Georgetown
Washington, DC
Oakwood Apartments
December 20th, 2015
0815 hours
(Author's Note: I kinda didn't realize I didn't end the chapter, so this one's long...)
(WARNING: TRAUMA, NIGHTMARES/NIGHT TERRORS, BLOOD INCOMING! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!)
Ben POV
My eyes shot open and I felt myself shaking (on my side, this time), breathing heavily, sweating. Once again, it was due to a nightmare.
Yet, there was something different about this one.
Flashback start
I was in the middle of a desert. The air was dry and frigid, and the new moon made the sky all the more dark.
As far as I could tell, I was alone. I wore clothes fit for hiking, but had no water. My throat was sore with pain, likely due to extreme dehydration.
"Hard, isn't it?"
I spun around, only to be met by the pirate-esque monster that haunted my dreams.
"Joshua," I whispered.
"Hello there," he replied with a giant grin. Unlike last time, he had no smoke nor blood around him. The only things that kept him from being clean were dust and sand, but even those were minimal. "Tell me, how does it feel to be alone?"
"I-I'm not alone," I stammered, slowly stepping away from him. I didn't want to show fear, but God, I was terrified. "I've got Catherine, and Alexander, and Chip, and Mike..."
"Have you looked around recently?"
I looked around, trying to make sense of what he was saying, then I finally understood what he was getting at when I looked down.
I nearly jumped at the sight of a lifeless Cyrus staring up at me. Blood slowly flowed from two gunshot wounds to his head.
I looked around to see everyone else in similar states: Catherine, Jawa, Mike, Zoe, Alexander, Chip... all had gunshot wounds to their heads. But what stood out was Erica: she was stomach-down, with her right cheek against the ground. She had a single gunshot wound in her back, and it appeared to go through her heart. Blood ran from all of their wounds, staining the desert ground.
A closer examination revealed that all had their arms and legs bound, and my deduction made me freeze in fear.
"Executed," I whispered to myself. "They were executed."
"Excellent, Mr. Ripley," Joshua replied almost proudly, like a teacher congratulating a successful student.
"Why?"
"They were criminals! What right did they have coming into Mexico?" the villain scoffed.
"We c-came to stop y-you," I stuttered, trying to keep the fear out of my voice as I faced him. "You were working with the Sinaloa Cartel."
"Why not let the Mexican government handle it?"
"Intelligence suggested that c-cartels had infiltrated them. S-SPYDER too."
"But you had no way of knowing that. You still decided to meddle in something that didn't concern you. So you are criminals. Some criminals need to be executed, so wasn't justice served? Isn't this what you wanted all along, to be the hero and deliver justice? Well, you've done it. You've killed those that trespassed into Mexico trying to play hero. Congratulations!"
I shook my head in denial, desperately remembering the words of Alexander and Catherine.
'I didn't kill them... I didn't kill them... I didn't kill them...'
"Really?" Joshua asked, reading my thoughts. "Consider this: each body has two gunshot wounds, save for Erica, who has one. There's a Glock 19 with the standard 15+1-round magazine in your right cargo pocket. Two times seven, plus one, is how many? And how many rounds are in your sidearm?"
"Keeping my eyes on him, I pulled a previously nonexistent pistol out of my right cargo pocket, and checked the magazine. To my horror, there was only one round left.
"Besides, the ground is littered with 9-mm casings, dear Benjamin," Joshua added maliciously. "Face it: you're the lone survivor of your little CIA family, and you're going to die alone."
"Then I'm taking you with me," I growled, feeling a flash of anger as I loaded the magazine back into the pistol, pulled the slide back, and shot Joshua right in the heart.
However, instead of dying, he simply looked at me and began to laugh. His laugh was more terrifying than any horror movie I'd seen or heard of.
He was nothing but a reincarnation of the Devil.
"There's that bravado, Ben. That beautiful, naive, bravado. The same reason why," he began, pulling out a photograph in his chest pocket, both of which had a hole in them. "These lovely people are gone."
A closer look revealed a man, a woman, a boy, and a girl, with a third child's head missing, courtesy of the shot I took. I gasped, dropping the pistol as I realized who they were.
"Yes... the Ripleys. You took this when, exactly? Not that it matters anyway," he said as the photo caught on fire, burning to ashes. All the while, my feet felt like someone had duct-taped me to the ground, and covered my mouth as well.
"All you did was remove yourself from their picture, Ben. When death came for them, you were far away."
"You sent the assassins," I argued weakly, but to no avail.
"The assassins' orders were to not engage if I reported to them. I didn't because your friends saw fit to rescue you rather than leave you to die, as you did to me."
With that, he pulled a G22 out of his back pocket and fired, hitting me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain, clutching my gut with my left arm as my knees buckled.
'No, no, no...'
"Tell me, how does it feel to die?" Joshua asked in a menacing tone. However, before he could pull the trigger and land the killing blow, I heard a new voice whisper in my ear.
"What are you doing? Move! Mo—oh, forget it! C'mon, idiot!" were the words I heard before something strong grabbed me by my shoulders and jerked me backwards before Joshua could fire again.
Flashback end
I wasn't sure who or what pulled me out, but the action just saved me from being killed by Joshua in that nightmare. Still, being yanked out of that dream made me feel like my brain had melted.
My aching head, soreness, and general exhaustion kept me from moving any further. Against my will, I found myself quickly falling back into slumber, all the while praying that my exhaustion would save me from another nightmare.
(THE WARNING HAS EXPIRED!)
A FEW HOURS LATER...
Erica POV
Without a doubt, it was one of the worst nights of sleep I ever had.
The temperatures dropped extremely low, making it far too cold for anyone to fall asleep. We remained around the fire until around 4:00 AM, when the power finally came back on.
I could handle the cold very well, but even I couldn't sleep, and had resigned myself to staying awake with everyone else. A small part of my brain said that I should've shared a blanket with someone else for the sake of heat, but the majority ruled out, and I found the lack of company chilling.
Oddly enough, this small part of my brain also suggested sharing a blanket with a certain someone... but I knew that it would be nothing but the beginning down a dangerous path.
Based on the sheer quiet, it sounded like everyone else was still asleep. Even though nobody would even care, I still knew that I wanted to get up. Oversleeping would be a waste of time and energy, anyways.
However, I found myself unable to move for some reason. I looked down to see... an arm?
Turning around, I saw none other than the owner of said arm:
'BEN?!?'
Somehow, he had ended up sleeping on his side, his left arm was wrapped tightly around my stomach and now, his face was millimeters from mine.
'Yes... yes... you like this, don't y—'
'NONONO TOO CLOSE TOO CLOSE TOO CLOSE NONONO,' I thought frantically, cutting off that disgusting part of my mind. As much as I considered Ben a friend (and nothing more, of course), I couldn't be this close. Acting on pure instinct, I wrenched his arm off and rolled to my right, standing up quickly.
