Disclaimer: TaleSpin still belongs to Disney and all I can do is dream about the good ol' days when series such as TaleSpin were being created and supported by the Mouse. My toleration for Disney is gone, but TaleSpin still belongs to them and all credit for it and the characters that were created goes to them, as well as my humble thanks for one last stab of dabbling in such a fascinating world.

Author's Notes: All thanks goes, as always, to the Spinners of the TS community. Although they change, the fan-base remains essentially the same, terrific. You're all wonderful and if you hadn't provided me with feedback for ongoing three years, I would have never finished this. Thank you, it truly means the world to me that SOI will be read and understood for what I wanted it to be, a message.

To Alissa, LOL, thank you so much for your comments. To answer your question, since it is a very good one, in the SOI universe Kit turns of age when the war is winding down. Some historians say there was no way to know when the war would actually end, but the truth is that the end was in sight. So Kit, respecting Baloo and Rebecca's wishes, didn't enlist to fight, he went over to use his skills as a pilot in some other way. This, obviously, didn't fit his character and didn't satisfy him and it's a good thing too, or else where would my story be? :-) So the rest of the story is devoted to this tug of war between the three, letting Kit go and trying to support him but having to deal with the consequences of war. Tough decision. I hope that answers your question, (It's actually based off of my grandfather, who turned 18 the day the war ended with the Japanese so he couldn't fight but was immediately shipped to Korea for peace-keeping there, in 1945. Five years before the Korean War would start. Go figure)

Just one more thing; This is the darkest of my chapters, in my own opinion, so you have been warned. There are, obviously, lines I don't want to cross but in terms of violence and other things, it might even gain an 'R' rating, but hopefully not.

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Aftermath

Have you forgotten yet?.....

For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,

Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:

And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow

Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,

Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.

But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game......

Have you forgotten yet?

Look down, and swear by the slain of War that you'll never forget.

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz--

The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?

Do you remember the rats; and the stench

Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--

And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?

Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'

Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--

And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then

As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?

Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back

With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey

Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

Have you forgotten yet?.....

Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget

-Siegfried Sassoon, March 1919

May 1945

Falkans, Europa

"Coohee, did you _ever_ see such a mess as 'is?" Baloo was staring out the window of the Sea Duck. The view that greeted him was unlike any he could ever imagine.

Max, who had finally stopped grumbling about the choice of who got to fly, glanced out of his own window and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Now what's that about? You can't possibly tell me that this was what you expected, kid." Baloo growled, his own mood strained.

"We saw worse where we was at before. I thought the war was harsher here."

"Oh, come off it kid. I...well, I sure don't know how those folks down there will ever be able to pick themselves up again." Baloo scoffed at the younger pilot.

Max shrugged again and settled down further into his seat. Baloo stared at him for a minute, memories overtaking him.

The only one to have sat there for years was Kit. *Kit should be there now*

If Baloo looked long enough he could see the boy he'd once known. Skinny, hair that flopped over a tough but vulnerable face. That baggy sweater that had covered his short, lean form. That hat, Baloo's first gift to his navigator.

"I got somethin' on my face, Baloo?"

Baloo blinked and it was Max there. _Of course_ it was Max, not Kit. The gray bear had lost himself in a kind, yet dangerous fantasy. Kit, though he'd grown up, hadn't really changed in Baloo's eyes.

He would always be the boy that Baloo associated things with that the older bear never thought he wanted, or could have. Like family, or the love for a child. _His_ child.

"Just......rememberin'"

Baloo turned his attention back to flying, always his own escape. But not before he caught that flash of sympathy that had first made him like the younger pilot.

Baloo, feeling a bit raw inside, took a plunge. "How old was yer brother, kid?"

Max blanched and Baloo immediately regretted his rash question.

"I'm, sorry kiddo. Really. Didn't mean to-"

"Nineteen. He was only nineteen."

Baloo gulped. Younger than Kit. Dear God.

Max's face was stoic, except for the eyes. "He didn't have a sweetheart or anythin' back home, if that's somethin' else you want to know. Just me, and my mom."

Baloo didn't want to ask, and he was spared the trouble. "She did take it rough. I guess I shoulda come home. But I couldn't, you think that was wrong?"

Max looked sincere and Baloo felt a twinge inside before shaking his head. The large bear actually understood, he knew where he _should_ be, but couldn't be just yet. To go back to Higher for Hire now would mean that Kit....Kit might never....he would be gone.

Baloo unclenched his fists, catching Max's look of concern.

"Yeah, sure is a mess."

Baloo raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. "You still got the directions we need?"

"Yeah, but like I told ya Baloo, the guy was pretty direct. He thought we were both off our rockers fer even considerin' comin' here. I said you wanted to make sure."

Max suddenly seemed to realize that he'd picked his words poorly. "Or wanted to search for someone."

Baloo himself was too tired to take offense. Tired from flying and even more exhausted from fighting off that same thought that Max had unconsciously voiced. He needed to be sure that Kit wouldn't be coming home. That he was really dead.

There, that thought. He'd finally, finally done it. He'd formed the word, but the image......

It passed before Baloo's eyes. Kit, his body broken and bloody and that face that Baloo loved more than anything else slack and empty. All of the life, the dreams, hopes, everything gone in a heartbeat.

"Are you all right Baloo?" Now Max seemed truly concerned.

"Talk kid. Just talk right now. Get me outta this, I think I'm gonna be sick."

Max made to undo his safety belt. "You wanna change places?"

The look that Baloo gave him was sufficient enough for him to sit back down in a hurry. "Just askin'" He grumbled. "Got you thinkin' of somethin' else, right?"

But Baloo wasn't. Not really.

"I _hate_ him."

Max folded and unfolded his hands carefully before replying. He didn't even need to ask who it was the other pilot was referring to.

"Because of Kit? I'm not fond of him either. He's a real bastard, actually. But.....Kit went off on his own. Eric should have told him, tried to stop him, _something_ sure, but Kit would've probably still gone. It was wrong what Eric did, but he's not the only one, Baloo."

Baloo looked at Max and the dog immediately felt like the lowest scum being scrapped off of an abandoned fish tank.

"I don't care what that son of a bitch did or didn't do. He's alive, and Kit isn't. Kit deserved to live, he was the best soul anyone could ever know. He was good, _really_ good, and smart and just....amazing. And he's dead, and that _Eric_ for everythin' he did and saw is still alive. I can't forgive that."

Max felt like he couldn't breathe. The grief, that terrible, incomprehensible grief that he thought he understood was only the tip of the iceberg. Baloo was crying. He was sobbing, his body heaving with the torture of the emotions that were being pulled from him.

