Author's Note: Pre-Series, pre-first pilgrimage set up. Same context as my other stories, so this is basically a prequel to my story 118 Days Later.

Disclaimer is as usual – no profit, not mine, just borrowing.

The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure.- Joseph Campbell

"Corporal Washington!" Alicia looks up sharply, eyeing her current C.O. He's a lieutenant here at the supply depot where she is assigned, and he's the worst kind of pencil pusher – the kind who enjoys pushing the pencils.

Internally, she feels like heaving a sigh and literally walking away, but her face, as usual, betrays nothing. "Yes, sir?" God, she hates calling this man "sir."

"Are the requisition form summaries complete?" The man, three inches shorter than her and reed thin, attempts to appear intimidating. He fails miserably.

She levels a hard look at him. "Yes, sir. They're in your inbox, have been since zero nine hundred. Yesterday."

The man looks to be, temporarily at least, at a loss. Then, he huffs out a breath. "Thank you, Corporal. Carry on."

"With what?" Alicia thinks, this time sighing out loud as her C.O. disappears. She can't take this much longer.

Her body is now healed from her near-fatal shooting, and she's still riding a desk. She has put in for every field position she can think of, sniper, scout, medic, to no avail. Even though she has passed all of her quals and evals, no one seems willing to take her on. Sixteen months and change out from that day in Somalia, and she is mired in bureaucratic hell, a munitions and supply depot.

Her job these days is entirely safe and predictable, or at least as safe as living with their toxic environment can be. But as safe as she is, she feels like her soul, her spirit is dying, and she has no idea how to get out of this place.

She had no problem taking this position eight months ago. Back then, she was not long out of PT, barely cleared for light duty. Now, she's physically one hundred percent, but seemingly stuck in this dead-end job. She sighs again. She's due a break, so she stands up and heads up to the roof of the building.

She puts on her rebreather as she steps out onto the roof, a cold breeze hitting her in the face. It's quiet up here, and it's always deserted. She walks over to the wall, sinking down with her back against it, drawing her knees to her chest. After a moment, she pulls out her dog tags, pressing a small button on them.

Instantly, a picture set pops up, and she begins to scroll through them, smirking at the thought that a rule follower like her actually hacked her tags. She lands on a picture of their unit, just a few days before Alicia's last disastrous day in Somalia, the day that left ninety percent of their unit dead. She scrolls to the next photo. It's of her and Commander Nathaniel Taylor, both of them doused in some sort of mud, both of them laughing.

She stares at the picture, thinking about the Commander. When his wife and son, Ayani and Lucas, were taken in Somalia, he'd gone after them. It was the same day Alicia nearly died in an ambush, overrun by insurgent guerrillas. It was weeks before she saw Commander Taylor again, and that was at Ayani's funeral back here in the states.

Alicia had taken three bullets to the torso, one to her abdomen and two to her chest, one just an inch or so above her heart. When she found out about the funeral, she called the only other surviving members of their unit. The two of them, both now re-deployed to one war zone or another, showed up at the hospital with her dress uniform and a wheelchair.

Ignoring the protests of the medical staff, they got her dressed, into the chair and, from there, into a waiting car. She'd hated having to use the wheelchair, but at that point, she was barely strong enough to even stand up. Walking was nearly impossible.

They'd wheeled her up to the graveside service just before it started, and she saw Nathaniel and Lucas sitting in the front row, Nathaniel, looking shell-shocked, sitting on the end. Lucas was next to him, and his appearance was disheveled and angry, so different from the child Alicia had known for over six years by then. As much as she'd been worried about Lucas, though, her focus was on Nathaniel.

The guys somehow knew that, and before she could protest, they pushed her chair up next to Nathaniel's. They disappeared into the back rows, leaving her there. At first, she thought Nathaniel didn't know it was her, but then his hand snaked out and took hers, clinging to it with a death grip. He held her hand for the duration of the service. They'd spoken briefly afterwards, but her energy was gone, her listing in her chair, unable to sit up straight.

Other than an occasional note and one brief visit before she started PT, she hasn't heard from him since. Even though it shouldn't, that makes her heart hurt. She knows he needs time to grieve, but above all else, he is her friend. She's also heard rumors of a rift with Lucas, something that also bothers her.

She scrolls to the last photo on her tags, one taken the last Christmas before everything went to hell. For years, Alicia spent leave and holidays with the Taylors. They knew she didn't have a family left, and Nathaniel just dragged her home with him. Over the course of those leaves and holidays, Alicia became close friends with Ayani. They were as different as night and day, but they were somehow on the same wavelength. In Ayani, Alicia found the older sister she'd never had.

Alicia stares at the photo, one of her and Ayani that last Christmas. Her heart aches for Nathaniel and Lucas, but she'd be lying if she said it didn't ache for herself as well. For the second time, her family is apparently gone.

She closes the picture file and pockets her tags, knowing she should get back to her desk. But she stays where she is, suddenly less-than-concerned about what she should do. Over the last few months, she's gotten calls about private contracting jobs, consulting work on a variety of things related to her military service.

She has, until now, blown off all of those calls. Maybe it's time, though, to listen to them. She really has no desire to resign her commission, but she knows she can't do this desk work forever. It's killing her just as surely as those bullets should have.

Shaking her head and realizing that she needs to make a decision soon, she pushes herself up to her feet. As she heads back downstairs, she mentally draws a line in the sand – if she doesn't get moved back into the field in the next four weeks, she's going to find a new job, one outside of the service.