'Okay, okay... calm down,' I told myself as I walked out of the room, trying to control my breathing. 'Probably just an accident. Nothing wrong.'
'Really? If it's nothing wrong, why are you so sweaty?'
'I—'
'And heated? That little touch of Benny-boy was enough to awaken your carnal side, girlie!'
Embarrassingly, it took me a few moments to register what the irritating voice meant. When it hit me, I felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
I shook my head, trying to get as far away from the living room as possible. I entered the area that served as the kitchen and dining space to see none other than Chip and Jawa playing chess. The two were fully dressed, save for their coats, and Chip had on the hat he wore practically everywhere: an olive-green ballcap with an American flag on it.
"And... checkmate, ol' buddy," Jawa said with a grin as he moved his knight.
"How do you always do that?!?" Chip asked incredulously, throwing up his hands.
"Lots of time, patience, and practice, Chippy!"
"You do NOT get to call me Chippy!" the North Carolinian growled at the snickering Californian.
"That makes it 169 to nil," Jawa said as he wrote it down in a notebook, much to Chip's apparent chagrin.
"Oh, good morning," Jawa said pleasantly as he noticed me. "You sleep all right?"
"I overslept, so no," I replied with an eyeroll.
"I dunno, you seemed just fine spooning wi—" Chip began with an undertone I didn't like.
"ANYWAYS," I interrupted, not wanting to go down that route. "How are you two up so early? Last I checked, you two were up as late as the rest of us."
"Military parents," the two deadpanned simultaneously.
"... fair enough, but what have you been doing this whole time?"
"Well, we're usually workout buddies, but due to the lack of a gym, we've had to improvise!" Jawa said cheerfully.
"Never try yoga or any sort of stretches with this wack job," Chip stage-whispered. "Not only is yoga stupid, the dude's made of freakin' rubber!"
"It's good to stretch before working out, Mr. Incredible Hulk!" Jawa retorted. "Besides, you used me as a barbell for squats!"
"Oh please, being stuck in a fireman's carry ain't nowhere near as bad as being forced to practically bend over backwards and snap your spine in half!"
"Well you—"
"Okay, okay, this is a fascinating story and all," I jumped in, trying to halt the banter. "But since when did Chip play chess?"
"I taught him some time back, and he still hasn't won against me," Jawa explained.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Chip said dismissively. "Not like it'll be useful in the long run."
"Perhaps not chess itself, but the critical thinking it invokes."
"... That's actually a fair point."
"Hang on, I gotta hit the head. Be nice, Chip," Jawa said, getting up and leaving the kitchen.
I stood silently before Chip pushed out a chair, beckoning me to sit.
"Where do you always go on Sundays?" I blurted.
"Beg pardon?" Chip asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Y'know, on Sundays. Whenever we met up, you always said that you were occupied during Sunday mornings. And you generally seemed to refrain from high-intensity activities. How come?"
He looked confused for a moment, before he adopted a countenance of understanding.
"Oh... I thought you'd know this," he said.
"Is it wrong that I don't?" I asked, puzzled.
"No, no. If we're thinking optimistically, it means that you're becoming more human. Vigilance is healthy, but you can't let it consume your life. Even the baddest operators in SOCOM (short for USSOCOM, the United States Special Operations Command) have to let loose. You ain't a machine, Erica, and while you think you may be weakening as a spy, that isn't the case. You're trusting us more as friends, and you're lettin' loose, relaxin'. Heck, it's mentally healthy, and if you think about it, it'll help you with your physical health as well."
I couldn't help but stare at him in shock. This was our friend group's "heavy weapons guy?" The guy who thrived on the battlefield and was practically in love with battle and the technology that comes with it? He was certainly more intelligent than we thought he was.
"So... your Sunday activities are a philosophy class?"
Now he was staring at me in shock before bursting into laughter.
"Oh, Erica, Erica, Erica," he chuckled. "I'm not brave enough for stuff like that. History, civics, maybe economics, and trade skills, any day. No, Sunday for me is called the Sabbath—the day of rest. Zoe and Mike do something similar on Saturday, except they refer to it as 'Shabbat.'"
"What's this about Shabbat?" Jawa asked as he walked back into the kitchen.
"I was just explaining why I always disappear and relax on Sundays," Chip said. "Oh, and in regards to where I disappear, it's usually to the little chapel on campus. Frankly, I'm surprised there's even a chaplain, but there is: an old Navy veteran that served in Vietnam by the name of Lieutenant Frank Rosenbaum."
"So that's what Rosenbaum does," I realized. Once when I was looking over Academy personnel files (seriously, the principal couldn't keep anything secured), I saw the lieutenant's file, but there was no job description except for "therapist." I wasn't sure how religion equated to therapy, but in a way, I supposed a chaplain could be a therapist to someone in need.
"I never took you for a religious person, Chip," I stated, feeling like I was missing some details. I was met with a smirk from Jawa as he punched his friend in the shoulder.
"Wanna tell her, bro?"
"Okay, okay," Chip acquiesced. "I guess I had a... shall we say... 'wake-up call.' It happened sometime after the first encounter with SPYDER. Y'know, when the school nearly got blown up."
I nodded, motioning for him to go on.
"Well, Ben had earned my respect. Zoe and even you, Erica, albeit to a degree. Jawa here thought I oughta lighten up a bit, be a bit nicer. Even later on, with the hatred between Hank and I, I realized that I'd changed from the feller I used to be. I was never as friendly as Zoe and Mike, nor as approachable as Alexander or Catherine, but I was at least decent human being. Not one who picked on people a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than him. I had morals, so to speak."
"You weren't terrible..."
"I was pretty bad in my book. Coming to Spy School, I realized something: everyone was vying to become intelligence officers. Me? I was a hundred percent certain if it weren't for me bein' recruited, I would've become a Marine. As cool as Mission: Impossible and James Bond were, I was more interested in being one of the guys at the tip of the spear. I was told that there were opportunities to become warfighters while being spies, intel guys, whatever you want to call it. As a result, I had a different mindset and even a different build than most of my classmates. Everyone was on the shrimpy side. Add the fact that I wasn't the smartest kid and that cheating was acceptable, and I lost myself. I became a cheat, a liar, a bully."
"Okay, that is accurate," I admitted, recalling his past actions. "But to be fair, the world isn't exactly fair. It's ruthless and cold."
"I agree with you, and am a major proponent for pragmatism, but at the same time, there needs to be some ethics, some decency behind it. I found out about the chapel and started meeting with Lieutenant Rosenbaum. If I couldn't rectify my past mistakes, I wanted to set myself back on the right track. Long story short, I experienced redemption by faith. I was raised a Methodist, but I lost my moral compass in the Academy, and over time, I reconnected with God and reformed myself."
"Sha-boom! He found God and morality!" Jawa finished with a flourish.
"That is the gist of it, yes."
"I'll be honest, if there was a redemption story for you, I wouldn't think it'd be by religion," I admitted.
"Why not?"