"He's dead. Kid, my boy is dead, I'll never see him again, never. I'll never be able to...know, or tell him."

"I'm taking over." Max whispered. Baloo didn't offer any resistance. They switched places in one fluid motion.

Max felt all of his barriers shatter then. And he knew that he would never understand. The pain that the other pilot was going through was something deeper than what he'd yet experienced.

It felt like a weight on his own shoulders, and it hurt. No one should have to suffer this way. Not Baloo, not his lady friend back home....not his own mom. No one.

Baloo was still sobbing. "Kit, oh god. Kit! My boy, the best of anyone I ever knew. I loved him, Max. Why, why me? Why him? You gotta tell me."

"Baloo" Max's voice was soft but strong. Something in it finally broke through the agony that the bear was feeling.

"You don't know that Kit is dead. And you _cannot_ give up. I know you love him, hell someone'd _have_ to be dead not to see it. If you give up, then we can't be here. If you really believed he was dead, you wouldn't have had this half-baked idea to come here in the first place. Something won't let you give up and it won't allow you to let go of your son. I-"

Max drew a deep breath, the words that had come so slow and easy suddenly tangled on his tongue.

"I think that that something is Kit. I think that he's still alive, and that he loves and misses you every bit as much as you do him, and that bond, or connection or whatever damned hokey thing you wanna call it is pulling the both of you closer together. It's too precious to just throw away, so it won't let you rest until you find what you're missin'. Don't give up Baloo. We're landin' soon anyway."

Baloo was staring at the formerly abrasive youth like he'd never seen him before. In a way, he felt like he hadn't.

"Oh, shut up." Max finally snapped, though nothing had been said.

"Kid, er, if nothin' else, I sure glad ta have met ya on this little misadventure."

"Stuff it, big guy."

Baloo actually chuckled before focusing all of his attention back on the ground. Max's words, Eric's confession and the image of Kit gone forever were all warring inside of him. He didn't know what to let take control.

So he just listened to his companion complain about how it had been before the war had ended, with Eric as the taskmaster that he was and Kit and all of the rest of his fly buddies fighting the good fight.

It sounded like Eric, though neither of the two could ever really forgive him, had had compassion in him once. Though the older officer was far since removed from the pair's plans, he could never be too far away from their thoughts.

He was a reminder. Of what, Baloo wasn't yet certain. Maybe of survivors, of those who had courage simply because they remained behind while those they loved moved on. Maybe it was because of what he had lost and could never get back that reminded Baloo of what he never wanted to become.

It was so easy, though. The large pilot had thought that the racoon simply had a major personality flaw, or that he hadn't cared a whit about what happened to the boys under his leadership. But, really, he couldn't allow himself to care.

Baloo didn't want to know how that felt. Better to feel the pain, to know every part of it for the rest of his life, rather than to shut down and let life pass him by.

Eric would forever feel his own judgment, and then punishment. Baloo could never extract the kind of revenge that he somehow knew the veteran had placed on himself.

Maybe it was because he had been too far away from those he loved or too immersed in the terror that was all around, but Baloo didn't like this new insightful version of himself. He was almost getting reasonable and domesticated in his old age.

But it was the landscape beneath the Sea Duck that let Baloo know all he wanted to about hate, revenge and despair. Once beautiful, it was scarred and empty.

There were few living beings around, although the occasional group of refugees could be spotted far, far below. The lined faces spoke of a lifetimes' worth of loss. They seemed ready to suffer, indeed, they almost expected it.

Towns bombed out, crying children with no one to comfort them, people numbed and passive from the horrors they'd been subjected to.

It was different here. The rebuilding after the shock of war, with the shame tinged with determination that came with facing a catastrophe of a world war didn't exist here. There was only the endless struggle.

Baloo felt a nasty premonition in his heart. It wouldn't end. If he ever had to return here, it would be as though he'd never left.

And that, more than anything he'd seen before, even the emaciated survivors he'd glimpsed, terrified him. If it never stopped, then those like him, Max, Rebecca, even Kit would forever be caught in the crossfire. And for anyone to have gone through the pain and worry that they all had was a terrible punishment indeed.

The airfield, nearly deserted with sad skeletons of planes littering the runway, was in sight. Max seemed competent enough behind the Sea Duck's controls and Baloo, lost in the moment of truth that he had not asked for, became lost even more in his own memories.....~

January 1936

Thembrian border

Through the snow and sleet that kept icing up the Sea Duck's windshield, Baloo peered out, looking at the this glacial world.

He never liked Thembria, never really got used to it no matter how many times he came here.

But now, he hated it more than ever. Every little thing was making him tense and panicky, the winds, the foul weather, the ice that could play havoc on a pilot's breaks as they tried to land on what looked like a safe runway.

Baloo squeezed his eyes shut. There were a thousand and one ways for someone inexperienced to be seriously hurt or......the large bear gulped, not able to wrap his usually carefree mind around a thought of that magnitude. A thousand and one ways, when the sun was shining and the weather was perfect.

Here, for a kid to get into a plane would be like signing a death warrant. Baloo was squeezing the controls, fighting to re-master his emotions.

Kit's seat was empty, Gods Baloo hated it that way!! He hated it when he and the boy exchanged words and the knowledge that he may have driven Kit away wouldn't leave him in peace.

If anything should ever happen to that kid. *No!!* Cowardly thought it may be, Baloo couldn't let himself think that way. He'd known Kit Cloudkicker for a matter of months only, and it still surprised him how much he cared for the boy.

He thought back to a week earlier, had it only been a week? It seemed so much longer, with his constant moping at work and Louie’s and Becky’s looks of nervousness, of concern. They had been equally worried, the both of them, but had said nothing so as to ease his mind.

As if anything could. Baloo knew, he _knew_ that he shouldn't have lost his temper, it always made him put his foot in his mouth. And sometimes it could be a substantial mouth, and a pretty damned large foot at that.

It had been the sight of the Sea Duck careening out of control and smashing into those rocks that had done it. Surprisingly, his thoughts hadn't been on the plane's welfare at all. They had all centered on the boy inside of it. He no longer wondered about when that had changed, it had and permanently and that was all she wrote.

He felt an emotion he wasn't used to feeling, and the suddenness of it, the power had made him angry. He had no understanding of it and the brief but horrifying images that it caused to play across his mind wasn't something he could shake off easily.

It could have been worse. As it was the sight of Kit jumping out from the pilot's seat, safe and sound had made him so heady with relief that all he had wanted to do was hug the boy and shake him at the same time.

