AN: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Sorry if I didn't get back to everyone. Things are super crazy these days, but I need to do better.

Cole leaned on his shovel, removing one dirt-black leather work glove and wiping the sweat from his eyes with an equally sweaty index finger. In the west the sun was going down, throwing a beautiful red-gold glow over the city. The days were slowly getting longer, which meant the work day was slowly getting longer. At least it was Friday. Another work week was coming to a close.

There were guys all over the place, working with shovels, jackhammers, skid-loaders and backhoes. Dom was taking a look at a truck with a bad belt, and Marcus was around somewhere, doing management duties well above his pay grade.

The week had flown by. Shrink-Lady had finally convinced Dom to quit mothering her so much and let her go back to work. Gus didn't know if the others noticed, but he got the feeling Chelsea really had a hard time staying anywhere alone. She'd been shaky since the attack, jumpy. On Monday she stayed at the apartment by herself for the afternoon and when the three of them arrived home, they caught her just coming out the bathroom. Maybe she'd just been using the restroom; but she'd had her pistol clipped at her hip and Cole wondered if she'd barricaded herself in. Sometimes smaller spaces felt safer, even if they weren't. Cole knew that first hand.

Still, he wondered if she had a hard time going back to work. It couldn't be easy, facing a one-on-one with a stranger after what happened to her. Dom gave her his comm, and she had her pistol concealed under her jacket.

"Hey there, Train. You calling it a day already?" Timmons asked, throwing some tar-coated roofing onto the back of the nearly-full dump truck parked below before leaning on his own shovel.

Cole couldn't help smiling. Timmons was an old guy. In his fifties, and still keeping up with the young guys. He mostly did construction for Bender's sister company, Jacoby Inc., but occasionally picked up an extra shift on the clean-up crews with Bender Fields.

"The Train just can't keep up with you, baby. Must be the bald head. Makes you strong."

"Damn right," Timmons agreed, whipping out a cigarette and lighting up. The smell of smoke plumed out over the rubble. "Makes me real popular with the ladies, too. I'd be getting laid all the time if I could actually stay up past ten."

"What's your old lady say about that?"

Timmons smiled a toothy grin. "Mostly, she elbows me and tells me to quit snoring. You outta see the new nurse we got at Jacoby. She's a pretty thing. A few weeks ago the two of us were all alone in her office and she told me to take my pants off."

"Oh yeah, baby?" Cole asked, raising one skeptical eyebrow. Timmons had a habit of being crude, but he was harmless. Just an old teamster who liked to shock people.

"You better believe it. Then she looked at me, all cute like, and said 'Now turn your head and cough.'"

Cole gaffed appropriately. This wasn't really his type of humor, but he'd laugh along with about anyone over about anything, so long as it wasn't mean-spirited. "That must've been a good time."

"Best time I've had in years. So how about that shrink you boys got? I heard she's smokin'. Fresher than an LT out of the academy and actually worked during the war instead of squeezing out kids. You know Dodge, our crane operator? He's got a pool going on which one of you Bender fagots will nail her first. I told 'ol Dodge the smart money is on the Cole Train."

Cole chuckled, playing right along with the gag. It occurred to him it might be best for Chelsea if no one knew she lived with them. Although if people thought she was with Cole, they'd probably give her a wide berth. He still pulled down a lot of respect, even with guys who didn't know him personally. "You put money on the Train?" he asked.

Timmons shrugged. "Just a few bucks. You're way ahead of everyone else in the pool, man. Collins from crew 5 has some support. Fenix and Santiago are on there."

"Are you serious? They got Santiago on there? Baby, I hope he's down as the long shot."

"Na. He's just about even money. Santiago's real popular with the secretaries over at Jacoby. Can't deny it; women like him."

"They do," Cole agreed. "So how about Kendall and Baird? Anybody putting money on them?"

"What're you, nuts? That Baird kid can't pull his head out of his ass long enough to notice a woman. If she paraded around in front of him topless, he'd be too busy jackin' off to some machine to notice. If he porks her before one of you other guys get a shot in, I'll eat my hat."