"Quite frankly, I've mainly heard this story from people with actual criminal records and prison time under their belts."
"Fair point," Chip ceded. "But like I said: I was in the wrong. If not legally, then definitely morally."
"And THAT, Erica, is why Chip relaxes on Sundays," Jawa said in a flamboyant fashion, causing us to look at him with exasperated expressions. "Well, am I wrong?"
"No way you are, bro. No way you are."
"Well, that's an interesting backstory nonetheless. By the way, where's Grandpa?" I asked, not having seen my grandfather anywhere.
"Cyrus? He made coffee and retreated to his room," Jawa snorted. "There's a fresh pot, and it's pretty much the only thing, combined with our standard routine, that's keeping us awake right now."
"Would you like some?" Chip offered.
"No, thanks. I prefer tea," I replied.
"Ah, your Britishness is showing, your Iciness!" the southerner joked in a faux-British accent that sounded more Australian than anything.
"Shaddap, meathead," I grumbled, lightly punching him in the arm.
"Nicknames instead of surnames? And playful punches? You've been melted, Ice Queen," the Californian laughed, poking me in the arm.
"And none other than by Benjamin Ripley, eh?" Chip asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Sh-shut up!" I exclaimed, feeling embarrassed. "I don't like him like that!"
"Which is precisely why you spooned with him," Jawa deadpanned.
"I mean, it makes sense. If you're a queen, you're definitely gonna need a king, ain'tcha?"
"Precisely, Chip. A most astute observation. Oh, and Erica, who said you liked him at all?"
"Don't look at us! We ain't puttin' words in your mouth!" Chip added, with his hands raised in faux-surrender.
"What's going on?" yawned Mom as she opened the door and entered the kitchen area, wearing... was that Dad's shirt? And his shorts?
"Mornin' ma'am!" Chip greeted politely. As if he wasn't just taunting me moments earlier.
He may have been absolved of any legal or moral crimes thanks to his renewed faith and improved character, but he still had a cheeky side.
"Morning, Catherine! We were just playing chess and talking to Ms. Hale here," Jawa said with a smile.
"Aww, that's so nice, dear. What were you discussing?" Mom asked in a sweet tone.
I shook my head as furiously and surreptitiously as I could, not wanting the boys to reveal the humiliating discussion topic. Besides, I didn't want Mom to start spouting nonsense about Ben and I, especially considering the danger of romantic relationships.
"Well—" Chip began before he was interrupted by a loud:
"GOOD MORNING!" Dad bellowed, a massive smile on his face. I couldn't recall a time when I was ever happier to see him. "Did everyone sleep well? I know I did! Hell, I don't even need any coffee! Y'all sleep well too?"
"Good morning to you too, Alexander," Jawa greeted. "It wasn't too terrible, but we woke up out of habit."
"Well, don't worry! We may be snowed in, but I'm sure we can have some bonding time together!" Dad replied loudly and cheerfully.
'"Bonding time," eh? You want some of that, Erica? With your precious Smokescreen?'
'Shut. Up. You. Stupid. BRAIN!' I shouted mentally. I did not need my imagination showing me whatever scandalous ideas it would have formulated.
"Who's shouting?" Zoe whined as she too entered the joint cooking-dining space, Mike and Ben right behind. Ben's dark circles around his eyes seemed to have worsened, and he looked pale, almost as if something had scared him. I felt my fists clench in anger, feeling the need to punch something.
'Protective, much?' my idiotic mind asked in a teasing tone. I decided to simply ignore it, not wanting to give it the satisfaction of irritating me.
"Sorry, Zoe," Dad apologized with a shrug. "But it's already thirteen hundred (1300)! Besides, while I understand not everyone observes the Sabbath, I still think that a bit of... family time, so to speak, will help us relax a bit more, especially since we're all stuck together for the holidays!"
"Excellent idea!" Mom agreed. "We can clear out the driveway tomorrow, but for now—"
She was interrupted by the extremely audible sound of a growling stomach, eliciting an embarrassed expression from Mike.
"Breakfast it is," Mom finished with a nod.
"I have an idea!" Chip said, raising his hand confidently. Jawa, however, looked horrified.
"Chip, you burn frickin' water! In what world would you be in charge of a kitchen?!?"
"Simmer down, Jawa. There's one thing I can cook without fail: mountain man!" Chip replied proudly, eliciting confused looks from everyone save for Dad and Jawa.
"That explains the potatoes and eggs!" Dad exclaimed.
"Yes, sir! Shall we?"
"We shall! Oh, morning, Dad!" Dad greeted as Grandpa entered the kitchen, asking what all of the hullabaloo was.
"Okay, people, here's how we're gonna do it: Ben and Mike, you two are washin' and peelin' potatoes! Alexander and Catherine, you're cooking the sausage and turkey bacon! Zoe, you're scrambling eggs! Cyrus, sir, you're choppin' up some onions, garlic, and bell peppers! Jawa, you're helping me with the hashbrowns! And Erica, you're running logistics and playing support wherever else is needed! Prep the casserole dishes and the oven!" Chip ordered. "Let's do this, people! Chop-chop!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Jawa, Mike, and Zoe replied dramatically with crisp salutes before entering the kitchen behind Chip, with Ben, Mom, and Dad closely following. I turned to Grandpa, who shrugged and walked over.
'Well, he is the son of two Marines... should we be surprised?'
'Once again, I can't help but agree with you. That reminds me, who are you?'
'Your better half! Wait, sorry, that title goes to Ben, eh Mrs. Ripley?'
'LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHI—'
"C'mon, Erica! Hustle, hustle!" Jawa called from the kitchen, where he and everyone else were washing their hands.
"Coming!" I replied, shaking off the annoying voice as I moved towards the kitchen.
For the next hour, everyone did the tasks Chip assigned them to (despite some people getting distracted, namely Dad, who was flirting with Mom). Still, everyone was still in a cheerful mood thanks to Chip and Dad, with both occasionally starting songs that everyone else sang along to.
Everyone but Grandpa, of course, but I wasn't quite surprised. Still, my generally grumpy grandfather still seemed to nod along to the songs' rhythms.
Chip even started calling cadences such as (italicized is Chip; italicized and bolded is everyone else):
C-130 rollin' down the strip,
C-130 rollin' down the strip,
Agency boys gonna take a little trip!
Agency boys gonna take a little trip!
Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door,
Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door,
Jump right out and count to four!
Jump right out and count to four!
If that chute don't open wide,
If that chute don't open wide,
I've got another one by my side!
I've got another one by my side!
And when that chute's gonna blossom round,
And when that chute's gonna blossom round,
I'll be the first man on the ground!
I'll be the first man on the ground!
Ka-Bar, M4, by my side!
Ka-Bar, M4, by my side!
These are the tools that I'll survive by!
These are the tools that I'll survive by!
It doesn't matter, day or night,
It doesn't matter, day or night,
I'm always gonna win a firefight!
I'm always gonna win a firefight!