The snow was worsening and Baloo knew he had to concentrate, though it was difficult. He wondered if his mind had really been on anything at all since Kit had left, except his navigator.

He sighed heavily, the thoughts of Kit hurt, crushed beneath the equipment of some airplane he wasn't ready to fly making him nauseous. Any thought of the kid in danger, with him unable to urge the Sea Duck to go faster, no matter how fluent his cursing, was aging him.

That damned accident. Why had he acted the way he had? Why hadn't he just told Kit how much the boy had scared him, hugged him and left it at that? He knew how much flying meant to Kit, it was one of the things that the two had in common. He also knew that the kid had his pride and Baloo was loath to insult it.

He not only cared deeply for the boy, but respected him as well. He couldn't stand the thought of hurting him, especially on purpose.

And now, who knew what was going to happen?

"Hurry up, c'mon old gal, just a little faster. Our navigator is out there, please c'mon." Baloo coaxed his plane, and it may or may not have been his imagination but it seemed it picked up just a little more extra speed. How he wished for that hyperdrive now!

No matter, Kit had been saved from that experience, thank God. And now, here was another one.

~Only Thembrians would be crazy enough to let a kid like _you_ fly.~

~Now _what_ were you doin'?!~

~You coulda got hurt~

What was this power that kid had over him? The one that made him, free-flyin', free-spirited and free-wheelin' Baloo like the shaken old Papa Bear he was now? How had he gotten here?

*You can just turn around.* A sly voice spoke up in his head. *Just leave him behind. He doesn't need you and you don't need this aggravation. C'mon, this is your life after all. No ties, no worries, just the sky and your plane, nothing to hold you down. You can't _like_ feelin' this way about some kid you aren't even related to? You're past feelin' sorry for him, just let him go.*

Baloo's eyes were squeezed shut. He wanted to, sometimes, just let the boy go. But he couldn't. He was cowardly and selfish that way and he really hated himself for it. He did need Kit, and he cared about him too much to ever let him go.

Kit might not return the sentiment, but Baloo knew that he himself was a weak-willed old pilot who depended on the kid, though for what he really wasn't sure.

He saw lights far in the distance and heaved a sigh of relief which quickly caught in his throat when he saw the planes on the runway. There didn't seem to be anyone in them yet, thank goodness, but Baloo knew he needed to land, apologize to Kit and get them both the hell out of here, pronto.

His rogue thoughts continued on their haphazard path tonight, plaguing Baloo with different memories.

He thought back to a few months before. After Mr. Alias Dan Dawson had been arrested. After he had come so close to hurting his boy.

Baloo shook his head, _his_ boy? At the time, the large bear was so overcome with rage, near hatred, that he hadn't even guessed at his emotions.

All he saw was Kit, falling without support from that airplane towards those rings of fire. It was a nightmare that would stay with him for the rest of his life, but he could live with that. He had arrived just in time.

There was, however, the fact that just when he thought he couldn't despise that blowhard more for what he had done to his navigator, Kit had told him what had happened in the moments before Baloo had gotten there.

Kit had said, his young face twisting with uncertainty at Baloo's clouded expression, that Dan had stood over him with a long knife, cutting his restraints. The image that assaulted Baloo had been so vivid it nearly made him sick. That maniac, standing over _his_ boy with something like that.

He could just hear the fear in Kit's voice, the way it sometimes broke under pressure. God it was horrible. If his mind could produce such disturbing images, Baloo didn't know what it would have been like to actually see it. After Kit had told him, Baloo had gone into such a black rage that even the boy had been wary of him.

So he had went to pay ol' Dawson a visit in jail. Before he went, he had indulged himself by watching Kit in the bed beside his, sleeping. It was a very sweet gift that he had simply taken for granted before, that the child was here and safe.

He couldn't resist hugging Kit very tightly before leaving, to remind himself of....things. Kit had returned the embrace and the two had stayed that way for a time, leaning on each other.

Baloo really had to restrain himself when he entered Dan's cell. He wanted to pound that miserable low-life's smug face in, but he knew that it wouldn't do any good. The only thing that eased his mind was the fact that Kit was safe and back home, where he belonged.

Dan looked up at the large pilot uneasily. The fury and pure disgust wasn't even concealed on the bear's expression.

"I outta pound you." Baloo growled and Dan whimpered, looking out of his cell to where some guards, or perhaps an axe-murderer, might be preferable to this gentleman.

"You threatened my kid."

"_Your_ kid?" Dan spoke up, confused. "He said he was an orphan."

"An' that gives you the right to do what you did?!!" Baloo shouted, his eyes flashing. "He coulda been killed, and if even one finger had been damaged I woulda come huntin' for you. If you ever show yer miserable face to him again, I guarantee you won't be doin' any shows, or anythin' else for a long, _long_ time."

He turned and left, feeling somewhat appeased, but not completely. The playboy's words irked him. Kit wasn't his kid, not legally. Only in spirit, and emotionally did he know that the boy belonged to him.

A warmth spread through the large bear's chest at that thought. It didn't come from possessiveness, or his own comfort and well-being, it came from the thought that Kit would be there waiting for him at home when he arrived. The boy would be there, in the Sea Duck's seat beside him, for many more adventures.

He would be there for Baloo to wonder and be amazed at. The older pilot had never known a kid like Kit, he was truly one of a kind. The gray bear knew he would protect Kit, legally his or not, with his life from that moment on. The protectiveness and gentleness the boy inspired was something utterly unfamiliar to him, and not at all unpleasant.

But here he was, he had let Kit slip through his fingers once again. Through his own faults, his oafish blindness. He would never learn.

Baloo landed the Sea Duck in record speed and jumped out, yelling Kit's name. His words caught in his throat when he saw the boy in a far plane, and it was taking off.

He nearly panicked. The rest was quite likely a haze. Everything only snapped back to clear view when he saw Kit's predicament. There was nothing he could do to help Kit or himself when they were in separate aircraft.

Baloo gulped. He would have to trust Kit, and by the stars sometimes it was difficult!!

"Pick up the _mike_ Little Britches." Baloo said urgently, knowing that Kit needed to calm down. He hoped his voice would let the navigator think more clearly, his life depended on it.

"Now, just do what I tell you Kit, it's gonna be all right." *No it's not!!* Screamed his inner voice but the pilot purposefully ignored it. "Ease that wheel back."

Kit tried valiantly but his voice came back, shrill with fear. "I can't do it Baloo!!"

*No, he has to. He just _has_ to!!* "Ease that wheel back!!" Baloo barked, harsher than he intended. He saw his navigator struggling against it without avail.