As she re-enters the floor her cubicle is on, she is startled by a voice. "There you are Corporal, ma'am! You have a visitor, he's waiting for you in the lieutenant's office!" She turns to see one of the young privates who works in the office, clearly waiting for her to return.

She nods quickly. "Thank you, Private. Dismissed."

The young woman salutes and leaves, and Alicia heads for the lieutenant's office. When she gets there, the door stands open, and she can see that the lieutenant is talking to someone seated in front of him. She can also see that the lieutenant looks terrified. She knocks lightly on the door frame. "I was told there's someone here to see me, sir?"

The voice that replies is the last voice she expected to hear. Instead of the lieutenant's nervous, slightly high-pitched voice, she hears a low drawl, almost a growl. "That there is, Wash."

Knowing exactly who it is and yet not quite believing it, she turns quickly, automatically going to attention and saluting as she does. "Commander Taylor, sir."

He arches an eyebrow at her formality, and her eyes immediately stray to the lieutenant at the desk. A light appears to go on over Nathaniel's head, and he nods. "Lieutenant," he turns to her C.O., "May I borrow your office for a moment to speak with the corporal? I'd be much obliged."

The man blinks in surprise, and then he stammers, "Of course, sir. Take as long as you need," before bolting from the room, closing the door behind him.

Nathaniel chuckles lightly, but Alicia stays at attention, honestly not knowing what to expect. He frowns a little, standing up and walking over to her. "Jesus, Wash, at ease." She goes to parade rest, turning her eyes up to meet his. She's surprised to see affection there, and she's even more surprised to see something akin to fear in them. "You look good, Wash. A lot better than when I saw you in the hospital before they moved you to the rehab facility."

Before she can stop them, words come tumbling from her mouth. "I sure as hell hope I look better, sir, since that was over a year ago." She hates herself for the hurt she hears in her voice, but, if nothing else, at least it's honest. She knows that in that sentence, between her words and tone, she told him just how bad the last year has been.

He flinches, and he looks down briefly. She wonders if she stepped over a line just now. If she did, she can't be too sorry, as it's a line that was never there before, one she didn't know she needed to beware of. But his response, spoken in a low, soft voice, surprises her.

"I'm sorry, Wash. I'm sorry I disappeared on you. You deserved better than that from me. I just couldn't," he pauses, swallowing hard, and she can see him struggling for the right words, something unusual for him. His voice drops even lower. "I was just lost for a bit. Still am somewhat, but I'm starting to see daylight. But that's no excuse for dropping out when you didn't have anyone else. That's no excuse for you having to go through the hell you went through alone."

He looks up at her, and he looks so distraught, so remorseful, that any hurt she felt disintegrates in an instant. She takes a deep breath, deciding to take a shot in the dark. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

He gives her a crooked, half-smile. "Always, Wash."

She can't help her slight blush at that, but she mentally brushes the minor self-consciousness away, focusing instead on her intended action towards him. It's one almost entirely out of character for her, and if her earlier words stepped over a line, this will clear the line and then some, leaving it behind in the dust.

He looks at her expectantly, but instead of saying something, she steps closer to him. After a brief moment's hesitation, she simply wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him close to her and resting her head on his shoulder.

At first, he tenses. A few moments pass, and she begins to think she might've made a huge miscalculation. But then, he expels a breath and his arms wrap tight around her, holding her so tight to him that it's actually a little difficult to breathe. She's not sure how long they stand there like that, clinging to each other as if their lives depend on it, before he whispers, "Thank you, Alicia."

She turns her head to look up at him, confused. "For what?"

"Forgiving me."

She knows she could be a smart ass here, give him a harder time, but his gratitude is almost palpable. Instead, she smiles. "Always, sir."

He chuckles, squeezing her even tighter for a moment before releasing her and stepping back, probably realizing that the lieutenant will likely want his office back soon. Ignoring the slight awkwardness of the moment, he clears his throat. "So, I actually came here for more than a hug, Wash."

She snorts, glad that things seem to be normalizing between them. "Do tell, sir."

"I have something to give you and something to offer you." He grins at her.

"OK…" She furrows her brow at him, giving him an unsure smile.

He turns to where he'd been sitting, and he picks up a small messenger bag style briefcase. He pulls an envelope from it and hands it to her, nodding at her to open it. She does, her brow still furrowed in confusion. Within seconds after opening the envelope and starting to read the letter inside, the confusion turns to shock. She looks up at him. "Sir?"

His grin is even wider now. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Washington. And I'm sorry the idiots in charge failed to follow my recommendation sooner."

"Your recommendation?"

He nods. "I put in for your promotion back in Somalia. When I found out it had been languishing and that you were stuck here, I went a little nuts on them at command. They weren't surprised though. They all already think I'm crazy. Which brings me to my offer."

"If it's a post in the field, the answer is yes." She doesn't care what it is, she just wants to get the hell out of this place.

He lifts an eyebrow at her. "It's something of an adventure, Wash. And how it will turn out is completely up in the air."

She rolls her eyes. "So, just one of our regular missions, then?"

He laughs, but at the same time, he shakes his head. "Not exactly."

She's starting to get impatient. "Well, spit it out, sir."

His grin returns. "Tell me, Wash – how do you feel about dinosaurs?"