"The people who are meant to be in your life will always gravitate back towards you, no matter how far they wander."

~Unknown

Kit

No one noticed my clenched fists- knuckles white as the snow outside- to prevent my hands from shaking. No one noticed how I tensed every time Bryn came within a couple feet of me. No one noticed me slip away upstairs after I took Mobius out and quietly shut the door.

No one recognized me slowly breaking.

The moment Brian informed me that Mobius One stood in our house, I realized that facing her would be difficult, as I would have to meet the person I both admired and despised. Bryn had flown as graceful and swift as an angel, bringing hope to all her allies at the mere mention of her moniker. She had also killed my wingman in a vengeful fury. I understood why, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

I could've handled the entire situation better had Bryn not been who she was, had I not felt that missing piece in my soul fall into place the moment I laid eyes on her. No full memories surfaced at the sight of her. Still, bits and pieces of our conversations during the war started to, and short clips of her face on a video call wearing a bright smile flashed in my mind. I prayed more came. I wanted to remember everything about our past together, not only for my sanity but hers, too. I could see the agony in her eyes when she discovered I had no memory of her outside of the picture I'd desperately clung onto all these years. I could see the fight-or-flight response kick in for her when I'd arrived in the kitchen that morning: her entire body going rigid, her stunning blue eyes widening in disbelief. The sight of this "stranger" conveying such silent emotion towards me inexplicably tugged painfully on my heartstrings. Now, at least, I knew why.

Sitting on the edge of my bed enveloped in silence probably hadn't been the best thing to do because it allowed my anxiety to rise to dangerous levels, but I also couldn't stand being in the room closer to Bryn without pouring out everything I was feeling toward her, and that was the last thing she needed right now. I'd only been blindsided by one bombshell. She'd gotten two.

I would have to wait until after her stories finished. That way, we could get more comfortable with each other, and I could work on regaining more memories of her before we had the big talk.

A knock on my door broke me out of my thoughts. I rushed to stand and called for the person to enter. Brian poked his head through the crack in the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course," I replied, pretending to be searching for something in my nightstand drawer and acting as if I hadn't been moments from breaking down entirely over my current situation. I'd fought a massive war, had earned the trust of the kid whose parents I'd accidentally killed, and won over the town that had once despised me, but twenty-four hours in the same house as Bryn, and that's what unraveled me?

God, I needed help.

"I wanted to check on you and see how you're holding up," Brian said, shutting the door quietly behind him. We've all been worried about how Bryn's handling it, but I know this isn't easy on you, either. I just—I'm sorry…"

I cocked my head, confused. "Why are you sorry?"

"For not figuring it out before you got here so I could've warned both of you somehow."

Guess I hadn't been as subtle in my distress as I thought. "This isn't your fault, Brian. Bryn would say the same thing. No matter how this played out, it wouldn't be easy."

My son sat at the foot of my bed and said sadly, "She wants to leave. I can tell."

"Yeah, me too…" I plopped down next to him and sighed heavily. "I don't know why she hasn't, to be honest."

"Because of you."

"No, I'm the reason she wants to run. She's staying because of you. Bryn likes you."

"Regardless, I don't want her feeling like she's forced to stay here."

"Me neither. I'll talk to her tonight after dinner. I've been putting off the conversation with her anyway," I confessed, running my hand through my hair. "I tried to last night, but she was pretending to be asleep, and I figured calling her out on it would do no good."

"What do you want to talk to her about?"

I mulled over his question, wondering how to answer it. What did I want to talk to Bryn about? Our history? The fact that even without my memories of her – outside of the ones she told me – I'd been in love with her from the moment I laid eyes on her? That the hole in my heart evaporated at the sight of her? That she felt like the missing puzzle piece in my life?

I settled with, "I'll let you know once I figure it out. How are you doing? I feel like we've barely talked since I got home, and that's on me."

Brian shook his head. "You got a lot on your plate."

"But I'm still your father figure-"

"My dad," he corrected. "I know we're not blood, but you took me in after you got better and raised me into who I am today. I didn't make it easy on you, either. So, yeah, maybe I am dealing with some stuff right now, but I promise you, it doesn't even compare to the shit you and Bryn are going through."

"Regardless of what I have going on, I always want to ensure you're okay. So, tell me, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing, really. It's—" Brian stopped when he noticed my hard stare, sighed, and said, "All this is dredging up some old memories I'd forgotten, too."

"Like what?"

"Like… like seeing the plane crash into my parents' house." He dropped his gaze to his hands. "The sensation of not knowing what tomorrow will bring. The fear of having to sleep on the streets. The horror of watching you get shot down. It's mainly been, uh, it's mainly been nightmares. Felicity's woken me up from a few of them."

"And when it's not nightmares?"

"Just the anxiety from the feelings of it all, especially when I know Bryn's reading my letter. I know exactly what part she's at based on her stories. There are parts in the letter that I don't want Felicity reading because it's about stuff she'd rather forget, things she still harbors guilt for…"

"It's not only the soldiers who suffer," I said sympathetically. "I was never upset with either of you when I learned about your work with the Resistance. I was upset about the situation you'd been put in. You were doing what you had to do to survive. Neither of you should harbor guilt for that."