*He's too young, he's not strong enough. I knew it, _Damn_ I knew it!* "Pull back hard Kit, _Hard_!" Baloo was begging the kid, for them both.

*C'mon kid, you have to!! I believe in you.* And suddenly, the wheel was pushed back and Kit was soaring up, past the rock cliffs that would have spelled certain doom, to safety.

Baloo felt weak with relief and couldn't contain himself. "You did it!!" he whooped.

"No I didn't, _you_ did." Kit's voice was heavy with shame and Baloo felt a twinge of sympathy.

"Aw, don't say that Little Britches. You're gonna be a great pilot." The words came tumbling out and Baloo was surprised that he meant them. *But not for several years, thank you age limits.*

"Yeah, you really think so?" Kit's voice, so innocent and trusting, made younger by the sound of him obviously wanting Baloo to believe in him. Baloo shut his eyes. How could the boy not know how proud he was of him? How much he meant to him each day?

"Sure" Baloo gulped out, his voice steady. "Now, just land that thing so's I can fly you home."

*Home, now there's a thought I can live with*

"Roger, Papa Bear!" Kit still sounded like a child, a happy one playing a game that had nearly gotten him killed. Baloo grit his teeth and willed himself to be patient.

That old familiar anger was coming over him, as it always did when his fear had receded.

The plane wobbled dangerously when Kit landed it in a snow bank. The landing lesson was cut rather short by Baloo's overwhelming desire to get out of this winter wonderland.

Baloo had already landed the Sea Duck and hauled Kit away from that devil craft as forcibly as he dared.

Kit was looking up at him uncertainly and Baloo forced himself to ignore his expression.

He helped his navigator into his seat and then took off without ceremony, leaving the Thembrians to clean up their own mess.

*Great Patriotic Flounder. Whole country's mad as a hatter.*

As was becoming usual for the two, the conversation didn't begin until the Sea Duck was high in the air and a sense of security had returned to its cabin.

"Kit, I know that I shouldn't have to say anythin' to ya. But dammit, I’m _going_ to!!" Baloo yelled, his voice gaining volume as he lost his temper. "You could have been smashed to bits, you coulda been killed in so many ways! What were you _thinkin'_? Huh?! You scared twenty years offa me. I can't do this Kit! When will you ever think before you act? Don't you know how I felt when I got that postcard? Do you have any idea?!!"

Baloo was finally calming down and Kit was watching him in confusion.

"I-I, I'm sorry" Kit finally spoke up softly. "I just wanted you to be proud of me." The boy was twisting his fingers in his lap. His shame was making his face scarlet.

Baloo felt himself weaken. "How? By dyin'? Kit, you, oh just c'mere." The pilot's voice had become raspy and he held Kit as the boy clung to him. He rubbed his back and felt that strange, sudden emotion that came over him when he realized how it could have been. What it would have been like to return back to Higher for Hire, without Kit.

"Baloo!!" Kit gasped, "I need my ribs, I think!"

Baloo was crushing him without meaning to. "Sorry kiddo." But he didn't let the boy go, not yet.

*Not ever.* Came that voice again that Baloo knew so well. It was his own. *I can't ever let him go, pete's sake I wish I knew what's goin' to happen to me when he gets older.*

Finally, he set the boy back down on the floor, kissing his head and tossing that Thembrian cap aside.

"I worried you?" Kit asked, his young face so at odds with those old, uncomprehending eyes.

"Um, worried might not be the right word for it, Kit." Baloo said honestly. *More like terrified, sickened, the like*

"Don't do anythin' like that again, huh? Don't make me beg." Kit was staring at Baloo, truly at a loss.

"I, I er, didn't know. I thought, you would like a break, while I was doin'-" Kit cut himself off, ashamed at his own words.

Baloo's expression, his reaction so clearly showed how stupid that was that Kit didn't know how to respond. "I promise" he said quietly. That seemed good enough.

He didn't understand the large pilot sometimes. He supposed that Baloo felt the same way, often.

"Truth is, Baloo. I'm beat."

Baloo smiled at him tenderly. "Worked ya over, did they?"

Kit shrugged in that funny way of his. "Sorta. But I definitely don't want to ever see another turnip again as long as I live." He grimaced sincerely and Baloo's laughter was mixed with his own for quite some time.~

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March, 1919

Ypres Salient, re-visited

Eric calmly and carefully took the stack of books that his mother had sent him early on in the war out of his trunk. He had kept them here, safe behind the firing lines, and then forgotten about it.

If it wasn't food, it didn't help keep him dry and warm or even shrapnel-proof then he didn't want it. It was just added weight.

The books looked at him accusingly, their fine leather covers now cracked and dusty from the years of being covered and abandoned.

The gold leaf that encompassed the pages and the titles gleamed like something reborn. Eric stacked each of them very carefully and marched outside with them. He didn't want to read them, they were just what they had been when they had been sent to him, dead weight.

They had no value to him anymore.

His tent was close to the trenches, when a year ago it would have been impossible to be where he was and not be picked off by a sniper.

The place was still a hell-hole however. It didn't take the war for that. The parapets were still bloody and bullet-riddled. There were still long slippery boards everywhere, trying to keep the soldiers out of the suffocating mud.

It still rained sheets. Men still looked up from their huddles, the dampness dripping off of their lined faces, and Eric could still see the despair there.

No more wounded to drown in the lakes of mud, no more horses to hobble around on broken legs. No more fighting, but still it went on.

A cold wind blew through Eric's thin frame, blowing his unzipped bomber around him like a cape. He paid it no mind.

Several soldiers looked inquiringly at him as he trudged past but he didn't look up. A short burst of laughter could be heard far away, as well as distant strains of "Tipperary" and "We're Here..." The two songs were still as popular as they had been when soldiers were dying here like flies.

It didn't make sense. Eric, now a lieutenant, wanted to forget the last days of the war. He wanted to forget that frightened lad who would never see sunlight again, crying that he wanted to go home.

He couldn't allow himself to let go of the pictures that assaulted him. Of men, silent and pained, wanting nothing more than to join that lad and go home too. Tragic, all of them. The ones without limbs, without nerves and their health, without the ability to sleep. The ones who would spend the rest of their life at Sidcup, hiding away like living gargoyles.

Even the ones who were whole, and pink-cheeked and hearty.

"Can't go 'ome." One grizzled bear had growled, a digger who had been recruited in 1917. "Can't, me boy's gone of flu, wife's joined 'im. No 'ome to go to, nothin'." Then he hobbled off, had a cigarette and cried bitterly.

Eric remembered them all, all of their faces. He couldn't forget.

