[A/N: Really long author's note, but bear with me. Terribly sorry for the lack of updates… school's out for me now, and I was really busy with exams all last week. And this week, I'm on vacation, and I did bring my laptop, but today's the first day I found free wireless internet connection. Screwy details like that. But I'm here now!

To all who reviewed… a big thank you! I love your wonderful feedback, and am thrilled that you are having fun with this. Thanks to all of you. (And by the way: I've got most of this planned out, and I've realized that it isn't going to be too terribly long. Perhaps 10-11 chapters?)

The conflict, some of you may think, is a bit sketchy. I don't know much about the US Military, and have no idea whether or not there is actually a base located in Honolulu, Hawaii. I don't even know if anything like Michael's job exists, and have no idea if the conditions would be even the least bit realistic, but this is the world of fiction, and I can make some things up, right? And anyways: This story isn't about the conflict that pulls Mia and Michael apart… it's about the stuff that occurs because of it.

And another thing. I know that many of you have written these delightful PD futuristic stories, but many of you portray Michael to always been a musician. A famous one, at that. I wish I could do that, but I can't weave it into my story without getting too cliché. You guys are the true masterminds at that. But in all honesty, I find that the type-of-Michael I introduce here will be equally wonderful (teehee isn't that a given?), and if you read about his interests with computers in the books, it makes more sense than you expect. On the other hand, I've always imagined Michael to be the cussing type (not too much, but occasionally). I hope I don't offend anybody with his language time-to-time. Enjoy anyways!]

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Michael's POV

This was the tenth moving day in the last six years. The tenth. "Damn," I muttered as I hauled one last box into my truck. This was merely routine for me, but I couldn't help but feel that I was sometimes being dragged around. Like that one chew toy that Pavlov loved to carry around day and night.

I had first packed up my belongings when I was about to graduate from college at Columbia University, and headed off to Hawaii. My parents and Lilly stayed in New York, but I had "duties to fulfill". I wasn't exactly "drafted" into the military (heck, I was practically done with college), but word had come my way that positions in Hawaii needed to be filled, and the base at the island state was in need of young men (out of college) who could work the logistics, all the while ready to enter combat, if at all necessary. I had found the opportunity to be perfect, as my computer science major would be of great help, and new jobs were scarce these days. I would soon be out of college. An adult. I would need money to stay alive on my own.

"Michael, honey, we're not going to send you off to Hawaii. You have no choice in the matter. We're not going to risk entering you in the military if it's avoidable at any cost."
I had been overly stubborn. "Mom, dad! The pay is amazing, absolutely amazing! I'll be able to put my degree to work in the best possible way – I'll be serving my country! Don't you understand how important that is?"
In response, they had been equally stubborn. "Michael, we have no intention of putting you into danger."
I blew up. "Danger?! This is the logistics of war, and you know it! The combat part is there just so that nobody lackadaisical applies! Don't you understand? I want control of my life, and this is a prime way to test my skills!"
After days of consideration and debating, I had won.
Hawaii, it would be.
And then, the full intensity of the job was unfolded before my eyes. "Dear Mr. Moscovitz," the acceptance letter stated. "We would like to commend your bravery and loyalty to your country. You have been accepted to the position at the Honolulu base, and we would like you to come at the end of this month. The assignment at hand is one of great importance, and you should understand that your stunning performance in school and your sheer talent with technology has landed you with the job. Once again, congratulations. From this point on, matters must be taken extremely seriously. The information you will be analyzing and working with is strictly meant to be confidential, and it is not allowed to be transferred to any other individual. Because of this, we would like you to break contact with your closest friends and family for the four years you will be serving with us. We will provide you with any necessities you may need. We look forward to seeing you in May."
I was stunned. This was not what I had meant to pull myself into, but as I angrily scanned the original application form, I saw the fine print at the bottom: "This position must be taken seriously. We may ask you to stay isolated at our base for reasons undisclosed. Please take this into consideration."
I hadn't done that. I had been too caught up in the glory of snagging a job, a job that I could serve my country with, that I had overlooked other important parts.
My parents were beyond disappointed when they found out about the fine print details. "Michael," they had uttered. "Please don't tell us that you didn't know this. It's too late to change things, you realize, this isn't a normal job! We're thrilled that something so important will be put in your hands, but confidential information for the US Military? This sounds more risky than the actual combat of battle, honey. Do you know how many background checks have probably been done on you? There's no way out now… we just can't comprehend… losing a part of our family for so long! Michael! Oh, honey. We want to be disappointed in you; we really do, for making this decision in the first place, but, forgive us for sounding off-task… Grandpa Moscovitz would be proud. I know we've never told you this, but… but he served in the military in the logistics aspect, as well. It was late in his life, but it was something he had always wished to do. And he succeeded – he did so well. He made everyone proud." There was a slight pause, and my mother leaned forward to wrap me up in a tight hug. "And I know, Michael, that you'll make us proud, too."
I knew that that had been my parents' reluctant acceptance of the situation at hand.
That night, I had went on my first shopping trip. To find a necklace. Something simple. Something original. Something that provided all with hope.

That had been the cause for my first moving day. And it had been much too complicated, even for a solid guy like me. It was the day I had let go of my life.

And now, nine moving days later, I was ready to make the move back to New York, the place where I had started everything. I had successfully finished off my term as the "logistics guy" in the military, fiddling around with the technology and computer stats needed to put special operations into order. A few of the other guys, also detached from the world like myself, put together a band in our rare spare time, and we jammed some crazy tunes. I rekindled my love for guitar, and even though we were never good enough to perform, it passed the time in a most worthwhile manner.

After my term was over, in which I definitely could not bring myself to stay for a second session, I roamed around the western states for a year or so, enjoying the good weather, and making up for all that I had missed while I had been fiendishly working for the good of the USA. I hooked up with some girls a few times, as the western chicks always seemed to like guys from the military [A/N: I definitely am not trying to offend anyone, please understand], and tried my hand at gambling. Crazy and different things that I would never have imagined doing back in the days of high school. But I was never meant to be a wanderer, and I realized where I needed to return. I realized I needed to stabilize.

And that meant returning to New York. My parents were thrilled to know that I would be coming back, and I was somewhat excited myself. I finally had a normal job waiting for me (I would be working as the computer programmer in some fancy and prestigious investigation company) and had called up some of the guys from college in hopes of getting back together and catching up. And playing the guitar.

But no matter how hard I tried, I came to realize that I had lost touch with some people forever. But that was what I had expected when I had accepted that fateful job nearly six years ago.

It was time to go.

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