"Yeah. That'd really be somethin'," Cole said, noting the dusty cowboy hat covering Timmons' bald head. It would definitely be more than a mouthful, although it looked like some rats had taken a shot at nibbling around the edge. Judging by the sweat stains on it, the thing would be salty and chewy. Not even Dizzy would've touched it. "And what about Kendall? He on the list?"

Timmons shrugged. "Don't even know him. He new?"

"Just hired last week. He's a young guy. I heard he asked her out on a date."

"Really? Well, thanks for the tip. I'll have to go put his name in, see if I can up my chances. You're still my man, Cole, but you know what they say about eggs and baskets. You should know, the lucky man gets a quarter of the pool. You could spread that around, get some competition going."

"You can count on me, baby," Cole lied. He'd be damned if he'd tell anyone about the Jacoby pool, except maybe Fenix. Santiago was already spinning those protective instincts to the max. If he heard about this, he might do something crazy. Marcus was a cool hand. He liked to be in the know, and he could make the final call on whether or not they'd tell Chelsea about the gun sights locked on her virtue. Cole hesitated to tell her only because she was already so on edge. They were all doing their best to keep her safe. This wouldn't change that.

"You hear Jacoby and Bender are thinking about expanding out into mining?" Timmons rattled on. "There's old coal mines about ninety miles south of here. Most of the shafts have collapsed, but they're thinking about opening some of them up. Could mean they'd restore power to more of the city."

"You sayin' I might not be the only 'Cole' Train in town anymore?" Cole joked.

Timmons shook a finger at him. "Ah, you. You're a funny one, Cole," he said, making his way over toward the foreman, who was calling over all the Jacoby guys to collect their pay for the day. "Don't forget about that thing I told you about. Spread the word."

Cole waved him off. "There is something seriously wrong with some people," he said to himself, finally hefting his shovel and getting back to work.

"Here, honey. Watch the ball," Dom instructed his daughter. He was down on one knee, holding a wiffle ball out so the small girl could see it, and then gave it a little underhanded toss toward her.

Sylvia swung Bennie's miniature plastic bat with all her three-year-old might, and brought it around a second after the ball landed on the grass at her feet.

"She's out! That's strike three!" Bennie called from behind Dom. The four-year-old boy was supposed to be playing outfield, the glove Grandpa Santiago gave him for his birthday on his left hand. He liked his glove, but he liked batting best. Bennie had a hard time being patient with his younger sister's attempts to hit the ball and spent most of his time in the 'outfield' with both hands on his knees, or tossing the glove up and catching it.

Sylvie had just started to put on her best pout when Dom said, "Why don't we give her one more, Ben? Sometimes we give you one more."

The little boy rolled his eyes. "Okay," he said grudgingly.

Sylvie's oncoming frown turned into a smile, and she bent down to pick up the ball. "Catch," she said, using all her might to throw the wiffle ball to her father four feet away, and even then the throw didn't cover the entire distance.

Dom stretched to catch the ball. "Good throw, Sylvie! Now get ready to hit it."

Sylvia got in her best batting stance, ready to take a slice at the next pitch, but something else caught her attention before Dom could toss the ball. She dropped the bat, sprinting toward the side of the house. "Uncle Marcus!" she yelled.

Dom turned around in time to see Bennie ditch his glove in the field and race his sister to meet the young man rounding the side of the house. He couldn't suppress a secret smile when the kids mobbed Marcus, Bennie joyfully grabbing him at the knee and Sylvie reaching up, positively bouncing until Marcus picked her up, letting her rest on his hip.

"Lift me up, Uncle Marcus!" Bennie insisted, releasing his death-grip on Marcus's leg. He was referring to a game the two of them sometimes played.

Marcus extended his free hand to the boy, and Bennie grabbed on with both hands, hanging on tight and shouting gleefully when Marcus held onto the boy with just the strength of his hand and, flexing his bicep, lifted Bennie clear off the ground, putting no more effort into it than he would doing curls with a dumbbell.

Dom could lift his son in a similar manner, but Bennie only got a kick out of it when Marcus did it. It was their game. Bennie used to play similar, if simpler, games with Carlos when he first started walking. Now the boy didn't remember his real uncle. Dom was grateful Marcus had decided to suck it up and fill that void in his kid's lives. He knew the unwavering attention made Marcus uncomfortable. The young corporal never quite knew how to handle it, but he tried.