He took the books, with their bright pages and titles such as, "Fight the Hun! Our Crusade for Civilization!" and "War to End Wars. What Do You Think Is Worth Fighting For?"

Surprisingly, Eric felt a stab of strong, sickening emotion. It twisted inside, tormenting him.

He took the books, one by one, and ripped each and every page out slowly, meticulously and never glancing at any of them.

With two down, working on a third, a young soldier under him finally approached Eric, his young face showing his trepidation.

"Sir? Um, sir, are you all right?"

No answer. Just the slow, satisfying sound of ripping pages and then a *splat* as they landed in the mud.

"Can I ask what you're doing, sir?" The soldier asked quietly.

"Censoring." Eric said, his mouth quirking in a sardonic smile.

"Um, pardon me for the cheek sir but, uh, isn't censoring um, well, the complete opposite of what you're doing?"

Eric turned to look at the soldier, whose expression held no trace of humour or sarcasm. "What do you think?" Eric finally asked, his eyes betraying him. "What do you think of what I'm doing? Did I ask you?! Did I?!! This is the only kind o' censorin' that should be allowed."

"They're all *rip* bloody *rip* *rip* _murderers_. Killed 'em all, *rip*, _disgustin'_ eyewash! *rip* *rip* rot, pack of lies, _hate_ them *rip* *rip* *rip* God I _Hate_ them!!!"

Eric threw the rest of the books down in the mud and pushed the younger soldier away as hard as he could, not caring that when he started to walk away the soldier tried to salvage what was left of the mess.

It couldn't be salvaged.

"'Ey Eric. You need to go home, blighty's callin'. It's high time, head up north to Craiglockheart, do what's needed."

"Burn In Hell" Eric snapped viciously at the older Colonel, who later came to visit him in his tent, some other soldiers waiting outside in concern.

"I, could send you up on a mission, but...."

"Is the war over?" Eric asked, ignoring the older officer and facing the opposite side of his bedraggled tent.

The Colonel sighed, looking very old and tired. "You know it is, lad. You know it, I think we all do."

Silence from Eric.

"They're talkin' peace. I'm sendin' you to Louvais. Nice reprieve, not like Anglia, closer to the war there. See for yourself, would ya like that lad?"

Eric stared at the old sheepdog, his kindly expression ripping the young pilot's guts out.

"How do you have anything left sir?"

The Colonel clapped an unsteady hand on Eric's thin shoulder.

"Always more to give lad. Have to protect these ones, someone must remember. Remember it right, that is. Dying and forgetting how to live does no one any good. You go to Louvais, Eric. Try and rest, find a place that suits you. And try not to think about it too much, the hate will control you my boy. It will take everything from you, and you think it's a gift, you think you can control it, then you discover it was all a lie. It controls you, it ruins you. Take it from an old Contemptible like me, and let it go."

The Colonel, resting heavily on his cane, hobbled out. Eric watched him go, and wanted to be like him. But he wasn't. And he couldn't.

All it took was his trip to Louvais to seal that. He knew that it wasn't over yet.

************************************************************************

Magyaran Border

May 1945

Kit didn’t know how long he had been walking. His meager supplies had already begun to deplete and his feet were beyond sore and had moved to cracked and bleeding.

It was quiet and dark here. Villages he passed were deserted, with the bright, hate-filled slogans on walls and shattered windows an ugly, terrible reminder as to why.

The trees were still holy though. In the dark, later, when dawn’s golden light brushed them and helped them reach toward the heavens.

The trees swayed and laughed, heedless of the torment around them. There wasn’t apathy in the forest, there was peace.

So Kit walked. He had fought, suffered, felt all the emotions that could and should have crushed him. But here, in his solitude, there was a beauty he had never encountered.

Someday people would know the things he did. Not all but enough. He thought of the voices he could hear in the whispering groves. So many, so many gone.

The lack of inhabitants had ceased to be unsettling with the passing of a dark, humid night. When daylight came, it lit up Kit’s aged face and warmed his bones to let him continue his long journey.

He was walking to the east, then to the south. He was following a song inside of him that had existed since he was very young. Past the bonds of earth, away from the cold freedom of the skies. He walked on.

The day passed and Kit walked. He rested only minutes then stirred to wakefulness again. He had to get somewhere, he needed to say something, to see someone. There was something important that he had to share.

Kit Cloudkicker became someone else in this leg of his harsh quest. He looked inside of himself, at the man he had become, past the shame, loneliness and struggle of his past.

He was a part of something larger, older than the trees around him and the land that grew them. He had lived to become something better, stronger. And he wouldn’t forget.

Dusk came. A meadow clearing that stretched to the horizon brought Kit out of himself. He sat at the edge of it, wondering at what he was seeing.

At the other edge, there was something that was lit up and moving toward him. Lanterns that wove purple and red across the swaying grasses. What he saw was astounding. It was a small, haggard-looking group of black bears wearing garishly bright clothing.

Their clothes were patched and worn and the group consisted, of what Kit could see, of mainly young adults. A sudden chill hit Kit as he realized why.

As he watched, the came to a stop at the opposite end of the meadow and began pulling various carts, vehicles and even wagons into a lopsided circle. Almost instantaneously a fire was lit up in the center and laughter mixed with a throaty, garbled language that was completely unfamiliar to Kit could be heard.

He took a feeble step toward the camp, feeling his first pangs of real loneliness since leaving the Alemanian city and his long-lost Thembrian friends. As he walked closer, however, he froze when he heard a rough voice shout something out and several female screams.

The camp went silent and the bears filtered through their encampment to form a line facing Kit down.

Kit hadn’t been afraid for a long time, the real enemy was far away and brought down, but he did feel a small touch of fear at the hostility in these strangers’ faces.

Someone pointed at him and gestured angrily, only to be held back by a middle-aged bear with long hair tied back.

The bear had gray striped in that long hair, mixed in his fur. He looked old and weary, but still ready to fight.

Kit knew he was the leader of the small band. He took a step back as the large bear walked toward him.

He just now noticed, when the huge bear got closer, that several of the young men had guns pointed toward him and they looked like they were itching to use them.

“Soldier” The bear, who was enormous, spat out the word and Kit looked down at his worn attire worriedly.

“Us-Usl-land-d” he sputtered, feeling like a fool. The other bear raised a dark eyebrow and looked the youth up and down.

Kit wondered what he was thinking until he saw a softening of those hard features. There was a wistfulness there. He wondered briefly what had caused it.

“Boy, eh?” The other bear actually smiled, revealing several golden teeth. The others behind him relaxed their guard and Kit marveled at the way the group seemed to read each other’s minds.

