E-DAY plus 15 YEARS

Vectes Naval Base

Sixth Day of Gale

VNB Hospital

Dom had been the last A-positive Delta to donate blood for Daniel's surgery, so he was still sitting in a chair in the surgery wing's lobby sipping a glass of real orange juice when Mrs. Carmine came through the double doors from the main hospital.

She was a tall, silver-and-brown-haired woman with a strong face and deep brown eyes like her sons'. She entered the lobby neither too fast nor too slow. Dom had the awful feeling that she'd done this many times.

It was just Dom and Nurse Vaughn in the lobby. She nodded briefly to Dom and asked Vaughn, "Which one is dead?" Her face was somehow tense and relaxed at the same time. The nurse opened his mouth to speak, but Carmine came through the swinging doors just then.

"Mom." Carmine sounded relieved. He tossed his helmet onto a spare gurney and embraced her. She was a tall woman, but she seemed small in his arms. Carmine had removed his upper-body armor, probably knowing she'd need a hug.

"Clay." She embraced him and closed her eyes. "It's just you and me now, baby." Her voice was disturbingly calm.

"What? No, Mom. I thought they told you." Carmine pulled back. "Daniel's wounded pretty bad, but he's going to make it."

Her face finally showed an expression: joy and pain in equal measures. "He's alive?" Her voice cracked on the second word.

"Yeah, Mom. Daniel's alive. He lost an ear, and his right arm up to the elbow, but he's out of the woods."

"He's alive, and he … can't be frontline anymore?"

"Yeah, Mom. They'll give him a support position, or let him go back to school."

Mrs. Carmine sobbed in relief, putting her face in her hands. Carmine hugged her again, pulling her head against his chest and patting her long brown hair. Dom caught his eye, smiled sympathetically, and slipped away to give them privacy.

Clay rubbed his mom's back. She didn't often allow him or Daniel to see her cry, but when she did, she always laid her head on his chest. He knew from long experience that she was listening to his heartbeat.

"Best possible outcome, hey, Mom?"

She patted his chest, still listening to the steady thump of his heart. "You know I'm proud of all my boys, right?"

"I sure do." He combed a tangle out of her hair with his fingers.

"You know I don't blame the military for their deaths. Or your father's. Or your sisters'. I blame the Grubs."

"I know."

"But ..."

"But it would be nice if one of us lived a normal life? As normal as things get these days?"

She nodded wordlessly. Clay wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

"He's in surgery, and he'll be there for a while." Clay patted his thigh so she could hear the crinkle of the plastic bandages under his fatigues. "Doc Hayman's grafting some of my skin to his face and arm, and Cole, Dom and I donated blood because we're the same type. But while you're waiting ..." He turned her by her shoulders toward the other wing of the hospital. "I can show you one of your grandbabies if you like."

"Grand ... baby?"

"Yup. She's not the first, but she is the first one I've been allowed to know about. Name's Kimberly. Her mom is ... uh ..." He turned to the nurse's desk and smiled sheepishly. "Help me out here?"

Vaughn shook his head wryly. He took a clipboard off the wall and ran his finger down a pleasingly long list until he found the appropriate entry. "Yvette Sanders. She's calling the baby Kim for short."

"Kim," Mom whispered.

Vaughn's smile was gentle. He'd obviously heard about the Carmine family's combat losses. "You and Clayton have no familial rights, but it is an 'open adoption', as Dr. Hayman is calling them. Yvette said you two can meet her if you'd like."

"I would. I would like that."

Unlike the too-quiet surgery wing, there were a good deal of staff milling around in the brightly-colored the maternity ward. A minimum of two medical professionals per infant, he'd been told. The future of the human race slept here, swaddled in the softest cloths that the COG owned, and watched over by at least one neonatal staffer at all times. The staffers would swap every twenty minutes, like a pair of snipers taking turns on the spotter scope. If a newborn so much as sneezed, a crash team would rush to the infant's bedside.