He actually did well with the kids, although he never believed it when Dom said so. Ever stoic, Marcus would let them treat his huge frame like a jungle gym for hours on end. He didn't hug and kiss and tease them the way Carlos would've, but Bennie and Sylvia seemed to know their uncle Marcus was a solid presence in their lives. Bennie constantly switched back and forth between admiring Marcus and admiring his father. Sylvia had fallen in love with Marcus when she was learning to walk. She would grab onto his fingers when she practiced toddling, forcing him to bend in half to help her along so she wouldn't fall down.

"Help me, Uncle Marcus?" Sylvia asked, laying her head gently on his broad shoulder and breaking out her best princess-in-distress face. That look worked like a charm on her father, and while Marcus didn't seem outwardly affected by it, Dom knew his friend had no defenses against it at all. The COG didn't exactly train soldiers to deal with adorable little girls with big brown eyes, although Dom occasionally wished they did. "I can't hit."

"What, are you throwing her fastballs, Dom?" Marcus asked, pulling Bennie up off the ground one more time and fluidly catching him so the center of the boy's weight came to rest on Marcus's forearm. He was now holding them both high above the ground.

"Yeah, Marcus. I'm throwing her fastballs. And then when she finally catches up to it, I throw her a curve just for kicks," Dom said with a hint of sarcasm.

Once in reach, Bennie immediately went for Marcus's bandanna, pulling it off his uncle and placing it on his own head, where it promptly fell down over his eyes.

The first time Bennie snatched that bandanna, Dom expected Marcus to blow his top. It surprised him, when his friend tolerated it. Sure, he still flinched a little when his personal space was invaded, but he never let on that he minded. Bennie and Sylvia were probably the only people in the world who could've gotten away with that. Still, it seemed to disturb Marcus a little when Bennie would run around wearing his do-rag, demanding everyone call him Corporal Fenix. Marcus couldn't fathom a child wanting to grow up to be him.

"You hit it, Uncle Marcus," Bennie suggested, still trying to fenagle the huge black bandanna into sitting properly on his head.

"You hit it," Sylvia parroted. The kids loved watching their father and uncle go to bat. Either of the two Gears could crush a ball clear across the neighborhood, and even after hundreds of repetitions Bennie and Sylvia were still awed by the feat.

Marcus set them both down on their feet, taking a knee and tying the bandanna properly on Bennie's head, covering the little boy's dark hair. Then he turned the boy around, giving him a gentle nudge toward the glove he'd abandoned. "There, kid. You're all set to play outfield."

Bennie trudged out while Marcus patiently helped Sylvia set up at the make-shift home plate-an old ball cap resting on the ground beneath a cypress tree. Marcus directed Sylvia on where to place her feet, helped her choke up on the bat, and with one of his hands on her hip and the other covering her tiny hands on the bat handle, he helped her take a cut at the next ball Dom tossed, tapping it back at him.

Dom let the ball roll past him. "Bennie, get it!" he called, breaking the boy from his brief daydream.

Bennie saw the ball rolling toward him and pounced on it, just as Sylvie ran past him, on her way to first base.

"She's safe!" Dom declared when his daughter finally reached the tree serving as first base. It was maybe fifteen feet from home plate. Sylvia was positively glowing. She rarely bested her older brother, and even at such a young age, the two were intensely competitive . Perhaps even more so than Dom and Carlos had been. Dom suspected that intensity came from Maria, but he'd never say so.

"Bennie, it's your turn," Dom called over his shoulder.

Bennie shook his head. "No, it's Uncle Marcus's turn," he decided.

Dom glanced at Marcus, one eyebrow raised. His friend shrugged in response, picking up the small plastic bat and getting to his feet.

"Got my eye on you, buddy," Marcus said, pointing at Dom with the bat. "No funny stuff."

Dom grinned. Amazing, how Marcus could clean up his language around the kids. He just turned off the grunt junior NCO and became 'Uncle Marcus' the same way he used to turn off the facade he put on for his parents.

"Man, you look ridiculous with that thing," Dom said, shaking his head.

