, but that didn't prepare me for what I felt while answering them. Even though no one around me knew what just happened, I still felt exposed. I felt drained, physically and mentally.

For the first time in my life, I thought, I just want to go home.

Question: How do you think Drake's feelings about his wedding will differ from Hudson's?

Author's Note: I completely forgot to respond in regards to a comment about another Hicks story where he "introduces" Ripley to his nervous habits. Unfortunately, it's not a project I have a lot of motivation to work on at the moment, but it doesn't mean it's off the table. It might come a little later when I don't have a bunch of other ideas I'd like to work on first.