He’d been obnoxious about the Venn diagram discussion. Intellectually, regardless of what he told Henri, he could recognize the value of such a proposition, and frankly it really wasn’t that much different in its objective than many of the threat or target analysis discussions he’d either ran or participated in previously. Course, stylistically, anything related to the Alliance was a free for all. Instead, it had been the shock of finally hearing Bryce stating that we needed to concentrate on finding Brij. He agreed wholeheartedly, and well, wanted to start immediately, wanted to rid the world of English and the sadistic bastards who worked for him, and both seemed likely to help him protect his family, especially Olivia, too young and unknowing to protect herself. Combining that with the shocks of the day at the track and the bar afterwards and his emotions were slipping even further out of control.

It had finally ended, long after he’d quit paying attention, which if he were honest was about five minutes into the discussion. The point had been made fairly quickly, after all this time of him saying it, that targeting English would lead to info on Anubis, English, and most importantly, Brij, and help solve all the objectives.

Like a bee attracted to honey, he’d quickly become more distracted by Shawna. Where she’d got the shorts she was wearing, he had no idea, but the old army t-shirt was his, and he’d always been a sucker for a girl in uniform, not that he was going to tell her that anywhere near Amelia. In his old room, the “uniform” had quickly come off.

---

 

As peaceful as it had been to sleep the first night after coming home, he couldn’t fall asleep afterwards. The shocks of the day with Olivia at the race and then at the bar afterward kept him awake. Was it coincidence that Mum had encouraged them to go the to the race? Did she know about Olivia, that Amelia was still alive and the he had known about Olivia, even before the “accidents” and not told her? It’s not like he knew before he left for Timor, and he certainly had not expected it when Amelia broke it off via a fucking letter. Yes, he was mature enough to understand that he had run from the pain of the news when he volunteered for Iraq the first time. He’d never really come home again since.

That thought triggered the endless what ifs that he ran through almost all day, every day. What if he hadn’t gone to Iraq, the wounds, the medals, the next mission, the promotions. Ran from home, ran from really any family connection except Brij. Could he have stopped all this from occurring if he’d come home long ago? Really come home? Would Brij still be alive? Could he have been a real father to Olivia?

The sounds echoing down the hall finally broke through the endless cycle of self-recriminations. Where the hell did Whitley thing she fucking was? The walls in this damn house weren’t that insulated, they never had been, much to the chagrin of Brett’s young fiancee Amelia all those years ago, and with the sounds and his hearing it was likely he could have heard her and Jeremy all the way down at the fucking port.

He looked down at the purple hair laying on his chest. She brought the only peace he’d really had in years, and it was just a matter of time until he fucked it up or she got killed, or, even worse, realized she could do better.

He sighed, and slid quietly out of the bed. The second night home and his paranoia and guilt were rolling back in waves, crashing into his mind like a tsunami after the peace of the night before. He threw on some old sweats, and padded quietly down the stairs, pausing at the stairs at the sounds from the kitchen.

“Mum, I didn’t realize you were awake,” he sad quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping Bryan on the couch.

“These walls aren’t that insulated, honey,” she said and he smiled briefly, before blushing furiously.

She smiled at him, before opening the old frig, “Glass of milk?”

“I’m not sure that will solve all the world’s problems any more than it did twenty years ago, Mum.”

She sighed, “It’s not supposed to son. You are just like him, both the bonza ‘n’ the not-so-bonza. ‘N’ yes, I know you don’t want to hear that, any more than you did last night, or five years ago or fifteen. He couldn’t see all that he had for awhile ‘n’ got lost. Your leaving accomplished one thing, it broke him out of that cycle, but you couldn’t forgive him, ‘n’ he was too stubborn and guilty to come to you. So you left, ‘n’ eventually you all left, ‘n’ then, well he karked-it of a broken heart because he blamed himself. ‘N’ like the circle of life you are doing it to yourself. Don’t think I can’t tell.”

“I don’t know how to fix any of it, Mum. All I can think of is all that I couldn’t stop, all I’ve lost.”

“Brett,” she reached out, grabbing his hand, “that’s no way to live. You need to let it go.”

“I’m afraid, Mum. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m…..I….” and the silent hunter known as Killer Ghost, the Alliance’s Ghost Venom, sobbed brokenly into his mother’s embrace.

She held him for a long time as the pain shook through him, shuddering repeatedly in her arms, as her eldest son finally came home.

After he had finally quieted, she said, “Before you go back upstairs to your sheila, go look in the barn. And when you get up in the morning, take it and show her your home.”

“Just take it one day at time, son. Stop trying to control everything.”