(Author's Note: this is my own version of the "C-130 Rolling Down the Strip" cadence)
Once again, Chip surprised me with a surprisingly good singing voice. I had never heard him sing before, and if everyone else wasn't caught up in the moment, I'm sure someone would've said something.
Speaking of which, Ben seemed to be smiling and even singing along with the songs and cadences sung by Chip and Dad. As strange as it was to admit it, it felt good to see him smile. Without a doubt, his mood was improving, and strangely, so was mine.
"Mike! Ben!" Chip barked. "What's the status on those biscuits?"
"Still kneading!" Ben reported.
"Great! Mike, get a baking sheet ready! Erica, help Ben with the kneading!"
"Yep!" I replied, not fully grasping what he was saying. Only when my shoulder bumped into Ben's did it finally sink in.
Help Ben. With kneading the biscuit dough. Next to him.
Crap.
I tried to work on my portion of the dough, but I couldn't focus as I kept stealing glances. Ben seemed to be fully immersed in his task, his face being one of steely calm.
It was oddly... alluring. Unfortunately, my brain decided to combine this with the memory of him shirtless.
'Mike said it best that one time he was talking about memes: "OH NO, HE'S HOT!"'
'N-no! NO! NO!'
'Deniiiiiiaaaaaaaaaal!' the voice sang in an irritating voice. Was that what I sounded like? How had nobody gotten fed up with the sound of my voice?
Then again, I was hearing an absolutely crazy version of myself. Perhaps it was drunk...
"I think you're good, guys! I'll take it from here," Mike said as he brought out a small bowl, using it as a way to cut out cylinders of the biscuit dough. "You two wash up."
"Got it," we both replied, simultaneously walking towards the sink. In my haste, I walked directly into Ben, the two of us collapsing to the ground, with me on top of him.
To add insult to injury, we ended up with our noses practically touching. He stared at me, eyes wide and face red, while I felt my own face heat up.
"Uh..." he began.
"Er..." I said, only making the situation more awkward.
"Hale! Ripley! No time for making out!" Chip barked, causing everyone to turn their heads toward us.
"Say WHAT now?!?" Dad exclaimed.
"REALLY?!?" Mom and Zoe squealed excitedly.
"Get some, bro!" Mike cheered.
"WHAT THE F—" Grandpa began.
"LANGUAGE!" Chip and Jawa interrupted, earning a glare from my grandfather.
"We weren't—I—(s)he—no," the two of us stammered simultaneously as I scrambled off of him and he stood up straight.
Dad, Jawa, and Mike looked at us with curious expressions; Mom and Zoe's pleasant moods seemed to deflate; Grandpa was sending a death glare towards Ben; and Chip held a face of disinterest.
"Love later, food first! Time to assemble the mountain man!" he declared with a loud clap. "Move it, move it, move it!"
"Aye, sir!" Jawa acknowledged jokingly.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" the North Carolinian bellowed.
"AYE, SIR!" the Californian shouted back. "YOU HEARD THE MAN! LET'S GO, PEOPLE!"
Following the lead of the brothers-in-arms, everyone seemed to forget the little incident as we assembled the dish as per Chip's commands.
"Excellent," he congratulated as the dish went into the oven. "Zibbell, set a timer for thirty minutes! We'll put the biscuits in then and heat up the meat, and it's gonna be a hot n' fresh mountain breakfast, folks!"
"Well, Chip, I am most impressed! Alex, there might be a new contender for the best breakfast!" Mom teased.
"Can it, Cathy," Dad replied with an eye roll as he slipped an arm around her waist. "Or I'll show you what my favorite breakfast is," he whispered a little too loudly.
"Alex!" she hissed with a blush on her face, slapping Dad's chest. "Not here!"
Of course, my mind went into the gutter.
"Dayum, Alexander," Mike laughed nervously. "As hilarious as that was, that image is now stuck in my head!"
"I appreciate dirty jokes, but no! I did not need the image of middle-aged honeymoon time!" Zoe groaned. Mom seemed to get even more embarrassed while Dad looked oddly offended.
"I'm sorry, this is coming from the girl that used to have a massive crush on me?" my father asked haughtily, prompting an embarrassed squeak from the girl as she buried her face in her hands, hiding her blush.
"It's okay, Zo. It's okay," the Virginian said to the New Yorker, patting her shoulder in empathy. The other Virginian—Ben—meanwhile, was facepalming with a frustrated moan.
"I'm sorry, what exactly just happened?" Jawa asked, confusion etched on his face.
"No clue, bro," Chip replied, looking equally mystified.
'Of course. The big, bad, warrior boys are completely clueless on this subject,' I thought with an eye roll.
'Firstly, Jawa isn't big. He's literally five foot seven-and-a-half. Secondly, to be fair, Chip's not as bad as Jawa, considering the former's occasional dirty jokes in the past. But then again, he is a good Christian boy...' the voice replied.
'How are you managing to not be annoying this time?'
'The author felt like you had enough to deal with.'
'... what author?'
"Everyone except for Alexander and Catherine, in the living room," Grandpa ordered sternly. By the tone of his voice, we all knew to leave. "Oh, and kids? Don't worry about the food. These two will take care of it."
"Well... they're screwed," Zoe deadpanned when we were out of earshot.
"So... what do we do for the next half-hour?" Mike asked as he leaned back in the reclining chair.
Chip and Jawa looked at each other before turning towards the rest of the group, with the former walking over to his duffel bag and pulling out a pack of cards.
"Poker, anyone?"
For the next forty-five minutes, Chip and Jawa taught us the fundamentals of poker and we played, betting with pencils, pens, and erasers. As dangerous as I knew gambling was, I couldn't help but enjoy myself as I saw the wide range of reactions, from Zoe's loud curses to Jawa's evil grins. However, the most satisfying of all was the near-constant expression of contentment on Ben's face.
Perhaps the voice was right. I did feel happy that he was happy... because I thought of him as a friend.
'That's what friends do, isn't it?'
Definitely.
"Grub's up!" Dad shouted from the kitchen, prompting us to get up and have breakfast... lunch... brunch?
'So that's what it meant!' I realized.
'Idiot.'
'EXCUSE ME?!?'
'Just shut up and eat your brunch.'
"Okay," Mike began after taking a few bites of mountain man with turkey bacon and a biscuit. "This is epic!"
"I know, right?" Ben exclaimed.
"Don't get too excited, fellas," Chip replied with a shrug. "It's the only thing I can cook without mutilating it."
"Oh, please, you can't possibly be that bad!" Mom suggested.
"I've screwed up MREs (Meals, Ready-to-Eat) in the past," Chip deadpanned.
"How is that even possible?!?" I asked, confused. MREs, while not always tasting good, are designed to be so simple to make, that even a moron could do it!
"You don't wanna know."
"Son of crayon-eaters," Jawa coughed.
"Ah, shut up, you son of a swabbie!" Chip retorted.
"Navy janitor!"
"Uber driver!"