Brian smiled softly, almost cheekily. "There's, uh, there's other things in that letter that I don't think Felicity would want you knowing."

I frowned. "Like what?"

"Nothing bad. Just amusing. At least to me. She'll be mortified if it gets brought up, though."

"Ah, so you'll be sleeping on the couch?"

"Yeah, probably. In my own house, too. That's almost even worse."

I chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "I wish you the best of luck. When are you going to ask her out?"

"When you tell Bryn you still love her."

Shit. "Can you see all my internal thoughts? Do thought bubbles appear over my head or something?"

Brian snorted. "No, but they might as well for me. I see more than people would like me to."

"Have you ever considered working for the Federal Investigation Services? Because your people-reading skills are top-notch."

"No, no. I'd rather write about what I see and take people off guard that way. It can be just as dangerous as the FIS, depending on what you write."

"That's for sure, but on the bright side-" I grinned- "you have Mobius One and Yellow Thirteen to protect you."

"And possibly the Razgriz," Brian added with such nonchalance that I could tell he wasn't joking. But how? How did he-

"We didn't tell you, did we?" My son remarked. He must've seen the perplexed expression on my face. It was his turn to grin. "Bryn is cousins with Razgriz One and the Demon Lord. I guess she's cousins with Razgriz Three, too, since he married One. And she's related to Razgriz Two, come to think of it, since she married One's brother."

I blinked, processing Brian's words. "So—" I said slowly— "the girl I'm in love with comes from a family of lethal fighter pilots whom I'll need to win over after I've tried to shoot her down multiple times?"

"If it's any consolation, you didn't know who Mobius was when you tried shooting her down. Blaze tried to shoot her husband point-blank. In her defense-" Brian held up a firm finger- "she thought he was dead and was suffering from PTSD from her time with Rald, so there is that."

"Huh. Maybe my chances aren't as grim as I thought they were. Thanks for that."

"Any time." Brian glanced at the door. "Should we return?"

"They're probably wondering why we're taking so long anyway." I stood with a groan and massaged my shoulder, still stiff from the cramped helicopter ride here. I followed Brian out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen, where Felicity and Bryn stood at the counter with baking supplies spread out in an orderly fashion. They looked guiltily over at us.

"I'm craving something sweet," Felicity confessed sheepishly.

"And I stress eat," Bryn added with a shrug.

"That makes two of us," I said. Motioning at the supplies and ingredients on the counter, I added, "Bake away."

The girls set to work, and Bryn began the next chapter of her story.

Bryn

December 31, 2004…

The mood on base had been sullen since the loss of Dragon, Guinness, and Joker. We hadn't lost that many pilots in one go in a long time, at least not in our group. The latter two's bodies had been recovered, barely recognizable from the crash, but Dragon remained MIA. I prayed he was still alive rather than misted by the power of Stonehenge. Of course, how we hadn't found him in two weeks, I couldn't explain unless he wandered through the wilderness in delirium. He could only survive so long out there if that were the case.

However, by the time a new mission arrived, I was chomping at the bit, namely to exact some revenge on Erusea on behalf of my fallen comrades. Angel and Halo Team echoed my eagerness as we filed into the briefing room. Whiskey nodded in greeting to us. Once we were seated, he dimmed the lights and began the briefing. "A recon satellite will be launched from the Comona Islands rocket base to support our mainland operations. The Eruseans responded by deploying a large number of their air superiority fighters to prevent the launch. A large-scale air battle is expected. We must win this battle to maintain our air superiority. We've only got one window of opportunity for this launch. Shoot down as many fighters as possible to preserve top cover over the rocket base.

Operation: Countdown

Location: Comona Is.

Date: 12/31/2004

Time: 1335 hours

When the lights brightened, I asked, "Do we know if Yellow Team is up there?"

"Not that we're aware of, but don't hold too much weight on that. There's always the possibility they'll show up."

"We'll be ready if they do," I declared with my head held high. Angel and I led the Halo team to the hangar and got in our trusty planes. I noticed mine had already been equipped with XMAAs. Perfect.

When my canopy closed, I said quietly, "Ready to go for another round?"

The jet engines hummed eagerly in response. I checked the controls and verified that everything in my plane ran smoothly before pulling out on the runway and taking off. Sharp contrails followed my wings as I pulled up. Halo Team trailed closely behind. Chatter remained low, even for us, compared to our usual trips to battle locations. The deaths of Guinness and Joker and the most likely death of Dragon weighed heavily on us.

We arrived at the target site in a couple of hours, and I could already see the enemies swarming like flies to honey in the distance. It made my blood boil. "Mobius One, Engaging."

"Halo One, engaging." Angel pulled up alongside me. Her team stated their callsigns and engaged, forming up behind us. Although we had Rapier and Omega team with us today, the sheer number of enemies filling the skies sent my nerves into overdrive. But then I remembered the Demon Lord; if he could take on the Round Table with only PJ, we could handle this.