He recognized Yvette among the staffers walking briskly through the lobby. He'd only had a few appointments with her nine months ago in Jacinto, but he never forgot a face. Yvette was a tall, willowy woman with dark brown hair and severe mannerisms. She did not look happy to see them.

"Clayton," she said in acknowledgment.

"Yvette." He echoed her polite but distant tone. "This is my mother Petra. Normally I wouldn't ask to see the baby so soon, but … "

"But your brother's been badly wounded. I heard."

Mom promised, "I won't try to insert myself into her life or anything. I'd just like to see her for a minute. To remember … life continues on, with or without you."

Yvette relaxed a fraction. "Petra, you may see her through the glass. She's just over there in the neo-natal observation room. Second bassinet from the left. Clayton, you stay here."

"No peeking. Got it." He nodded as his mom went to stand in front of the glass. The Green contract he'd signed with Yvette was the first successful conception whose offspring he was allowed to know about. He wasn't going to mess it up by being overeager.

Baby Kim's mother had a chilly, regal expression, but she was also twisting her hands nervously. Eventually she said, "Clayton."

"Yes, Yvette?"

"Dr. Hayman says Kimberly is very healthy. Strong heart, clear lungs, excellent brain development. It was an uncomplicated delivery as well."

He nodded happily. "The Carmines have good genes that way."

"Yes, you mentioned that."

Clay's smile remained as he watched his mother peer at Kimberly through the glass. He was aware of Yvette observing him. Mom waved at the baby and he thought he heard a child's voice make some sort of noise. Clay was dying to see what she looked like, but he didn't want Yvette to feel threatened and revoke all rights.

"Petra may see her once a month," Yvette said suddenly. Clay looked at her in surprise. "Thirty minutes, supervised, in a location of my choosing."

He grinned in delight. "Wow! Thank you. I know she will appreciate that. She won't try to bring gifts or ask for familial rights, I promise. Just seeing that Kim exists would be very helpful for her." The smile slipped off his face. "She spends a lot of time grieving."

"I certainly understand that." Yvette's face was stoic, but he could see her interlocked hands were shaking slightly. Her previous children had been taken from her by force, he guessed.

"She's all yours," Clay assured her. Yvette twitched. "One hundred percent. I signed all of Hayman's contracts, and another one today that was specifically about Kimberly." Yvette blinked rapidly. "She's your daughter," he continued. "No one's going to take her away. Especially not me."

Yvette paused.

"You will not be allowed to accompany your mother during visitation," she said firmly.

"Understood."

"You may not interact with Kim in any fashion unless I have given explicit permission."

"Agreed."

"Excepting supervised visitation, you must stay fifty feet away from her at all times, even in public spaces."

"Of course."

Clay waited. Yvette continued to watch his mother, only sneaking occasional glimpses at his face.

"If you adhere to the terms with absolute compliance for at least eighteen months, if Kim remains healthy, and if you are still participating in the re-population program ... I will seek another procreation contract with you."

He smiled. "Really? I'd like that. You were very nice to me."

Yvette blinked rapidly again. "Nice to you? What do you mean?"

"Some of the other ladies don't say anything to me at all, not even a hello or goodbye. Others like to slap me around a little. Most of those were hurt at a Farm, so I kind of just let them do it. Unless they start punching me. Then I cancel the appointment. I like helping ladies get the kids they want, but not if it means a black eye or a broken tooth, you know?"

Yvette's eyes were a bit wide, but she didn't seem to have anything else to say.

She let them stay another five minutes, and then Clay took his mom home and made her some soup.

###

Vectes Naval Base civilian housing

2400 hours

Baird couldn't throw pebbles at Sharon's window because it was open. "DENIS," he whispered to the bot, "go tell Sharon I'm coming up."

DENIS drifted up and through the open window, and then back down to watch over Baird's discarded civilian shoes behind a bush. Sharon's building backed up onto a small hill, and he thought it would be fun to sneak in her window like old times instead of radioing her to come over to the shop.