He nodded and cringed as the bear slapped him hard enough to bring him down. The roars of laughter did nothing to help his bruised ego and he brushed himself off and took the large bear’s hand.

He hadn’t known many adults as large or as strong as Baloo but this bear topped his dad on all counts.

“We are Roma” Again the golden smile and Kit found he liked the huge bear. The others were disappearing into their circle again.

“Hungry? Are you prisoner?” The rolling of the language was throwing Kit off and his tired mind looked blankly at the other bear.

With a deep boom of laughter the Roma motioned for Kit to follow him. As Kit tried to keep up, he could once again hear music and voices coming from around the fire.

“You didn’t answer question.” The large bear handed Kit a chunk of stale bread which Kit just held.

Finally the young pilot shook his head. “Refugee, of sorts.” The older bear looked thoughtful at this and looked meaningfully at the bread still in Kit’s hands.

“Not good enough for Uslander tastes? It is all we have at moment, less mouths to feed, less bread” The bear spat on the ground, pain twisting his features. He cursed softly and Kit wondering again just who this group really was.

“Where did you come from?” The erstwhile navigator asked, his mouth full of the surprisingly tasty bread.

The older bear shrugged. “Some from east, others west. We met in a place and journey together. We are all family now, there is no one else.”

Kit looked around. “You’re a family?” He asked quietly.

“Of sorts. Those who are alone are welcome here, but only when they know who is welcome to stay, and to leave in due time.” Another meaningful look Kit’s way and he nodded shortly.

“We are going to meet another group, more survivors, though what could survive this plague? Bah! Marcela, too much hate here. We gather our own and then we leave. It is hell there too, but still we go. The Roma people here are orphans, like many others. Like you, vanda? Why are you here, alone?”

Kit sighed. “It’s so long a story I don’t think even you want to know. And….” Kit paused, feeling a strange emotion before continuing, “and I’m not an orphan, I have a family waiting for me.”

Baloo and Becky aren’t my folks. I’m an orphan. Kit shook his head to clear it.

“Waiting where? Home? Why are you not with them? A son should be with his father, his mother.”

Kit wanted to say something but waited. He felt so tired all of a sudden.

“My name is Augu, though it is not what my mother gave me. I gave it to myself when I was reborn, after my own baptism of fire. The camps, they take your past and you are forced to build your own future. Is life.”

“You can stay here tonight, but only if you are lia to me. Tell me something that will make my old bones glad that I am here when my beautiful wife is not. Bringer of news, tell me something I wish to hear.”

Kit was mystified by the strange older man. Yet, he liked him. There was something strong, just in the huge fellow. Kit could feel it.

“The war is over, you knew that.”

“Da, we are alive for it. Nothing else young one?”

“I’m going to meet my father. He’s been searching for me.” The words came out and Kit didn’t even realize he had said them until it was too late. Augu stared at him then looked down suddenly.

Kit was stunned to see tears in the bear’s eyes. “You just now know this boy?”

Kit paused, then shook his head. “I’ve always known it. He made a promise to me that he would come, but I’d….I’d forgotten.”

Silence. There was nothing more to be said.

For a time.

“How old was he?” Kit asked quietly

“Too young, that is all that matters.”

“What does Augu mean?”

“It means that I am worthy of respect, do you not agree?” Augu smiled his golden grin at Kit, who grinned back for the first time. “It also means victorious. Yet I did not want such a name for myself. I am not a victor, I have no spoils. I merely survive. But there is no shame in that”

“My name is Kit”

Augu looked confused at the unfamiliar word. “K-itck?” He asked slowly and Kit just shook his head. By tomorrow morning, it wouldn’t matter.

As the night wore on, Kit chose to sleep away from the cozy circle. He was an outsider, regardless of Augu’s kind hospitality. It just reminded him of what he had to return to.

Before he tried to retire, however, he bumped into a younger bear who made him distinctly uncomfortable without him really knowing why.

She, like the rest of the group, had long black hair and lots of jingly jewelry. She wasn’t beautiful, or even pretty to Kit’s eyes, but she had something striking about her that made him want to look at her again, and again, and again….

He shook his head to clear it. The girl was leveling him with a hard-eyed stare and she looked none too friendly toward him. He averted his eyes, feeling uncomfortable.

When he finally got the nerve to look up again she was still staring him down. She then stuck her tongue out and turned on her heel.

Kit stared after her for awhile then shrugged, making his way to the edge of the small camp.

“Her name is Anca. That is all she will call herself.” Augu’s low growl startled Kit and he stopped walking.

The larger bear was staring after the girl. “She doesn’t not speak much with anyone. She doesn’t trust. None of us do,” Augu shrugged apologetically, not really paying attention to Kit, “but she is worse. The soldiers, you see. The believe that it is unworthy, beneath their perversion to touch us, to touch others.”

Kit felt his stomach drop. He knew, but didn’t want to hear what was coming.

“Sometimes, not everyone believes. It is a way to break us. She took one of his eyes, he took something else. It is not justice. No one will ever marry her now. Too young to hate so much, da? What name she had before is gone, now she is Anca. It means Unknown.”

Kit’s mouth was dry. He understood, and yet he didn’t. How could a group of people who had been through so much still persecute their own?

Augu was watching him, the dark, grizzled bear had a comprehending light in his opaque eyes. “It is our way. Always. Though it is not her fault, it is not anyone’s fault that we were born into this hell. Not yours, not mine, not those that you must leave behind. It is the only way to leave such hate behind.”

Silence, thick and potent.

“Maybe there is no way to leave it behind.”

Kit tried to snuggle down in the strange-smelling blanket that Augu had given him. He tried to think of the upcoming journey to the torn-apart mountainous regions to the south. He tried to picture Molly’s, Rebecca’s, Baloo’s faces. But all he could see was someone else.

He wondered if it would ever end. He wasn’t alone.

A few hours later, the cold night was all that Kit was aware of. The fire inside the camp was dying down, yet there were still voices and raucous laughter. A chill wind picked up and Kit tried to bury himself deeper in the warm grasses. The dew that was collecting on it made it difficult.

Not for the first time Kit wondered if he had made the right decision. Now that the shock, despair and pain had worn off, he felt foolish…..and guilty. He should have waited, he should have thought of those who would have been hurt by his actions. He had been foolish and impetuous.

Why hadn’t he waited? Anywhere would have been fine. Because, somewhere inside of him, there was a terrible truth.

He loved Baloo with all of his heart, but he didn’t quite trust him. The older pilot had let him down too many times, in too many ways. The seedling of doubt that accompanied this dreary thought made Kit squeeze his eyes shut.