"Attention all aircraft, this is Comona Base. This rocket launch is critical. Maintain air superiority until launch is complete."

"Roger that. Here we go!" I exclaimed, watching four F-14s speeding towards me, lined up in a perfect row as if they were ready to greet Death itself. I would help them along because I had justice to deliver and vengeance to enact. Today would send a message to Erusea that their monstrous device would not send us running scared with our tails tucked between our legs. We would continue fighting back until we either won the war or died. Erusea wanted to rule by fear, and I would not allow it.

I dove to the right when the four planes split into two pairs. Angel followed me, ordering Paul and Murray to go after the others. I set my sights on the closest F-14 but struggled to get a good lock with its twistings and turnings.

"Have we set eyes on the rocket yet?" Angel inquired while she sped forward to try and push the enemy into my sights.

"Not yet…" Paul trailed off before exclaiming, "There!"

"Splash one!" I burst simultaneously. Angel's tactic had worked, allowing me to finally shoot the first F-14 down. However, if it took me that long to take one out, I shuddered to think how long this mission would take.

"Nice shot!" a comrade complimented. I failed to recognize the voice, and when I asked who I had the pleasure of speaking to, they responded, "Rapier 8. Call sign Rodeo. My squad and I have been sent to replace the pilots you lost in your last mission. I'm real sorry about that…"

"As are we. We'll get our justice for them today, though," I declared, going in for my next kill. "I'm Mobius One, by the way. Call sign Ember."

"I know. You're kind of a legend along with Angel for surviving an encounter with the Yellow Team." I swear I heard Rapier 8 audibly shudder. "Hey, you sound really familiar, by the way. Did you, by chance, have Captain Gunther for a math teacher?"

Odd question. "Yes. Why?"

"Were you the one who would always come into his class and write funny quotes on his whiteboard?"

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "Guilty."

"I thought that was you! I'm the freshman who accidentally ran into you and splashed water all over you before class."

The memory struck me with welcome joy. "Oh! Cadet Gregory! Although I guess you're Lieutenant now."

"Yes, ma'am! I'm surprised you remember my name. Hey-" he pulled up alongside my left while I fired a missile at the F-14 that had been evading me for the entirety of our conversation- "let's meet again if we make it home alive."

"It's Ember," Paul chimed in. "Of course she'll make it out alive."

"With an aim like that, I believe you," Rodeo remarked at the fireball tumbling out of the sky into the black waters below. A third plane crossed beneath us, and my comrade dove after him, shouting, "Eat this!"

I flipped my plane around, regaining sight of him just in time to see Rodeo's missile strike its target. Maybe this mission wouldn't be as difficult as I thought?

No! Don't think like that and jinx it! I chastised myself silently. This is going to be the most challenging mission ever!

I doubted my reverse psychology would work since my conscious and subconscious knew what I was trying to do, but I had to try.

With that in mind, I scanned the skies for my next enemy. Most of them had moved out more above the island itself, so that's where I went at full thrust. An F-15 came straight at me, dipping low at the last second before I could get a missile lock on them. I fired my guns instead; a few bullets hit as the enemy passed underneath me but caused minimal damage, not near enough to destroy them. So, like a dog on a scent, I hunted them down, inching closer and closer. I would not let them- nor any other target today- escape me.

It took another five minutes before I finally locked on with a missile and had a clear shot. Without hesitation, I took it. I barely spared the enemy a second glance as I switched targets, zeroing in on a-

"Shit!" I exclaimed involuntarily. My heart thundered at the sight of the Su-37 because I knew of one squadron- and one squadron only- who flew those jets for the Erusian Air Force. "Yellows! We have Yellows!"

"What?!" Angel replied incredulously. "Where?"

"I have one in front of me right now. I don't know where the others are, but find them! They're our-"

"Die you S.O.B!" Paul interrupted in a holler.

"That better have been a Yellow you shot down with that kind of enthusiasm," Angel said.

"Uh, the glare on their canopy was yellow. Does that count?"

"No"

"That's what I thought. Ember and I will take care of the Yellows. They'll want to take us out anyways since we're the leaders, so let's split up and win this thing."

"If you need any help, though, let us know. Getting everyone back alive is the most important thing," I added. "Even if some higher-ups disagree with me on that."

"We'll be fine. Take care of those Yellows."

"Roger that. Angel, let's go kick some ass."

"Already ahead of you, Ember. The one you're chasing right now, when he pulls up, I'll come in at the side to push them into your line of sight and keep them there, and then you attack from below."

"Got it."

"Attention all personnel, complete final launch attack checks immediately," a Comona member announced, but I hardly paid attention because, within seconds of Angel formulating the plan, the enemy went vertical into the sky. I kept a safe distance and slightly to the right of them, both to make it appear like I struggled to keep up with them – luring them into a false sense of security – and also to keep them within missile range.