Sharon poked her head out the window, already grinning. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered. "There's no way you'll be able to make it up this wall." She removed her little solar panel from the sill anyway.

"There's no limit to what a man can do when properly motivated," he whispered back. "Besides, it's barely ten feet up." The level below Sharon was a half-underground basement for storing fishing equipment, not living quarters, which was good because he'd need to avoid waking anyone while climbing. He got one foot on the top of the basement window frame and hopped slightly to grab Sharon's windowsill with both hands. His bare feet scrambled for a foothold on the wooden wall.

She was almost crying with silent laughter while she tried to reach the waist of his camo pants to pull him up. "Get your f-fat ass in here before s-somebody sees you!" She was being no help at all, what with her little girly arms and amused wheezing. Finally he managed to get his shoulders through the window and walk his hands forward until he could pull his legs over the sill. He flopped onto the floor and panted.

"Damn, but I'm a thick bitch."

Sharon waved at DENIS and then shut the window. "I wasn't going to say anything, but you have put on weight." She nudged his leg with her foot. "About seventy pounds of it."

He chuckled as he heaved to his feet. "That's just more of me to love. Why's your mattress on the floor?"

"Because the bedframe squeaks and we're going to ... you know." Sharon wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, we are, are we?" He arched an eyebrow of his own. "I'll have you know, Miss Markham, that I am not a man of loose morals."

She lifted the necklace between two fingers and said, "We're engaged!"

He sniffed disdainfully, turning his back to her with his nose in the air. "I'm saving myself for marriage."

"Oh, no, no, no." Sharon shook a finger at him. "You can't climb through a woman's bedroom window looking all kinds of delicious and say you're just here for the conversation." Her nimble hands reached for his belt buckle.

"Uh-uh." He slapped her hands away, grinning. She feinted to the left, and he blocked her with a raised knee. "Nope."

Sharon smacked his thigh lightly. "You are such a tease! Get over here."

Baird put her desk chair between them, unable to keep a huge smile off his face. "Can't get the milk for free, sugar; you gotta buy this cow."

Apparently Sharon decided two could play this game. She sat down in the desk chair and rested her right ankle on the opposite knee. "So what shall we do instead? Play chess? Learn to knit?"

He shrugged casually. "You could show me how you made this bamboo clock."

She gave him her not impressed look. "Somehow I don't think I could concentrate long enough to explain."

He tilted his head at her. "Oh, really? Have you decided you like this, then?" He gestured down the length of his T-boosted body.

"Meh." She waggled her downward palm in the fifty-fifty gesture. "It's okay."

"Oh." In a way he was flattered that she preferred his natural body type. Then again, there was nothing he could do to get that body back. T-boosting couldn't be reversed.

"Howeverrr ..." she drawled.

"Yeah?"

"There is something I have to admit is an improvement."

His smile came back. "And that would be?"

She made a vertical spinning gesture with her index finger. "Turn around?"

Squinting as he did so, he tried to guess what this 'improvement' might be.

Sharon sighed dreamily. "There it is."

"What?" He looked over his shoulder. She was framing his rear in two L-shapes like a photographer sizing up an object.

"Look ... at ... that ... ass! Frikkin' magnificent."

"I know, right?!" he said in the same tone he'd used to inform her when DENIS had done something new. He looked down over his shoulder so they could both admire it and exclaimed, "None-Butt no more!" He flexed the glutes alternately, making the rear pockets dance.

"Shhh!" Sharon was practically choking with the effort of suppressing a belly laugh. "You'll w-wake my neigh-neighbors!"

With a self-satisfied smile he strode around the room, looking over the little whimsical machines that she'd made and keeping his back to her so she could continue admiring his new 'assets'.

He inspected the solar panel she'd removed from the windowsill. "You are probably the only woman I know who'd say you prefer me skinnier and shorter."

"That, um ..." she started slowly. "That does remind me to ask you something."

"Hmm?" He played with the curtain mechanism that attached to the solar panel.