What on this green, green earth did he think he was doing? How did he know, without a doubt that Baloo was coming for him? How could he know something like that?

More likely, the bear would be too late, for whatever flimsy reason he could find. Kit was suddenly angry. It wasn’t fair and it was completely unreasonable but he didn’t care.

He wanted to blame the older bear. The mixed emotions inside Kit needed release and he gave vent to his anger by pounding the earth viciously.

If things had been different. If Baloo was more responsible, a better example. If Kit himself could afford to make mistakes and not care about the damage they did.

If his parents had lived.

But it was too late. Always too late. Kit drifted off to sleep once again.~

~Kit was so excited he could contain himself. Finally, after years of patient, (or not so patient, sometimes) waiting, it was finally time.

He had papers in hand, appointment time set. He had turned the right age, only a few days earlier and had barely been able to sleep in those hours since that time and now.

Of course, Baloo and Rebecca had remained infuriatingly calm, as was their habit sometimes, in the face of his frantic energy. That was adults for you. He couldn't help but feel a little annoyed.

Baloo was supposed to have given him a ride today. He promised that he would accompany his navigator on this very important day.

But Kit had waited for quite a long time, considering what it was he was waiting for, and Baloo hadn't shown. Kit had gotten used to this over the years, Baloo's irresponsibility was as ingrained in him as his vastly superior flying skills. It didn't help his irritation however. So now he was walking. He needed the exercise anyway, but he could have used the company.

Kit shook his head fondly, his shaggy hair long overdue for a haircut. As he crossed the street, in the morning traffic of Cape Suzette, he noticed a gaggle of girls near the corner, giggling at him and waving.

He blushed and ducked his head underneath his old, trusty baseball cap, fingering it reassuringly.

He was just walking, enjoying the morning sunshine for a bit, trying to quell the nerves in his stomach when he heard a light tapping coming from inside one of the shop windows.

Looking around in confusion, he finally spotted the culprit. His long-time friend and Jungle Ace of old, Ernie, was standing inside one of the buildings waving at Kit and pulling faces.

Kit laughed and waved back, looking around for the entrance to the building and finding it under the sign, Cape Suzette Third National Bank; The Third One's the Charm!

"Ernie!" He yelled as he walked in, earning himself some dirty looks from several customers and the frazzled clerks.

Ernie, though, only smiled broadly himself and went to clap Kit on the shoulder.

"Man, I haven't seen you all summer. Finally got back from whatever expensive vacation you're folks dragged you on?" Kit noted how much taller the young hyena had gotten. His face looked leaner, and he had lost that sour, spiteful expression that he had so often carried in the past.

Instead, he looked quite relaxed and pleased with the world.

"Wasn't so bad." Ernie said, not able to hide his widening grin. "What're you up to? Or do I even have to ask?"

It was common knowledge among Kit's buddies, and his lesser known acquaintances, well....perfect strangers sometimes got the gist too when it came down to it, that Kit had been waiting to get his pilot's license since he knew what an airplane was.

Kit grinned broadly himself, hardly able to keep his dignity and stop himself from jumping up and down like a child in glee.

"You know me too well, pal. So, what's up with you? You look, different, Ernie." Kit spoke candidly, as was his habit, but his old friend didn't seem to mind.

"Somethin' happened to me over the summer Kit." Ernie leaned in conspiratorially. "Something _nice_."

Kit looked at his friend, his eyebrows raised. "Specifically?"

"I met someone." Ernie was now beaming. Kit had never seen that kind of expression on the hyena's face before. He looked, er, twiterpated!

"A, _girl_?" Kit asked, tentatively.

"No, Owl Capone. _Yes_ a girl, you half-wit." Ernie wiggled his eyebrows at the young bear.

Kit was honestly surprised. Out of all of his friends, he wouldn’t have expected Ernie to come around so quickly. Of course, he himself had often felt twinges, and he had memories, but he felt a little turned around at this news.

"So, where does she live?"

"Anglia" Ernie said. "Her parents were takin' her to the same place I got nabbed to. She's a looker, Kit. _Nice_ gams, if you know what I mean." Ernie elbowed the other teenager and Kit flushed nervously.

"Really? She's Anglian? Isn't that hard?"

Ernie shrugged, but his face looked a little cloudy. "Um, yeah. But she's over the moon for me, Kit. Can't blame her, ya know."

Kit rolled his eyes and Ernie laughed to show he was joking.

"But, I tell ya. That girl, she was somethin' else. An', um, she's not goin' back to Anglia for awhile. Her parents wanted to leave earlier, but they couldn't get out. Because of the bombing."

Both teenagers fell silent. The war, so far away for so long, had come home to them in many different ways. It was getting closer, Kit could see it in people's expression. He could sense the tension, the anxiety that was becoming ingrained in life.

It was a different world. He felt a stab of pity for his friend. "At least she'll be safe." Kit said softly.

"Yeah, she's a tough broad. Really, Kit, I've never known anyone like her. She's seen things, but she's still, nice, not like other girls. She keeps me in stitches, and can run circles around me in the smarts-department. I, um, I think I love her."

Kit was stunned. Ernie wasn't looking at him, only scuffing his foot against the gleaming bank floor. Then, Kit felt his face crack into a smile.

"Good for you Ernie. Really."

The two boys looked at each other, and Ernie nodded at Kit appreciatively. Then they shook hands roughly, too much in the adolescent, self-conscious stage to do more.

"Well, um, I've gotta make some deposits for my dad. And, er, I'm gonna wire her some money. Just to make sure she's gonna be okay."

"Sure Ernie. I've gotta get going too." Kit felt somehow, lighter, than what he had moments before. His own joy seemed amplified, and his worries about war and the shadows it was casting seemed farther away.

"All right yose rubes. No body move er I'll plug ya. In fact, I just might do it fer fun."

Kit froze at the voice. So did everyone else in the bank. Standing there was a miniscule crocodile, flanked by two enormous shadows.

Kit gulped and frantically motioned to Ernie, who nodded and stayed perfectly still.

*Trader Moe! I haven't even heard anything about him for years. What on God's green earth is he doing here, _now_ of all times?!!*

Kit felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck and several drops slid down. He flinched and forcibly stopped himself from drawing attention to himself by not swiping them away.

"Now, I's heard that a big shipment o' goodies is comin' trough 'ere. So's let's all be pals and hand it over, nice and quiet like, else things may get a bit messy."

"Sure boss, messy" Came a grunt from behind him.

"Yeah, lots of friends" Came the other voice, just like clockwork.