Up, up, up we went until finally, Angel's plan worked. She must've gotten a lock on them because they veered to the right directly into my line of sight. With their missile alert already going off from Angel, they wouldn't have suspected I had one on them as well. I took advantage of the deception and fired. The Yellow tried to evade, and had they been a second sooner in realizing what we'd done, they would've succeeded.

But they didn't.

"A Yellow's hit and trailing smoke. Whose kill is that?"

"Ember's!" Angel cheered victoriously. "We finally did it! We got one of those bastards!"

"Let's not get cocky. We still have some more to take care of," I said, unwilling to celebrate too early in case it jinxed our potential victory.

I opened my mouth to say more but was interrupted by a frightening, downright disturbing transmission from an unfamiliar voice with a very recognizable Erusian accent. "Who was it that shot me? See who's responsible for that shot."

"It's a ribbon," responded another Erusian—a female this time. I thought my heart thundered seeing a Yellow. Hearing them talking, specifically about me, sent my heart into such a frenzied beat that I thought it might burst.

Well. Shit.

"Halo Team, leave the standard fighters to Rapier and Omega," Angel ordered, her earlier exuberance replaced by cold fury and protectiveness. "Regroup and help me protect Ember. Yellow Team has her in their sights for neutralizing their comrade."

"No," I said quickly, recognizing that Yellows only made up a fraction of the enemies and that we needed the majority of our force focused on the enemy. "Continue assisting the Rapier squadron. I evaded Yellow Team before on my own. I can do it again. If I need help, I'll request it. Angel, you can stay with me or go with them, but we're not changing the big picture because I pissed off Yellow Team again."

"Ember-"

"I will not negotiate this."

"Neither will I."

Angel and I rarely butted heads, but when we did, nothing could convince the other out of their belief. Only our higher-ups could clear this for us now, and Whiskey came in to assist. "Ember, you're not flying alone with Yellow Team on your tail, but we can't sacrifice all of Halo Team to protect you. Angel, continue flying with Ember. The rest of Halo Team, continue assisting Rapier and Omega Squadrons."

"Yes, sir," Angel responded, but I could sense her disagreement. No doubt we'd have a heated debate about my personal safety later, but for now, I had to concentrate once more on the mission because the stakes had gotten that much higher. I wasn't sure where the next Yellow had gone, how many more were out there, or if reinforcements were coming, so I focused on whatever enemy lay in front of me. That happened to be an unlucky F-14. I locked onto them, but in a bizarre turn of events, the enemy barely moved. Almost like they were in shock. But of what?

Unless…

A Yellow had finally been taken out. Up until this point in the war, they'd been declared untouchable, unbeatable. Did the loss of the one have such a profound impact on the morale of the Erusians? Did it stun them so much that they forgot to evade the enemy? Did they forget we were here?

"Is it just me, or was that shot too easy?" I asked, unable to help myself. Surely, I didn't have that kind of power. I wasn't an ace. I wasn't the new Demon Lord. So, what the hell was happening?

"No, no, it's not just you. It's like that Tomcat was letting you use it as target practice," Angel confirmed.

"Can… can they all be that easy? For our sake?"

"I doubt it, so we'll need to-"

"Omega 11 was shot down by a Yellow," Rapier 2 interrupted.

Guess the shock was over. Sighing in dismay, I asked, "What's your location? We'll take care of it."

"We're on the north end of the island. The swarm of fighters, that's us."

"We're coming now. Just hold them off until we get there. Five seconds."

"I think we can handle that."

Angel and I floored it to the detailed area. It was chaotic upon our arrival, and determining friend and foe proved more challenging than I care to admit, even with the assistance of radar. They were all on top of one another. However, with no small amount of determination and a fair amount of luck, I found the Yellow in the midst of it all, hunting one of my allies relentlessly.

"I got him!" I declared, throwing myself into the fray. Angel chased after me, keeping far enough back that any enemy that got between us would feel her wrath. I might've felt sorry for them if they hadn't been trying to kill me.

I followed the Yellow up, down, left, right, but it seemed no matter what I did, no matter what tactic I used, they managed to stay just out of my reach. So I took a gamble and, without having a missile lock, I fired two in the Yellow's direction. One whizzed by the canopy, dangerously close to hitting its mark. The second collided with another enemy plane that made the mistake of flying between the Yellow and me. It exploded violently, and I swerved to avoid the wreckage hurtling in my direction.

"This is the biggest fur ball I've seen so far," Rapier 7 said.

I blinked, trying not to take my eyes off the target but also wondering if I had heard them correctly.

"Fur ball?" I repeated. Is that a new slang term or something for a bunch of planes?"

Rodeo laughed good-naturedly. "He meant fireball, but his northern accent distorted it into 'fur.' Although in his defense, and in compliment of your great deductions skills, a fur ball does mean a group of planes."

"Oh my God, I feel stupid."

"Don't worry. The rest of our squadron has had the same confusion at some point."

"What other words are different?" Angel queried, leveling out beside me as we searched for the Yellow who had escaped our clutches. We found him darting across the island to attack a pair of allies.