Indeed, it was quite a sight, watching a giant like Marcus heft a tiny plastic bat. The thing was only a little longer than the distance between his elbow and knuckles. He couldn't fit one entire hand on the handle.

"Oh yeah? Pitch the ball. Then we'll see who looks ridiculous."

"Okay. Here it comes. You ready?"

"Waiting on you."

Dom tossed the ball underhanded, and Marcus perfectly tapped it toward Bennie. The ball didn't streak at the boy, but it rolled at a faster clip than anything Sylvia could manage. Bennie jumped on the ball, thrilled by the challenge, and ran over to tag Marcus out a few short steps from the batter's box. Meanwhile, Dom was encouraging Sylvia to run for second.

"Dinner!" Maria called from the house. "Dom, did Marcus find you?"

"Yeah, he did, babe. We're coming."

Sylvie skipped over to Marcus, reaching up until he swung her up into his arms. "We won!" she declared, squeezing Marcus around the neck, her cheek pressing against his.

"I got you out, didn't I, Uncle Marcus," Bennie chattered, taking nearly three steps to each of Marcus's slow, measured strides. Bennie still had the ball, and he tossed it up, catching it.

"You sure did, kid," Marcus admitted, entirely nonplussed by the outpouring of love. On the outside, anyway.

Inside, Maria had burgers and brats ready to eat; a perfect summer dinner. Quick and easy to cook en mass.

Dom helped Bennie get a burger. The boy insisted he hated all toppings, including the bun. Except mustard. He loved mustard.

Sylvia let her head rest on Marcus's shoulder. It seemed odd that she could relax so much in his arms, especially considering he stood stock still while holding her. There was no sway to his stance, none of the natural rocking most people fell into when holding a child.

Then again, Marcus was a rock. Maybe Sylvie didn't need rocking to feel absolutely safe in his arms.

Maria appeared at Dom's elbow. "He's got your stubborn streak," Maria teased, referring to Bennie's insistence on eating a hamburger smothered in mustard with no bun with his fingers.

"Are we sure that's not your stubborn streak we're talking about?" Dom asked, placing a hand on her hip and planting a quick kiss on her lips.

Of course, that small taste wasn't enough. His fingertips followed the edge of her smooth silk top around her petite waist, leading Dom to wrap his arm around Maria, drawing her into him and deepening the kiss.

"So, which would you rather have, Sylvie? A little brother, or a little sister?" Marcus asked dryly, effectively interrupting the moment.

Dom drew away, ending the kiss but still holding his wife's slender form close. They shared a small smile. They were caught.

"Later," Dom mouthed, shooting Maria a wink.

She blushed, letting her arms wrap tight beneath his arms, grabbing two hand-fulls of his shirt directly over his shoulder blades and pulling him so close it got a little hard to breathe. Dom returned the full-hearted embrace, laying a gentle kiss on Maria's soft black hair. She smelled like green apples. Maria used to say it was the only decent scent available in the 'cheap' shampoo section. When they finally started bringing in enough money that they didn't have to constantly scrape by, she still bought the cheap green apple scented shampoo because Dom liked it.

"Uncle Marcus, come sit by me!" Bennie called from the table. He sat on a chair with his knees folded beneath him, eating his burger with his hands. Mustard dripped from his small fingers, and he had a yellow mustache.

"No, Uncle Marcus wants to sit by me," Sylvia decided, turning Marcus's head away from her older brother. Apparently Marcus wasn't even allowed to look at Bennie.

"No, he doesn't!" Bennie insisted.

"Uh huh. When I grow up, I'm going to marry Uncle Marcus."

Marcus came up short at that announcement. His eyes widened and Dom half expected his friend to gape at the tiny girl in his arms. Of course, she was dead serious.

Dom had to hide his smile against the side of Maria's head. It took so much effort to suppress laughter, he actually started to shake. If he knew his wife, she wasn't doing any better. Her nose pressed into his broad shoulder, she was probably grinning against his t-shirt, trying hard not to snicker. The look on Marcus's face was priceless. Dom wasn't quite sure how Marcus would take it if the two of them started laughing at his expense.

Later, when they were alone, they'd probably laugh for hours over this incident.