"You two know way too much about your parents' work," Grandpa interjected with an eye roll.
"Take Your Kid to Work Day is a thing, to be fair," Jawa recalled.
"Why do I have the feeling that if it weren't for the Academy, Jawa would be a Navy SEAL and Chip would be a Marine machine gunner?" Zoe asked. Everyone seemed to think about it for a moment before the two in question replied:
"Yep."
"One hundred percent."
"Y'know, that reminds me of an interestin' tale," Chip began. "So the first time I met Jawa's parents some years back, I remember seeing one particular photo—"
"What? No, nonono, shut up!" Jawa interrupted.
"C'mon man, it's hilarious! It's a photo of pipsqueak Jawa—no more than five years old—in his dad's cammies, and he's walking in front of Mr. O'Shea and his fellow sailors as if he's an officer inspecting the troops!"
The image in my head was surprisingly hilarious, especially combined with a hypothetical squeaky-voiced Jawa. As it seems, everyone else thought the same thing.
"Mrs. O'Shea also took videos of him wearing a Woodland BDU patrol cap that's way too big for him! And all the while, he's trying to do PT with Mr. O'Shea!" Chip laughed, making everyone, save for Jawa and Grandpa, completely lose it.
"Oh, you wanna play that game, do ya?" Jawa growled. "Well, everyone, do you know the story of Serving Schacter on Sundays?"
Chip's face fell, morphing into one of anger.
"DON'T YOU DARE! YOU BETTER NOT—"
"No, no! Do tell us, Jawa!" Mike interrupted.
"So, one time when I visited his family down in Maysville, NC—small town, beautiful place, real friendly folks. Anyways, his church does a thing where they volunteer at soup kitchens and homeless shelters."
"Jawa, wouldn't you rather tell them about that thing your temple does? It's a much better story," Chip said in an almost desperate tone.
"Nah, bro. As cool as it is—and I remember you did have a good time at that—this story's way better. Now guys, picture this: a five year-old, short, chubby Chip in his Sunday best. He's standing in the background looking extremely confused while his mother helps cook and his father helps serve. Their pastor ends up having to explain that they're helping to feed the poor. Chip, being the Marine baby that he is, turns all serious, and starts marching with individual plates of food— cause he can't carry a tray of plates, of course—having to reach up and serve them! Despite them sitting down, the people coming to the soup kitchens can't even see him until he announces his presence in a squeaky little voice! He took the responsibility of feeding the hungry like a zealot!"
Chip's face reddened in embarrassment as his head dropped to the table, while everyone else burst into hysterical laughter. Zoe ended up falling on the floor. Grandpa, surprisingly, had an amused grin on his face.
"A CHUBBY CHIP!" Mike howled, slapping the table. "IN HIS SUNDAY BEST?!? THAT'S AMAZING!"
"Shut up!" the southerner groaned.
"Oh, come now, Chip," Mom breathed, calming down from her giggling fit. "What's so bad about that? I think it's adorable!"
"Ma'am, I'm not adorable!"
"Oh, please, just because you're a six foot two package of muscle, combat prowess, and pure American spirit doesn't mean you can't be cute!" Dad scoffed. "I've been to Iraq and Afghanistan, and I've seen some of the baddest men on the planet completely melt when they get on VTC with their kids. What does your mother think?"
"Yeah, she thinks so too," he grumbled. "I ended up doing that for several years until I realized that I looked like an idiot. Not that I stopped volunteering at the shelters and kitchens, mind you, but I stopped doing it like a cringey moron. Unfortunately, one of my friends—Hannah, actually—gave me the nickname Jawa mentioned earlier, and it stuck. Everyone—from my pastor to my neighbors to my family—remembered it. Even the folks that worked hard, got jobs, and pulled themselves out of poverty remembered it when they came to give back to the church, shelters, and kitchens."
"Well I think it's adorable," Mom soothed with a smile, patting Chip's hand. "You're a very honorable young man."
"Aw, shucks," he muttered bashfully, a light blush on his face.
"Amen to that," Dad agreed.
"Hear, hear!" Ben added.
"Chip, it's official: you're my new hero," Mike declared dramatically. "From now on, on every Shabbat, I swear to follow your legendary example! All hail Chip Schacter, the wholesome redneck!"
"Alright, alright! Don't lay it on thick, you idiot!" Chip ordered with an eye roll, but a smile on his face.
After this, the conversation shifted back to relative normalcy, with the adults appearing to discuss vacation plans while the rest of us were talking about homework assignments and school.
The conversation continued even while cleaning up, although it was eventually replaced by Chip calling more cadences (italicized is Chip; italicized and bolded is everyone else):
Two old ladies lying in bed,
Two old ladies lying in bed,
One rolled over to the other and said:
One rolled over to the other and said:
I wanna be a forest ranger!
I wanna be a forest ranger!
Live that life of chipmunk danger!
Live that life of chipmunk danger!
Forest ranger!
Forest ranger!
Chipmunk danger!
Chipmunk danger!
Two old ladies lying in bed,
Two old ladies lying in bed,
One rolled over to the other and said:
One rolled over to the other and said:
I wanna be an Army Ranger!
I wanna be an Army Ranger!
Live that life of guns n' danger!
Live that life of guns n' danger!
Army Ranger!
Army Ranger!
Guns n' danger!
Guns n' danger!
Forest ranger!
Forest ranger!
Chipmunk danger!
Chipmunk danger!
Two old ladies lying in bed,
Two old ladies lying in bed,
One rolled over to the other and said:
One rolled over to the other and said:
I wanna be a Texas Ranger!
I wanna be a Texas Ranger!
Live that life of outlaw danger!
Live that life of outlaw danger!
Texas Ranger!
Texas Ranger!
Outlaw danger!
Outlaw danger!
Army Ranger!
Army Ranger!
Guns n' danger!
Guns n' danger!
Forest ranger!
Forest ranger!
Chipmunk danger!
Chipmunk danger!
Two old ladies lying in bed,
Two old ladies lying in bed,
One rolled over to the other and said:
One rolled over to the other and said:
GO TO SLEEP!
GO TO SLEEP!
(Author's Note: this is my own version of the "Two Old Ladies" cadence)
Admittedly, the abrupt ending was nothing short of hilarious, and I couldn't help but laugh.
Chip, Jawa, Dad, and even Mom began contributing cadences of their own, making us sing while we work. I realized this was why people like combining the two: the music helped to make the work seem fun.
I had been bonding with the group over the last couple of years more than I had with most other people in my life, but it was rather interesting to see this new side of Chip and Jawa. Both had good leadership skills, but while they stood out in their own ways, they always seemed to blend into the background otherwise.
It's almost like they were side characters in a novel, meant to be forgotten and only show up for the sake of the plot. And yes, I read beyond my textbooks, due to persistent jabs from Zoe.
I really had fallen, building friendships in such a dangerous profession, but for once, I didn't care about the risks, and was actually enjoying the moment.