"Well, 'beer' becomes 'bear,' 'hire' becomes 'hur,' and 'dire' becomes 'dur.' Those are the three coming to me at the moment. We have a book of Gordonisms, so I'll tell you more once I have that."

"I can hare you, you dick," Gordon snapped.

"Translation: I can hear you, you dick."

"You are real lucky I'm not an Erusian right now."

"You'd be discharged for communication issues."

Rapier, Omega, and Halo squadrons all burst out laughing. Even I laughed, although I did feel a twinge of sympathy for Rapier 7. The others appeared to have none for him, though, because Murray asked, "What's his callsign? Thesaurus?"

"Close. It's Dictionary."

A snort escaped from me, which I hurriedly tried to disguise as a cough. "Guys, guys, let's focus on the mission. We can compare linguistics later."

"Yeah, good call because Omega 3 was shot down by a Yellow," Rodeo announced grimly.

"Where are they?"

"Southeast of you."

"On it." Angel and I changed directions once more. I felt like a waitress taking orders from the most difficult patrons, except these patrons would like me dead. It was a crappy place to be in, but I was the only one who'd been able to get a hit on a Yellow. Angel was on par with my flying capabilities, so we had inadvertently been the designated "caretakers" of what I now deemed as my problem-children.

"I saw a yellow flash on that fighter on the nose," Rapier 4 remarked, sounding more than a little unnerved. I tracked him on the radar and saw he resided in the southeast area. At least we had confirmation the enemy was still there.

Before I could ask for more information, Rodeo barked, "Rapier 4, get out of there! You've got two bandits on your tail!"

"I can't escape them! Someone – shi-" I watched helplessly from a distance as my ally's plane got shot down by two F-14s. My heart dropped to my stomach.

"Damn it! Don't let your flying get sloppy!" Rapier Leader commanded, a mixture of dismay and irritation in his tone. "I know there are Yellows out there, but trust in Angel and Ember to take care of them. They've taken one out. They can do it again."

"Angel, let's tag team these two Tomcats," I said, borderline growling in anger. Without a word, my friend listened, and we hunted those two enemies like dogs, refusing to let them out of our sight. I fired a missile and my guns to ensure a hit on my target, which worked like a charm. The explosion rocked the enemy comrade to the right, directly into Angel's gunfire. She hit their engine with a barrage of bullets, and that was the end of enemy number two.

"Mobius One, Halo One, you're supposed to be taking care of the Yellows," Rapier One said bitterly. "Leave the others to us."

"We're here to help take every enemy out, whether it be Yellows or not," Angel snapped back.

"That's an ord-"

"You are not our superior," I interjected calmly, a far cry from the rage running through my veins. "I know you want to up your kill score, but let's not allow pride to get in the way of a victory. If High Command would like to differ, they can go ahead, and Angel and I will listen, but until then, we will continue on the path we're currently on. We will take care of the Yellows, but we will also remove any enemies in our way as well. Is that understood?"

Rapier One spluttered in fury, but he couldn't answer before Whiskey came on the radio and said, "Rapier One, follow Mobius One and Halo One's instructions. If you have any complaints about it, you can bring it up with me after this mission."

Rodeo cleared his throat. "Hey, not to change the subject-"

"Oh no," I said, grateful for his interruption. "Please do."

"I just noticed something about the enemies. They're only carrying air-to-air missiles. If they're here to attack the base, wouldn't they have some air-to-ground weapons, too?"

I chewed my lip, mulling over the observation and wondering what it meant. We'd have to keep our eyes out for a surprise. Most likely a ground attack or bombers, although my money would be on the latter. It'd be too obvious to have boats sailing toward Comona, and the Erusian Air Force were elite.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepared myself for any surprises that might come our way and set to work systematically clearing out any enemy who crossed our path in the hunt for the last Yellow, which continued to evade us for what felt like hours when, in reality, it was only three minutes.

An odd calmness overtook me as I took out enemy after enemy as if it were nothing but a video game set to the easiest setting. Compared to the incredible skill of the Yellow Team – both offensively and defensively – the standard enemy fighters truly did feel like a subpar challenge. Or maybe Angel and I had just gotten that much better with the numerous missions we'd been on recently. Still, it felt like an actual biblical angel watched over me and guided me on where I needed to go and what I needed to do next.

Finally, after another five minutes – although it felt like five years – I caught a glimpse of a Yellow's nose. I dove to my left. Angel followed without hesitation, silently understanding my sudden change of direction. When we neared the Yellow, I instructed her to go low while I went high, intending to use the bright, blinding sun to my advantage. The Yellows were phenomenal fighters, so we'd have to get creative in our efforts to take them out.

I watched as Angel maneuvered behind the Yellow. She started herding them in my direction. Every time they tried to go down, she'd beat them to it, going underneath them to push them back up. Whether they knew our ploy or not, I couldn't quite tell, but if they did, they slipped up in their defense against me. The Yellow made the mistake of flying vertically as high as it could go. Based on their trajectory, even if they tried to alter their course, they would inevitably pass in front of me, close enough for missiles and guns. Sure enough, the Yellow tried to correct their path out of my line of fire but failed. I locked on with missiles and sent two after the fighter, along with some gunfire for safekeeping. The first missile missed by a long shot; the second grazed its tail enough to incapacitate the plane. The bullets hit the side with scary precision.