"You know what's really funny?" Maria whispered. "If she said that ten years from now, we'd be the ones looking shocked."

Dom shook his head, knowing she was right. If his teenage daughter decided she wanted to marry his best friend-seriously, not just fancifully-he'd probably lose it.

"Hey, Dom. We're here," Cole said, giving Dom's arm a little shake.

Dom snapped awake, sitting bolt upright in his seat and scrambling for his weapon, thinking he must've dropped his Lancer when he fell asleep. Finally regaining his bearings, he found himself sitting in a truck parked behind Bender Fields. Twilight had set over the city and the drive back from the job site was over. "Shit, Cole. You couldn't let me have five more minutes?" he asked, relaxing into the torn leather seat-back, rubbing his face with both hands. "I had her and the kids right in front of me. I could feel them, and smell them. For once we weren't all running for our lives."

Heavy silence settled over the truck. Marcus and Cole knew he wasn't exasperated with them, just with the unfairness of it all. Still, he felt guilty for saying anything. He should've just kept it to himself. Years ago, getting torn from such a dream would've seared acutely. The pain had dulled over time, and the dreams came less often, but Dom still felt deep pangs of regret when he'd wake up still trapped in a nightmare. It didn't help that his dreams were so vivid. In them, everything felt so real. His nightmares were equally vivid. He'd have to ask Chelsea if that was because of the PTSD.

"You need a minute?" Marcus asked.

Dom shook his head absently. "No. Come on. Chelsea's waiting." To show he really meant it, Dom pulled the door release and hopped down from the truck, walking toward the building.

After a minute, he heard the other two follow after him.

"So, how's dispatch treating you?" Chelsea asked, taking a seat next to Wes on one of the huge flower planters in front of the Bender Fields office. The two of them had gotten kicked out of the building by the cleaning staff, and Wes had offered to wait with her until the crews finished coming in.

"It's boring sometimes, but I hear the most incredible things out of these guys. When they get talking back and forth, sometimes I have to sit there and cover the mic so they won't hear me busting a gut," Wes said, shaking his head and smiling. "Man, Fenix got on some guy from Crew 12 today. Richtner sent them to the wrong site, and it was all cool until one of their guys decided he should defend the decision. Fenix tore him down in about three seconds. He seems like such a quiet, reserved guy, but damn the man has a colorful vocabulary."

Chelsea smiled. "Yeah. Turns out you can take the sergeant out of the Army, but you can't take the sergeant out of the man. He gets like that at home, too. It's just more subtle. The other day Dom leaned over and told me to watch out, because Marcus was really pissed. At first I thought he was jerking my chain. Pissed Marcus looks a little too much like regular Marcus for comfort."

Wes let one side of his mouth curl up in a smile. "It must be pretty interesting, living with those guys."

Chelsea shrugged. "They're actually a lot cleaner than my brothers were. Cole's the really messy one, and he's not even that bad. They're always knocking each other."

After a week of healing, Chelsea's left eye still had a yellow and green tinge around it. The scratches had long since quit oozing and she actually had hope they'd fade completely when healed. Her headaches only came occasionally and her physical balance was nearly normal again. Emotionally, the balance was still up for grabs, but feeling wanted helped.

She kept catching herself studying Wes out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes he'd catch her looking, and she'd blush, grinning guiltily and he'd smile back. He was a handsome guy. He had deep brown eyes and he'd give her these shy smiles. His nose had been broken at some point, with only a small dent to show for it, but when he'd exhale it made a soft whistling sound. The sound was comforting on those occasions when they sat in silence together. After getting dinner on their date, the two of them spent hours together, talking about experiences during the war, mutual acquaintances from various bases and work. They were slowly getting to know each other and it felt incredibly normal. Normal and comfortable.

Chelsea never thought she'd be lucky enough to see normal.

Silence fell over them. Still sporting a tiny smile, Wes reached over the inches between them and gently took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. His hands seemed huge in comparison. He was tanned bronze from spending days out in the sun, and his fingers were well calloused. Running her thumb affectionately over a tiny raised scar on the outside of his index finger, Chelsea sighed, wearing a tiny smile of her own.

It was all baby steps, but it felt so real, so awe inspiring.