Without realizing it, we had ended up back in the living room, having completed cleanup and defecation. Grandpa was in the recliner, Mom and Dad were on the couch, and Mike, Zoe, Ben, and myself were on the sofa. Chip and Jawa stretched out on the floor, each grabbing a pillow as they laid back.
"So... now what?" Ben asked from the opposite edge of the sofa.
"I've got it!" Zoe declared.
"Why do I have a feeling it's going to be—" Jawa groaned.
"Truth or dare!"
Zoe POV
"NO!" Chip shouted. "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"
"Aw, c'mon!" I protested.
"Why do you always have to suggest it?"
"I'm honestly not sure... it just feels right... as if it's my purpose in this story."
"... story?" Mike asked, looking at me with a confused expression.
"I don't know... does anyone else get the feeling we're in a storybook?"
"Okay, how did you figure that out?" Ben asked.
"I don't know... there are youth academies for the CIA and MI6; we've been on operations within the USA, where the CIA technically has no jurisdiction; we're literal children, and yet still junior officers within the Agency. Also, our lives were extremely peaceful until Ben showed up, and then things started going crazy! Not that I'm blaming you, Ben, but it's like those storybooks! Consider the Harry Potter series: if he hadn't shown up in Ron and Hermione's lives, they would've lived relatively peacefully, along with their friends and family."
We were all silent for a moment before Chip burst out laughing.
"C'mon, Zibbell, that's ridiculous! First of all, the CIA and other intelligence agencies have been doing some of the weirdest things ever, courtesy of the Cold War! Secondly, it doesn't matter who enters your life, since that person will change it nonetheless! And finally, we can't possibly be living in a book! That's ridiculous, even by our standards! Who'd believe that?!?"
"Besides, it's bold of you to assume I'm the main character in this hypothetical situation," Ben added. "Me? It'd make more sense if it was Chip or Jawa! Even Alexander and Catherine make more sense! They seem to have more interesting stories than I do!"
"Frankly, this is one of the strangest conspiracy theories I've ever heard," Cyrus admitted. "And I've hung around conspiracy theorists."
"Fine, fine. But anyways... truth or dare?" I asked, bringing us back on topic.
"How does this work, exactly?" Alexander asked.
"Basically, you go in a circle, asking someone if they'd rather divulge factual information or complete a task of your choosing. You do it in rounds, so that everyone in the group has been asked once," Catherine explained. "There are rule variations and limits, of course, but it's up to the group."
"... okay now how do you know that?!?"
Catherine's expression turned sheepish as she looked down, fiddling with her fingers and mumbling something.
"I didn't catch that, Cath."
"... Wattpad."
"Wait, you read fanfiction?!?" I exclaimed, feeling excited. Finally, someone else that did!
"Yes," she muttered.
"Intelligence Institution series?"
"YES!" she exclaimed, her expression brightening.
"Time out, time out," Erica said, forming a "T" with her hands. "Explain."
"So the Intelligence Institution series follows the tales of a university student working on his master's degree. However, that's just his cover story, since he's actually a junior officer in the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency). This dude, named Brock Reynolds, ends up being completely enamored with this chick by the name of Eliza Hanaway. Her parents, Aaron and Caroline Hanaway, work for the DIA and DI (Defence Intelligence), respectively. The American and Brit actually have a secret marriage from their time in the military, when they worked together in Afghanistan!"
"Eliza is well aware of Brock's crush, but is actually extremely insecure and scared of a relationship, so as much as she tries to avoid him, she cannot help but be charmed by his friendliness and loyalty!" Catherine added. "The girl is in denial!"
"Don't forget their friends: Jai O'Malley, Chris Sullivan, Matthew Barnett, and my personal favorite, Zofia Zimmerman! These four are well aware of the back-and-forth, and actually have a betting ring on whether or not they'll get together! As for Aaron and Caroline, they're just waiting for the two idiots to get together!"
"Of course, Eliza's grumpy grandfather, who still works for the DIA as a field asset, isn't particularly happy about Brock having the hots for his granddaughter. Still, they work together, with their operations often involving their British counterpart!"
"Said operations involve hunting down a terrorist network called 'SCORPION,' with the terrorists including three that defected from the DIA: Milo Harrington, William Ramirez, and the worst one of them all, Jeremy Hamilton!"
"Oooh, I hate Jeremy!" Catherine growled as she pounded her fist into the couch armrest. "That insufferable prat broke Eliza's heart!"
"I'm pretty sure the Intelligence Institution fandom almost universally hates him!" I added.
"All in all, it's a fantastic series, and the fanfics are... quite interesting!"
"Wait... so that's what you were doing on your computer during that one flight when I was asleep?" Alexander asked, sounding confused. "Being a fangirl?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Alex!" the Brit scoffed, flipping her hair. "It's only the greatest series of all time!"
"Oh, please, how good could it possibly be?"
"Actually, I've read it. It's pretty good!" Mike threw in. "I've never read any fanfiction, however."
"I can't recall havin' read that," Chip said, scratching his head. "Author?"
"Seymour Gray," Jawa answered. "Same guy that wrote the Lunar Installation Bravo, Carl Trench, Jollyforest, and Final Rifleman series. Intelligence Institution is actually good, Chip! I started reading it this month, and I have a copy of the first book with me."
"Have you got to the part when—" Catherine asked.
"No spoilers, ma'am. Please," Jawa pleaded. "It's really good, and I'm loving the suspense!"
"I guess I'll give it a look-see," Chip decided with a nod. "Sounds interesting, anyways. Probably a sight better than Harry Potter."
"Excuse me?!?" I gasped. "What's wrong with Harry Potter?"
"Doesn't seem well-written, there's a lot of plot holes, and several other issues I can't remember off the top of my head. In my opinion—and by opinion, I mean fact—John Grisham's stuff is the best!"
"You and I will talk about this later. But long story short, in the Intelligence Institution series, Zofia is a major proponent of truth or dare. We're going to do the same, just without alcohol," I announced, receiving groans in response.
"C'mon, guys! It can't be too bad!" Mike said, making me smile. I loved that he was sticking by me despite my (apparently) crazy ideas.
'Really, now?'
'BUGGER OFF, STUPID VOICE!'
'... you've been reading too much of those blasted books. You learned that from Caroline, didn't you?'
"I'm interested," Alexander said, breaking me out of my thoughts. "I'll try most things at least once."
"This just sounds like a terrible idea," Cyrus spoke up from the armchair.
"Okay, then... Cyrus, truth or dare!" I asked, wanting to get the ball rolling.
"This is childish."
"Please?"
"No."
"Dad, if I'm stuck here, you are too," Alexander said sternly. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Famous last words," Mike stage-whispered, making me giggle.
"Ugh... truth, I suppose," the old officer grumbled in a resigned tone
"Okay," I began, wanting to start off easy. "What is your favorite genre of music?"
"Classical and country. Everything else is garbage these days," he said bluntly.