I watched in disbelief as the second and last remaining Su-37 fell out of the sky. Closer to the ground, the pilot ejected. We'd probably send someone to capture her after the mission was completed.

"Ember and Angel took out another Yellow!" Murray exclaimed. Cheering by our allies followed his announcement, and the sound boosted my fatigued mind and body. We only had a little more to go. Just a little longer until-

Mission Update

"SkyEye here. B2 bombers approaching from the west. Intercept them before they reach the launch site."

"Negative contact. Nothing on my radar," Rapier One griped.

"Look harder!" SkyEye snapped. I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop from laughing at the evident annoyance of our usually calm AWACS. "The B2s are difficult to detect on radar. They're stealth."

"I'm aware they're stealth-"

"Then why make such a dumb observation?" Angel inquired casually. I would've paid good money to see Rapier One's face at her statement.

"Focus on the mission, ladies and gentlemen. We can hurl insults at each other later," I intervened, wishing my morals would let Angel rip into Rapier One. But I knew if that happened, there may very well be attempted fratricide, and my money would absolutely be on Angel flying out of that encounter alive and unscathed.

"Five minutes to launch," Comona Base informed.

Shit. For a moment, I'd been so focused on the Yellows and the surprise bombers that I'd forgotten we were here for more than just an air battle. We needed to take care of those bombers as soon as possible, but I also didn't want to leave my allies if there were still too many enemy fighters left to take care of. I did a quick count, and although the number wasn't exact, I felt comfortable that my comrades could handle them while Angel and I took care of the bombers. Luckily for me, I'd reserved almost all my XMAAs, so I had the advantage on the bombers strictly for that reason. It made me wonder what Angel's special weapon reserves were, prompting me to ask her.

She replied grimly, "Only two left. Used more than I care to admit on some standard fighters and one on a Yellow."

"All right. Mine are practically full, so as long as the bombers don't out-maneuver us, I think we'll be swift in taking them out. But first, we need to figure out where the bombers are since they're not showing on radar."

"And we need to find them fast before they reach Comona." As if on cue, the island announced we had four minutes left to launch. Angel groaned. "Not helping."

I glanced at my radar. Just because bombers were difficult to see didn't mean they were impossible. If I could find an odd blip (or two), I'd most likely find the bombers. I zoomed in and out slowly, hoping to catch what I needed while Angel scanned the horizon surrounding us. Neither method was really the best; the radar was already naturally challenging with stealth planes, but the skies were hazy, making visibility problematic.

"Three minutes to launch," Comona informed.

Angel huffed in annoyance. "Oh my God, where are-"

"Got it! I think. If that blip on my radar was them, then they're coming from the east. I can't tell how many, though."

"I'll distract them by coming head-on. You attack them from below. Sound good?"

"So, you mean our usual tactic for today."

"They apparently haven't picked up on it, so as long as it's still working, I say we keep using it."

"Fair point. Take the lead." Angel hit the thrusters, and I went low, praying the bombers had taken the high road and wouldn't see me. I flew as low as I dared, barely a couple dozen feet above the ocean. It didn't take long for me to notice the enemy bombers; I winced, realizing they were only a couple thousand feet in the air, maybe three at the most. Not what I'd been hoping for. I could only hope the haziness of the day prevented the sun from reflecting on my canopy and giving away my position. I initially planned on skirting around them before pulling up and turning simultaneously. It was easier than doing an Immelman turn.

But, like all well-thought-out plans, I swiftly concluded the Immelman turn would be better suited. I risked too much by flying around the bombers. I had to fly under them to best avoid detection. Mumbling to myself about the speed I would probably lose after I passed under the enemy aircraft, I lifted up and flipped my plane over until I fell directly behind them. I switched to special weapons and let them fly. For the two that I hadn't been able to lock onto, one I sent two missiles at. The other, I sent a wall of gunfire. All but one – the last I tried to take out – were destroyed in one fell swoop. I let Angel handle the final bomber.

"All bombers confirmed shot down," SkyEye announced, a hint of pride in his voice. "Now sanitize the area of all enemy fighters."

"That won't be long," Rodea chirped. "We took out a good chunk in the last few minutes. In fact-"

"He's mine!" Rapier One declared hotly, rudely interrupting Rodeo. "Got him!"

"Looks like he got the last aircraft. Area's sanitized."

"Great. Keep patrolling in case any stragglers arrive," SkyEye responded.

So that's exactly what we did. For close to two minutes, we waited with bated breath to see if any new surprises would fly our way. Thankfully, none did, and nothing but our planes filled the blue skies. I could hear the relief in the Base Commander's voice when he stated, "Fifteen seconds to launch. All ISAF aircraft and vehicles flow to a safe area."