"When we do tell people about us, are there any crazy ex-girlfriends I should be watching out for?"

He snorted in derision of the very idea. "Nah. Tried once or twice but it never went anywhere."

"Anyone I know?"

"Let's see. I remember kissing some chick right before I went into Basic, and a civilian merchant maybe three years later. I'd tell you their names, but I can't remember." He flapped a hand in dismissal. "Anyway, they're both probably dead now. Oh, and Sam."

"Sam?" He saw her straighten up in his peripheral vision. "Samantha Byrne?"

"Yeah. Cole's got a thing for her. I don't get it, but it's kind of cute."

"I don't blame either of you," she said softly. "She's very attractive." Sharon tucked her hands between her knees.

"Is she? I wouldn't have noticed. It was the eighth year in a row your name stayed on the updated Presumed Dead list, and I was so drunk I'd have made out with a keyhole."

"So, um ... how far ...?"

He finally turned his head toward her and grinned in delight. "Sharon Annette Markham, are you jealous?"

She crossed her feet shyly. "Maybe."

He knelt before her chair, still grinning. "Why, exactly? It was only a kiss."

"She's an impressive person. Exotic. Brave. Very tall. And has the ..." Sharon held her hands in front of her chest in a cupping motion.

"Built-in life vest?" he asked.

Sharon snorted a laugh, but still looked troubled.

He put his hands on the arms of her chair. "Listen, Sharon: it lasted about nine and a half seconds and then I threw up on her shoes."

"Oh. That's not what I was expecting. She probably didn't want to pursue a relationship after that."

"Definitely not." Sam had, in fact, thrown those very shoes at his head the next time she'd seen him.

"Anybody since Sam?"

"Nah, I quit trying after that. I may have made the same mistake three times, but eventually I learned."

"And, uh ... what would have happened if you hadn't been so drunk you threw up?"

"Nothing: being drunk wasn't the only reason I threw up."

"What was it, then?"

"She didn't taste right. Neither did the other two."

"How were they supposed to taste? Like cupcakes?"

"Like this," he said, and leaned into a kiss.

Sharon responded enthusiastically, and he slid a hand up to the back of her neck. He vaguely realized she was kissing away his memories of anyone else who'd touched him that way, and it made his heart beat faster. When he whispered her name against her lips, she pushed him back onto the mattress and fairly ripped his clothes off.

His photographic memory hadn't exaggerated how erotic it was to be 'ridden like a pony', as she liked to call it. He watched her moving form with fascination as she tossed her moonlight-silvered hair and rolled her shoulders, with hands braced on his 'ice cube tray' abs. Her flexing thigh muscles under his hands let her meet him halfway each time. His thumb traced her open, gasping mouth, and then he stifled her final cry with his palm so they wouldn't wake her neighbors. Baird cursed softly as his own wave of ecstasy rolled over him, and he barely caught her when she collapsed on top of him.

Sharon relaxed like someone sinking into a warm bath, and he crossed his arms over her bare back to hold her there.

Being with her again, finding out that she had loved him all this time, was like ... like ... well, if he were being honest, it reminded him of when Cole, Dom and Marcus had released him from the Locust prison pod during Hollow Storm.

That had been one of the only times during the whole damn war when he'd been afraid. Not just the usual battlefield jitters, but real, unrestrained, gut-churning fear. He had been stunned by a blow to the back of his neck shortly after the Grindlift opened, dragged along by his armor for what seemed like ages, seen Tanner struggling, Tanner getting a hand free and triggering his radio, Tanner being killed with the mere swipe of a Boomer's paw, and then Baird had been shoved into an upright metal coffin while a disturbingly articulate Drone said, "Process this one." He'd discovered that the pod was sealed tight, and if it had an external oxygen supply, the system wasn't working very well. Shortly after that, the distant screaming had started.

There were no words for the relief he'd felt hours later when he heard Cole coming, flanked by two of the most unstoppable juggernauts in the history of the COG. Being released from that airless pod into the safety of Delta "Rip and Tear Until It Is Done" Squad had been almost surreal, like a dying man's fantasy of getting rescued at the last possible moment.