We sat in awkward silence before I gestured to Cyrus that he should continue.
"Hmph... Catherine?" he sighed.
"Say it," she replied in a teasing tone.
"... truth or dare?"
"Truth!"
"What's your favorite color?"
"Seriously? That's it?" I scoffed.
"... is there something I should be asking?" Cyrus asked, looking almost confused.
"Oh, I don't know. How about some of her deepest, darkest secrets?!?"
"That seems illogical."
"DEWIT!" Mike urged.
"Fine," Cyrus sighed. "Catherine, is it true that Erica walked in on you and Alexander engaging in fornications whilst conducting CQC (close-quarters combat) training?"
Catherine's face flushed red, looking shy, while Alexander looked almost smug.
'Huh... I guess we know who the master of their bedroom life is.'
'WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!?' I screamed at the voice. 'I DO NOT NEED THAT IN MY HEAD!'
'The author thinks it's funny!'
'WELL, SHUT UP, BECAUSE IT ISN'T!'
"Yes?" the Brit squeaked out in an embarrassed tone.
"Why would you ask that, Grandpa?!?" Erica exclaimed, a blush adorning her cheeks.
"Zibbell said—" Cyrus began.
"WITHIN REASON, GRANDPA!"
"A-anyways, Zoe? Truth or dare?" Catherine stammered out hurriedly.
"Dare!" I replied proudly. I grew up in New York and I studied at the Academy, so I was sure it would be impossible to make me flinch.
However, an evil-looking smile formed on her face, making me feel uneasy.
"I dare you to tell us your ideal boy... and you have to do it truthfully."
I flinched.
"EXCUSE ME, WHAT?!?"
"You heard the lady!" Chip interjected, a smug grin on his mug. "Tell us your ideal boy, Zoe!"
"Er... well," I began nervously. "He has to be a talker, for one."
"So basically, someone that can match your New York blabbermouth abilities?" Jawa teased.
"Shut up! He has to be funny, reasonably intelligent—I'm not terribly into that, considering I'm not too smart myself—a good heart... I've never been one to judge on appearance, but I've been attracted to primarily athletic guys, especially when they're taller and built like runners. Not bodybuilders, though."
"Interesting," Ben said with a nod.
"Um... I have a thing for brunets? And... green eyes? OKAYTHATSENOUGHBRAINIACTRUTHORDARE!" I finished, desperately wanting to move away from this topic.
"Y'know, it sounds a lot like M—" Ben began, before I interrupted him again.
"JAWA! TRUTH OR DARE!"
"Hmmm, give me a dare."
"Pick up Chip!"
"... are you actually serious right now?"
"This should be good," Chip said with a smirk as he sat up. "Help, Jawa! I've fallen and I can't get up!"
"Har-de-har-har," Jawa mock-laughed as he stood. He reached down with both hands, grabbing Chip's and pulling him to his feet.
Jawa then positioned himself with Chip facing his right shoulder. Placing his right leg between his feet and bringing his right arm behind his neck, Jawa kept a firm grip on Chip's right forearm arm as he squatted and grasped his right knee. Finally, the Californian brought the North Carolinian onto his shoulders and stood, fully lifting him off the ground (Author's Note: this is the proper technique for a fireman's carry).
"Boom!" the two best friends declared, much to everyone's shock. Well, except for Alexander, Catherine, and Cyrus, with the former laughing and the latter two nodding approvingly.
"HOW DA FU—" Mike began, before Catherine cut him off with a firm:
"Language, Michael!"
"That's not possible!" I exclaimed.
"Almost anything's possible if you do it right," Jawa replied with a smirk, setting Chip down and giving him a fist-bump. "Now... Mikey boy, truth or dare?"
"Eh... let's go with truth," he replied from my right.
"Do you feel... love?"
"Well," Mike began, sounding as confused as I was. Looking to my left, it seemed that Erica, and everyone else for that matter, was puzzled by the question. "I guess I have a general, unselfish love for humanity."
"No, romantic! Sexual love!"
"No, no. I don't—"
"For her!" Jawa interrupted, pointing directly at me. Suddenly, I felt my eyes go wide and my heart rate spike.
'Someone's excited...'
For once, I couldn't even conjure a response to that dumb voice.
"AHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOHO!" Chip began laughing hysterically.
"Man, just stop!" Mike groaned, sounding embarrassed.
"HE JUST TOLD EVERYONE YOUR DEEPEST DARKEST SECRET! AHAHAHAHA!" the southerner bellowed, pointing at him
"Dude, c'mon, I think you're overreacting a little bit!"
"YOU MUST BE SO EMBARRASSED! AHAHAHAHA!"
"I don't feel romantic love for Zoe!" Mike protested, but failed to cease Chip's bellows of laughter, which stimulated everyone else. "She's awesome, a great friend, and really pretty, but I ain't in love with her!"
"Which is precisely why almost everything indicates that you're lying right now," Cyrus bluntly pointed out. "Sweating, flushed face, too many details, rushed speech, lack of eye contact, excessive fidgeting—"
"STOP! Ben, truth or dare?" Mike interrupted desperately.
"Dare!" he replied.
"I dare you to—"
Ben POV
"—give Erica a hug!" my best friend dared, making the room go silent.
'What?!?'
'Go for it, Ben,' the strange voice hissed. 'You know you want to...'
'But the dreams!'
'Those visions ain't the truth! So JUST DO IT!'
I knew I should've been ecstatic in theory, and that my dreams weren't real and couldn't hurt me, but they still messed with my head, so I was nothing short of terrified, especially when recalling that—in the most recent nightmare—I shot Erica through the heart... from behind... executioner-style.
Shaking, I stood, walking over to. Who looked up at me with her eyes wide.
"E-Erica, can I...?" I tried asking, but words failed me.
"Sure," she replied quietly as she stood. "It's just a dare. Just something between friends, right?"
"Yeah... friends."
That's all we were, anyways.
After some hesitation and a few awkward attempts, Erica and I had our arms wrapped around each other, my head resting on her shoulder. I thought she would pull away quickly, but she didn't. Oddly, neither did I.
My earlier fears seemed to slowly dissolve, thanks to the warmth of her body. I felt my stomach churn, but it felt strangely... good.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I do believe we need to move on to the next person!" Cyrus interjected, making us quickly break apart and sit back down in our respective spots, too embarrassed to even look at each other.
"Er... Chip?" I squeaked out.
"I'll take a dare!"
"Um..."
"Hey, Ben?" Mike whispered as he tapped me on the shoulder. "Make him sing."
"Is coaching allowed?" Cyrus asked.
"Well, in theory, no," Catherine replied. "But why not?"
"Okay, Chip. Sing us a country song!" I dared.
"... no."
"Aw, c'mon!"
"I don't sing!"
"BULLCRAP!" Mike and Zoe shouted simultaneously.
"You did just fine on the cadences!" Alexander recalled.
"Sir, those are cadences, where it's participation over quality. I don't sing!" Chip fired back.