Another soldier on base began the countdown. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, start ignition!"

I glanced at the island below to find the recon satellite, but everything looked too similar to determine what was what.

"Three, two, one, ignition!" I must've been facing the opposite direction of the satellite because I saw nothing, but most of my comrades were hooting and hollering in joy, so I assumed it was successful, which was proven true when Comona confirmed, "All systems are in the green."

Mission Accomplished

"Rocket has reached 40,000 feet. It is now immune to enemy action," the Base Commander informed with evident relief.

"We did it!" Rodeo cheered victoriously. Our other allies hollered in equal exuberance around him, and although I stayed reserved in my celebration, I still felt proud of what we'd accomplished after the disaster of our last fight. We'd only lost three fighters, all of whom were able to eject in time and survive. It'd probably be a while before they returned to the air, but they were alive, and that's all I cared about.

On our way back to base, Whiskey provided one of the simplest debriefings I'd ever heard. "The rocket launch proceeded smoothly and all systems are go. Preparations for providing our troops with vital tactical data is now complete."

"That's it?" Angel said sadly. "We don't get to hear your lovely voice for longer?"

"I can't tell if you're being truthful or if you're mocking me," Whiskey replied.

I chuckled. "If it were anyone but you, it'd be the latter, but she's being serious with you. But I am pretty sure she is making fun of the short debriefing."

"What else should I say? Provide a detailed description of each kill you made? Provide the results of who had the most kills?"

"You don't need to provide the last one," Paul chimed in. "We all know it's Ember."

"No loyalty from my own damn squadron," Angel grumbled.

"Hey, you know it's true."

"Just because I know it's true doesn't mean I want my team to voice it!" I swear I could hear the eyeroll. "But yes, I know you're right."

My teammates continued to bicker the rest of the way home. While I listened and joined in when I could, my mind continuously drifted off to wherever Kit was, what he was doing, when I'd get to see him again, and what that meeting would bring. I wondered when this war would finally end so our long-awaited meeting could happen.

My gut told me it wouldn't be any time soon, although whether that sensation was referring to the war or seeing Kit, I couldn't be sure.

Bryn

"Those were the first Yellows you shot down?" Brian put it more as a statement than a question, but I nodded in response. He briefly glanced at his dad, but Kit failed to notice, for his eyes remained on me.

"Sunshine and Honey. They were a husband-and-wife duo, had two kids," Kit said. The words nearly stopped my heart, and shame flamed in my cheeks. You rarely heard about the people you shot down, let alone from their boss, and it hurt to hear that I'd most likely destroyed a family and orphaned two children. Maybe my expression gave it away, or maybe Kit simply recognized the dark thoughts running through my mind because he added gently, "Don't worry. They survived unscathed. They were captured but released immediately after the war ended. From what I've heard through my old comrades, they live happily on their farm and enjoy visits from their grandkids."

I sighed in relief. "That's good to know."

At that moment, Brian excused himself to use the bathroom, and I got up to make myself some more tea. Kit and Felicity scooted closer together to read Brian's letter to me. A few moments later, a noise I could only describe as a mix between a squeak and a groan erupted from Felicity. I turned around to ask what was wrong and saw the young girl burying her face in her hands, mumbling angrily, "I'm going to kill him."

"Who are you going to kill?" Brian asked upon his return. He shuffled over to the table to join his friend and dad but stopped short upon Felicity waving the letter angrily in the air.

"I can't believe you told her that I liked-" she hesitated, eyes flicking to Kit momentarily- "How did you even know about that?"

Brian rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, I… I could just tell."

"You were eight!" Felicity whacked him on the shoulder with a surprising amount of force. "You're not supposed to pay attention to those kinds of things at that age!"

"We both know I wasn't exactly a normal eight-year-old." He eyed Kit and me, who were both studiously avoiding eye contact and pretending we weren't listening in on their argument. "If you want to continue the conversation, that's fine, but maybe somewhere more private?"

Felicity flushed a deep red as if suddenly remembering she and Brian had an audience. "No, I don't. Pretty sure there's not much else to say."

Brian watched in dismay as Felicity stormed past him, hesitating for only a moment before following her. I waited until I heard the front door shut before asking, "Are they going to be okay?"

"They'll be fine," Kit assured. "They've been through a lot together, so it'll take more than Brian embarrassing Felicity to end their friendship."

"What did he write that set her off?" I replied, approaching the table and sliding the letter over to me. Kit pointed out the contentious paragraph:

"It won't be long now. It won't be long until it begins!" the barkeep's daughter confided to me. As a member of the Resistance, she eagerly awaited the Allied counterattack on the mainland.

"What will happen to these people when the Allies come?" I asked, to which she frowned.

"We'll run them out... This is our town!" But I knew she didn't mean that from the bottom of her heart. Thirteen had captured her heart. I knew this from the way she shot jealous glances at his wingman.