A non-company truck pulled up into one of the parking spots along the street, and Chelsea recognized the black and silver vehicle as Baird's. Sure enough, a minute later the blond hopped down, rounding the front of the truck at his usual swift but measured clip.

Everything about him, from the way he squared his shoulders to the swaggering gait, communicated how little he gave a damn what the world thought about him. He'd drive his own path to the moon, if he felt the urge. No barrier, made by man or god, would slow him down.

A force of nature. That could describe all four members of Delta squad, each in his own right.

"You're looking healthy," Chelsea called, and she could practically feel the glow coming into her cheeks. In spite of her best efforts to lock it down, she still felt like she came alive at the sight of him. At least it felt muted compared to what it had been. "How's the throat?"

Damon glanced at the two of them, but kept his distance and didn't pause. "It's good," he called. He definitely sounded much better. "I gotta go punch in. Hey, if you see Cole, tell him I'm good to go tonight."

A little of her smile faded. "Sure, I'll tell him," she agreed, watching him lightly hop up the front stairs and disappear into the building.

"I really get the feeling that guy doesn't like me sometimes," Wes said.

"I think everyone gets that," Chelsea said, watching after where Baird had just gone. Dom, Marcus and Cole emerged from the same door, and they waved at the two of them, making their way over. She raised a hand to return the wave. "Dom says it's part of his charm. I wouldn't worry about it too much. It's not like he actually hates you or anything."

"I fucking hate that Kendall guy," Baird informed his beer glass. He was actually talking to Cole, but the former thrashball player could hardly hear him over the ruckus around them. The two of them were seated at the bar, half a block down the street from the place where they'd held court a week earlier. Several beers into the night, Damon's head rested in the palm of his hand.

"Ah, man," Cole said. "Don't tell me you're still pissed off about that thing in the woods. Marcus basically got you off the hook for the psych evals. Not even Richtner wants to deal with you that bad."

"Well, there's that. Then there's also the fact that he carries on like he's such a fucking boy scout. The whole world's full of men who've done awful, atrocious things. Why the hell does he get to walk around acting like he's the only one who didn't? I think he's hiding something."

Cole snorted. "Like what?" he asked skeptically.

Too lazy to raise the glass to his lips, Baird tipped it toward himself until he could reach it and take a drink, barely registering the bitter taste. "I'm still working on that part," he admitted after allowing the glass to sit flat on its bottom once again. "Hey, Cole? Why do all these girls like you?" he asked, gesturing to three or four women in short dresses and high heels fluttering around them. Cole had bought a few of them drinks, but mostly he'd stuck with Baird. He seemed to feel guilty about leaving Damon to walk home the week before, and had focused more of his attention than usual on his friend.

Cole shrugged. "Just gotta be nice to 'em, baby. Be smooth. Be a gentleman."

Baird narrowed his eyes. "Do you not know me at all?" he asked cantankerously.

Cole chuckled, patting Baird on the shoulder with one huge hand. "I know you, baby. You got a lot of sharp edges, but you're good where it counts."

"I'm a piece of shit where it counts. Worse, I'm proud of it." Oh, how maudlin he became with a few beers in him. "Shit, man. I'm turning into a complete pussy. Do me a favor and shoot me," he requested, tugging on his bangs, and once again finding them far longer than he liked. If he got any shaggier, he'd actually have to deal with his hair falling in his eyes.

"Naw. Come on. If I shot you, who'd be the Cole Train's wing man? We survived Alpha, we survived Delta. We gonna be together for life. From the war to the nursing home, baby."

"Noooo. We're going to be together until you find some chick you 'really' like, and then you'll ditch me. Can't really blame you for it. That's how it's supposed to be, right? That's what we were put here to do."

Cole seemed to think on that for a while. Then, he asked, "Something bugging you, Baird? Something you might want to talk about? I know how you work. Sometimes things get into that thick head and they keep trying to work their way out, and you always hold it in until you explode."

"There's nothing I want to talk about. I'm just, I'm on a plain. There's no up or down; it's a plain. It's flat and there's no end to it. I wanted it so bad, and now I'm here and it sucks." Tipping back his head, Baird did his best to drown the thing that had climbed in and died in his chest with an onslaught of beer.