"Just do it, bro!" Jawa urged, punching his friend in the shoulder. "You've got this!"
"Urgh... fine... Jawa, pick one."
Jawa pulled out his phone, typing in something and handing it to Chip. The southerner cleared his throat and tapped the device, causing guitar music to play while Chip sang along to the music.
(Play it and sing along! I'd say that Chip's accent is on this level or deeper [still not sure]. Obviously, I don't own the song nor the video.)
Met a man wearin' a t-shirt, said, "Virginia is for lovers"
Had a Bible in his left hand and a bottle in the other
He said, "All you're really given is the sunshine and your name"
We both started laughin' when the sky started to rain
Get along, on down the road
We've got a long, long way to go
Scared to live, scared to die
We ain't perfect but we try
Get along while we can
Always give love the upper hand
Paint a wall, learn to dance
Call your mom, buy a boat
Drink a beer, sing a song
Make a friend, can't we all get along
Saw a model on a billboard, 1-800 get to know me
Wondered, was she photoshopped, or were her eyes really that lonely?
Did she leave her hometown thinkin' she'd end up in L.A.?
Did she break down in the desert and get stuck beside the highway?
Get along, on down the road
We've got a long, long way to go
Scared to live, scared to die
We ain't perfect but we try
Get along while we can
Always give love the upper hand
Paint a wall, learn to dance
Call your mom, buy a boat
Drink a beer, sing a song
Make a friend, can't we all get along
We find out when you die, the keys to heaven can't be bought
We still don't know what love is but we sure know what it's not
Sometimes you got
To get along
Down the road
We've got a long, long way to go
Scared to live, scared to die
We ain't perfect but we try
Get along while we can
Always give love the upper hand
Paint a wall, learn to dance
Call your mom, buy a boat
Drink a beer, sing a song
Make a friend, can't we all get along
Once again, Chip surprised us all with his amazing singing voice, resulting in everyone loudly cheering and applauding (save for Cyrus, of course, who opted for an approving nod). He seemed to blush, nodding quickly before sitting down.
"You've got a good set of pipes, kid," Cyrus complimented.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"You oughta be a professional country singer!" Zoe exclaimed. "You've certainly got the talent!"
"And the origin story!" Mike added. "Chip Schacter: Wholesome Redneck!"
"I may be a redneck, but I'm not one to perform! And no, the cadences don't count! In any case, Alexander, truth or dare?"
"Um... truth, I suppose."
"What's a cool spy story you can tell us... that's true?" Chip asked.
Alexander seemed to ponder the question for a bit before finally responding.
"It's honestly one that I forgot about until your question reminded me of it. About ten years back, I was on an op with another officer and we had a tail. We lost each other in our rush to escape, but it had only served to buy me a little time. I decided to follow the protocol and meet the officer at the designated rally point (RP). However, I needed transportation, so I traded my Rolex for some civvy's old car and drove it to the RP. I picked up the guy and we went on our way," he recalled. "I couldn't really tell you much else except that the op was ultimately successful, save for the fact that he got a pretty bad injury and lost his memory."
"Wait, so is that why you always wear a Rolex?" Catherine asked, sounding shocked. "Or, at least why you always used to wear one?"
"Yep, pretty much. Cash, even the American greenback, is sometimes limited and bulky. Precious metals are almost certainly universal, but they're on the bulkier side. Damn near anyone can tell you what a Rolex is, and add to the fact that it's shiny, looks valuable, and is easily portable, and you've got yourself the ultimate bargaining chip to get out of most situations. I traded it for a car, but you can use it for other things, too. That officer that got amnesia was actually the guy that taught me the trick. He saw my Rolex and showed me his matching one, telling me how to use it in a life-or-death scenario. He was a Green Beret before being recruited into the Agency, and a smart man. Never knew what happened to him afterwards."
"That's a good trick," Cyrus admitted. "I've honestly never heard of that one."
"Oh, so that's why you got me that Rolex for my eighteenth birthday!" Erica exclaimed.
"Trust me, kiddo, while I still like to look good every now and again, I stay practical most of the time," he promised. "Anyways, Erica, darling, I believe it's your turn."
"Ugh... truth."
"Who is your best friend and why?"
I was honestly expecting a reply along the lines of: "I don't need friends. They disappoint me." Then again, Erica had changed.
"Um... Ben?" she replied, seemingly hesitantly.
"One, I'm insulted," Zoe scoffed. "Two, why?"
"Er... I've known him longer than all of you!"
"Yeah, that won't cut it. I've got friends back in California that I've known longer than Chip, but they ain't my best friends," Jawa interjected.
"Um... he's nice? Friendly?"
"Not bad on the eyes, either, eh?" Zoe asked teasingly with a wink, leaning over and lightly shoving Erica.
"S-shut up!" Erica scolded with a red face, slapping the laughing New Yorker's arm.
'Me? I'm her best friend?!?'
'Oh, shut up!' that strange voice replied. 'Enough of the negativity! It ain't helping you in the slightest!'
'But—'
'NO!'
"So... does this mean Berica will happen?" Catherine asked with a grin.
"WHAT IS 'BERICA?'" Erica shouted in frustration. I wasn't sure how for someone so smart, she couldn't realize what it was. It literally said it in the name.
"I knew this game was childish," Cyrus mumbled.
"Maybe we oughta just halt for now, okay?" Alexander asked, trying to calm everyone. "I think we have something we need to take care of first: the Secret Santa."
"Right, so here's the deal: remember the price limit, make sure it's a surprise. Y'all ready?" Jawa asked.
"Let's do it!" Chip replied, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "This oughta be interestin'!"
A pencil, a sheet of paper, and a hat later, Jawa had prepared a drawing. The plan was that he would draw a folded piece of paper and hand it to each of us, and we'd have to go on that.
"... and finally, for me," Jawa finished, drawing the final piece of paper.
Jawa POV
'Catherine... this is gonna be awkward.'
Chip POV
'Cyrus... hoo boy.'
Alexander POV
'Jawa... well, this oughta be good.'
Catherine POV
'Chip... this may or may not be problematic.'
Cyrus POV
'Alexander...'
Mike POV
'Zoe... shopping might just get interesting.'
Zoe POV
'Mike, eh? This'll be fun!'
Ben POV
'Erica... shoot.'
Erica POV
'Ben... CRAPCRAPCRAPCRAP—'
Everyone's POV (SIMULTANEOUSLY)
'Christmas morning is going to be a weird one...'
I know, I know, this is way too long...
Anyways, this chapter was meant to be focused primarily on bonding time in which the little CIA (plus MI6) family got to know each other a little better. I hope you were able to catch the numerous references in here. There will be more development and investigations into the enigmatic inner machinations of each character's mind in future chapters.
Be warned, the update schedule is... inconsistent.
As always, questions are welcome in the comments. Everyone be safe, and don't forget to hydrate!
Until we meet again.
- ADF-2