As other pilots rotated out of Yellow Squadron, Yellow Four, Thirteen's wingman, always stuck by his side, even on land. The only female pilot in the Squadron, she had Yellow Thirteen's absolute trust as his wingman. Yellow Thirteen seemed oblivious to all this, and instead reviewed the "promising" enemy pilot's performance from yesterday's skirmish.

"He's so close. If he manages to stay alive for just a while longer, that pilot could be a worthy opponent." But when there were no such enemies to look forward to, Thirteen's eyes were sad.

"Ah, yeah, now I remember why I hadn't let her read it yet—that and his admission of having a crush on her in the beginning," I said, slightly amused.

"I'm surprised she didn't catch that," Kit said. I looked down at him. We locked eyes, and I suddenly realized how close we stood next to each other. Heart skipping a beat or two, I hastily returned to the kitchen counter and began cleaning up. The apple pie still baked in the oven, and its mouthwatering smell managed to distract me somewhat from my rising anxiety as a second epiphany dawned on me: I was utterly alone with Kit.

I couldn't remember the last time Kit and I stood in a room together, alone, with no one else around. We had to have still been in our preteens if that, and back then, we were just friends. Now, we had an odd history where we'd borderline admitted feelings to each other during the war, but they were feelings only I remembered. If Kit did, he made no mention of it, probably because even if they had existed then, they no longer remained.

At that thought, my internal monologue immediately started shouting: Abort mission! Abort! Abort! Abort! I need to get out of here. I'll text Blaze to call me. Or I can pretend I got a text from her and need to call her privately. That might be easier. Or-

"Hey, Bryn?" Kit saying my name derailed my train of thought, and I know that when I faced him, that I stared at him like a deer in headlights. He was standing now, his blue eyes dark, expression unreadable. "I, uh… I just- I wanted to say thank you."

My head involuntarily tilted out of confusion. What on earth did he have to thank me for? "For what?"

"For being here for Brian." Kit took a few cautious steps toward me but stopped at the island counter. He bounced his fist lightly on the granite, pausing as he searched for his next words before continuing, "I- I know it's not easy recounting the war, especially with the most recent bombshell that got dropped on you about both of my identities and then having to relive all the other bad memories that happened."

"It's not," I admitted hesitantly, unsure of where he was going with this line of conversation. But I'm not going to run from it just because it makes me uncomfortable. Truth be told, even though there are a lot of bad memories, there are good memories, too, and it's been nice to relive those and share them."

Kit nodded understandingly. "Good, that's… that's good to hear."

An awkward silence fell over us, which I chose to break by asking an equally awkward question. "Do you want me to leave?"

Kit's brow furrowed with what appeared to be genuine surprise at my question. "What?"

"Do you want me to leave?" I repeated. "I'm sure it's awkward having your former best friend staying in your house when she remembers everything and you remember nothing. Not to mention that I'm the reason you lost Yellow Four and the reason you nearly died."

"I don't want you to leave," he said softly.

I didn't believe him. "Is that you or Brian speaking?"

"It's both of us. We had a conversation earlier because he's concerned you want to go. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have the same concern. But if you want to leave, we understand. We… I don't want you feeling obligated to finish your story. You've already gotten more than you bargained for coming here."

"You're right, I did get more than I bargained for, and I do want to leave." The words came out before I could stop them. There was no turning back now. "But if I leave, even if I stay somewhere in town, then it would be too easy for me to up and leave for good because I live three hours away, and it's too tempting to get back into my comfort zone in my own home. I can't do that. I need to finish this out, not just for Brian but for you too. If recounting my life during the war and our friendship helps even some of your memories return, then it'll have been worth it. I recognize that chances are, at the end of all this, you're not going to miraculously remember everything, and I'm not expecting us to rekindle our friendship either, but that's not going to deter me from trying to help you."

Kit bobbed his head up and down slowly, processing my words. It prompted me to say, "I plan on going into town tomorrow. I'm getting a little claustrophobic with everything-" I motioned at my surroundings- "going on around me. I think it'd be a good way for me to clear my head."

"You can take my truck into town if you don't want to walk," Kit offered. "It's supposed to be a little warmer tomorrow, but it'll still be below freezing."

"Thank you." I had to direct the conversation away from us, a probably futile attempt to escape from the ever-present awkwardness. "So, how long do you think it'll be before the kids return?"

Kit shrugged, his gaze finally shifting away from me—albeit briefly—to the front door that Brian and Felicity had exited only a few minutes before. "It'll probably be a bit. I haven't really ever seen her get mad at him before, so it could be thirty minutes or an hour. Your guess is as good as mine."

"You know-" I began hesitantly, wondering if I might be crossing a line with our current relationship (or lack of, I should say)- "I've been telling all my stories, but I haven't had a chance to hear any from you, Brian, or Felicity. I know you adopted Brian. It sounds like quite the story. Would you be willing to tell me about that?"

Kit stared at me with evident surprise, although whether it was at my question or the sheer fact I was actively and willingly trying to talk more with him, I couldn't tell. But when Kit smiled- one that felt simultaneously so familiar yet so foreign- I knew I had my answer.