Of course, that was less than helpful.

Cole drew the word 'Hi' in the frosty condensation on his beer glass with one large fingertip. "Don't take this the wrong way, baby. I know you like your privacy, but you think maybe Marcus had it right when he said you're burning it at both ends? Maybe workin' nights is bringin' you down."

"I like working alone," Baird reminded, taking a big, sighing breath. And then hiccuping, and then groaning at the prospect of having the hiccups.

Cole chuckled low, rotating his glass so he could start drawing a 4-leaf clover. "Yeah, I know that. Who stood next to you all those times, holding a lighter in the middle of a firefight while you worked like a mad man on some junker? You think the Cole Train would hold a light for just anyone? Only did it because you worked better with no one in your way. But, you know, sometimes there's a difference between workin' alone and workin' for yourself."

Suddenly very interested in his own glass, Baird let his upper lip curl upward in contemplation. "Working for myself," he repeated. "Wouldn't that be nice. Start my own shop. Get some investors. Run the place myself."

"There you go, baby. Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah, I thought of that already," Baird informed him. "There's the small issues of lack of space, lack of equipment, lack of investors. Besides, I hate customer service and who the hell would work for me?"

Cole shrugged. "I would," he said, after a pause. He held out his glass. "Baby, you start your own shop, and the Cole Train's smiling face will greet every customer who comes in the door. That's a promise."

Baird didn't seem to know what to think about the offer, but he finally clinked his own glass against Cole's. "Yeah. I'll drink to that."

And he did.

Still lightly buzzed, Cole waved at Damon when he drove past after dropping Cole off at his apartment complex. It had been a good night. Instead of drinking heavy, the two of them had a few beers and hashed some things out. They'd even headed home early compared to other nights out on the town.

Humming a tune his mother used to sing, Cole meandered up the staircases, his mind wandering. He knew he was lucky. Unlike most people, Cole could just go with the flow. Even when he played ball and had been a big deal. He loved the attention, loved the spectacle and competition. Still, if he hadn't made it, he still would've been happy. Working at Bender Fields wasn't always fun, but he had his people around him. Would he like to have more? Sure, but he didn't need it.

Cole had good friends, good times, and no more war. Baird had all that, but he couldn't always see it. He needed more, and Cole didn't know what it would take to boost the blond's self-esteem and get him to loosen up a little, but it would probably have to be pretty special.

Letting his fuzzy brain try to sort out the Baird puzzle made the climb pass quickly. Before he knew it, he was turning his key in the deadbolt.

Instead of opening into a dark, quiet apartment, he found the lights still on. Marcus and Chelsea were seated on the couch, and Dom was on one of the crates. They were playing cards, and when he walked in, Chelsea whipped around, a huge smile on her face.

"Cole!" she called, snatching something off the table and bouncing over the back of the couch to meet him. Slightly out of breath, she scooted to a halt in front of him, shoving an envelope at him. "You gotta open it. It's from the NTL."

Hardly able to breathe, Cole took the letter from her and went to work on opening it. Unfolding the single piece of paper within, he skimmed over the contents.

"What's the word, Cole?" Dom asked. "They want you back?"

Cole grinned. "Hell yeah, baby. They want the Cole Train as Captain of the newly established Gears Thrashball Team. They're gonna collect a few guys who played before the war as seeds, and have try outs for the rest. Gonna make two teams. Gears and Navy. Camp starts late this summer."

Positively beaming, Chelsea threw her arms around Cole's neck. "Congrats, Cole!" He returned the embrace with one arm, patting her on the back.

"Congrats, man," Dom echoed, and Marcus nodded his encouragement. The grizzled sergeant actually had half a smile on his face.

This here was Cole's family. His smile faded a little when he realized going back to Thrashball would mean he'd have to leave them.

AN: By the way, 'Jacoby' is another character the guy who voices Marcus did. I've pretty much decided to name all forthcoming towns, buildings, companies, etc. after characters he's voiced. Bender from Futurama is another of his characters-and speaking of Bender, I have a crazy idea for a funny Gears fic and hopefully one of these days I'll get a chance to sit down and write it;-)

Oh yes, and don't forget to feed the muse...please :-D