Lying here with her now, after all the shit that had happened in the years between, was like stumbling out of that steel prison again. He'd been suffocating in a dark, lonely place while the world died around him, and then the person he cared about had opened the door and let him out. 'Deja vu.'

"The best kind of vu," Sharon mumbled.

Baird blinked. They'd always been able finish each other's sentences, but she couldn't possibly have heard him thinking just now.

"What?" he asked.

He felt that particular twitch of her cheek which meant she was smirking. "I was remembering the time we snuck up into the Gussets' attic during that boring polo match and found an extremely comfortable antique rug."

"Hell yeah, I remember that," he agreed with a lopsided grin. "It was years before I could look at an Ostrian tapestry without getting a hard-on."

She giggled. Baird brushed the hair out of her face. Sharon smiled clumsily, drunk on afterglow, which was the only kind of drunk he wanted them to be from now on.

"I love you," he told her, for the first time since she'd let him out of his 'Shithole Sera' coffin.

She smiled wider and hugged his ribs. "Damn right you do."

Baird paused. He should tell her, sooner rather than later.

"I took a photo from your album."

"The pep rally one?" She was too tired to sit up, but she tilted her head to look at him.

"Yeah."

"Damon, I thought I lost that one!"

He fiddled with one of her locks of brown hair, oddly embarrassed.

"I tore up the floorboards looking for it!" she exclaimed, still softly enough that her voice couldn't be heard outside the room.

"You did?" He blinked in surprise.

"Of course I did. It's a picture of us."

She said it as if he'd asked her why people in the Silver Era kept trying to steal the Mona Risea. His throat tightened and he couldn't say anything for a few moments.

"What happened to your copies?" she asked hesitantly.

He wound the lock of hair around his forefinger, not meeting her eyes. "I burned them. I waited until after the wedding had actually happened, but ... yeah. I burned the photos. And the 'dual geometry' book. The clothes you'd left behind. Notes you'd written me." He took a deep breath before continuing. "The letterman jacket with your name embroidered on the inside pocket. The teddy bear you gave me when we were kids. A hair ribbon you'd worn in middle school. Anything flammable. I burned them all and I flushed the ashes down the toilet."

She was quiet for so long that he started to worry, but then she said, "You had every right to. I caved."

"What do you mean, you caved?"

She paused like a runner on the starting block, and then the words came out in a rush. "I wasn't going to do it. I wasn't. You and I were going to run away and hide somewhere until we'd been married at least a year and there wouldn't be jack shit anybody could do about it." She had drawn her arms up to cover her chest protectively, most likely without realizing it. "But then everyone came to our house one day. Everyone. All my aunts and uncles. Both sets of grandparents. Even my second and third cousins. I think there were at least fifty people in that parlor, and they were all shouting. At me, at each other, screaming and crying, bringing up old grudges and unpaid debts. Everybody accusing everybody else of something. People started just grabbing paintings and silverware and running off with them. My cousin Penny threw a bookend through a window pane. It was chaos. I got backed into a corner and my mom and dad had to stand in front of me because people were trying to grab me by the hair." She swallowed hard. "So I caved. I told them I'd do it." She didn't cry, but her voice was full of regret. "I'm sor-"

He cut off her apology, rolling them to a sitting position so he could grasp her shoulders and look her full in the face. "Sharon, listen to me. We made it. Understand? We made it. We have no way of knowing we'd both still be alive if things had gone any differently. There were fifteen years' worth of chances for one or both of us to die, but somehow we ended up in the zero point one percent of surviving humans. Statistically speaking, those are astronomical odds." Baird wasn't a big believer in fate and destiny - that was sort of Dom's thing - but he knew this much was true: "We are meant to be together."

She took his face in her hands and kissed him, long and slow. "Damn right we are," she said.

###

Everybody loves a good "Doom" easter egg, right?