Trader Moe slapped his forehead and waved his hat, still taller than he was, at the two.

"Will you shaddup?!!"

The two goons, properly chastised, began hulking around, the tile cracking underneath their gargantuan weight.

"Okay sweet cheeks, in da bag. An' make it snappy, we's got an _engagement_ to keep."

"Heh, sure, we've gotta keep da engagement"

"Yeah, gettin' married."

Kit couldn't help himself, he rolled his eyes. Those two seemed to get even stupider as they got older. Maybe they would actually hit a reversal one of these years and start to get smarter after hitting rock bottom. They should be getting close.

A loud, piercing, ringing interrupted Kit's thoughts and all of the customers looked up panicked. Trader Moe began screaming furiously.

"Who tripped dat? Who set off da alarm?! I'll pulverize 'em. I'll murder 'em. Who did it!!"

But a loud booming voice from the back of the building cut off his tirade. "This building is surrounded. The funds procured here were for use of the Cape Suzette militia, to be sent to the State Department of our Usland capital. You have been under close observation, Moe, give it up for good an' we might give you an' your goons a separate cell."

"Youse idiots!!" Trader Moe began swatting his goons again. "You morons!! It was a set-up, we're washed up, finished. But I ain' goin' down without a fight."

His evil little eyes scanned the bank and Kit gulped when he saw who they rested on.

"You, kid, you're comin' wit' us. Take him, boys."

"No!!" Kit yelled out before he could stop himself. One of the goons had a hold of Ernie's arm and was twisting it painfully. Ernie, his face gray, shook his head at Kit who purposely ignored him.

"I repeat, give it up Moe. It's over, there's nowhere to run. You've been found out by the Usland Army and we're in a state of war. If you give up now, we might go easy on you."

Trader Moe snarled viciously. "Nothin' doin'!!" he howled. His eyes then fell directly on Kit.

They gleamed in recognition and Kit made to bolt, running right into the sold bulk of the huge gorilla. He fell to the floor painfully.

Trader Moe was standing over him, grinning. "I knows you, don't I kid? Yeah, I've seen youse before. Moe never fergets a face."

"Sure boss, you never forget nothin'"

"Yeah, remember all da time"

"Shaddup" Trader Moe growled. "You're, _you're_ the pickle boy, ain't ya?"

Kit tried to shrug and motion that he didn't know what the crocodile was talking about. He didn't meet Ernie's eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." Trader Moe hauled Kit up by his blue sweater. "I remember. That, an' everythin' else. Well wadda ya know, its the little snot-nosed brat here to give me a hand. Payback time, _kid_. Ain' t no one gonna mistake us now, huh?"

"You're crazy. You're surrounded and what makes you think that they're gonna let you go, hostage or not?" Kit could have bit his own tongue. He never seemed to able to hold back in these kind of situations, his hackles always raising at any kind of bullying.

Trader Moe's face turned an ugly puce color. In his eyes, there was a glint of something, rather unstable. Kit recognized it and backed away. This wasn't the hot-tempered, easily fooled little twerp he was in years past, something about a constant life on the run had pushed the gangster over the edge.

"They'll let me go, 'cause I's already shot one hostage and they don't wanna see me shoot another one."

Kit was confused for a fraction of a second before it happened. Trader Moe pulled out a small handgun (very small) and aimed it at Ernie. He fired twice.

Kit screamed at the top of his lungs and lunged at the smaller crocodile.

"Get 'im boys. Let's get outta here."

Kit was fighting the two massive figures, trying to get to his friend who was laying on the floor, surrounded by other people in the bank. He could see the blood from where he was and it made him sick.

"You _bastards_!" He hissed, before he felt a solid fist clip his head and he slumped into unconsciousness.

When Kit awoke, the first thing he became aware of was the *drip* *drip* *drip* of something. It was like a hammer into his brain.

He moaned and tried to move, only to find that he couldn't very easily. He was restrained against a chair, in the middle of some huge warehouse.

"Well, well, if it ain't pickle boy. Have pleasant dreams, pickle boy?"

Kit blinked at the voice, before it all came back to him. The bank, Ernie.....

He struggled against the robes holding him to the chair. "You were always a cowardly piece of scum, Moe, but now you've really crossed a line. And what's _with_ this place? Did you pick it out of Gangster Pads of the Week? Or, how to design a hideout that is completely cliche'? And that pickle remark? Do you _ever_ let things go? Like your excess baggage over there?"

Kit motioned with his sore head to the two lurking shadows. Trader Moe stepped into the harsh light that was surrounding the teenager, an ugly look on his uglier mug.

"Youse gotta big mouth kid. A very big mouth. Let's see if we can shut ya up."

"Sure boss, he says too much."

"Yeah, lots of talking."

Trader Moe shook his head. "I've gotta get me some new goons" he said, before returning his attention to the boy.

"Nah, da boss is holdin' on ta us." One goon spoke up proudly.

"Yeah, hold tight."

"Will you both just shaddup!!" Moe bellowed.

He glared at Kit, who scowled back. Neither broke the silence until the constant dripping water seemed to be too much for the gangster to take.

"We may not have gotten anythin' from da bank. But today ain't a total loss, I get ta make sure that one rotten kid will never get in my way _again_."

Kit was too angry to be intimidated. "There isn't any ransom, you're barking up the wrong tree. I'd say you're pretty washed up, so come clean. See, I can be funny too."

The two goons were laughing hysterically, until Trader Moe kicked them both in the shins.

"It ain't _funny_ youse ijits!!"

"No boss, not funny"

"Yeah, opposite"

"I don't want ransom kid." Trader Moe sneered, after grinding his teeth at his goons. "I want revenge. Not quite as sweet as some dough, but what's nice is youse is gonna suffer for all dose years that I had ta walk away empty-handed. And suffer _a lot_."

Kit still wasn't afraid, though he knew he was in a nasty predicament. "You were always a loser, Moe. It wasn't me, it was your own stupidity that did you in all of those times."

"Shaddup!" Trader Moe yelled. He glared maliciously at the teenager. "Y'know, youse got guts kid. I like that. You woulda been a good asset here. But whelps like you, always so worried about whats right or wrong, waste of energy. That's okay, though, lets see whatcha got ta show for it, ya goody-goody little ankle-biter."

Kit saw him pull out a well-worn, well-loved card and a small, folded piece of papers. He struggled again, harder this time.

"Those are _mine_. What gives you the right..."

"Da right?" Trader Moe laughed cruelly. "It's my right. Lets see what we gots here." With great delicacy he unfolded each paper and read them, in a high, demeaning voice.

Kit was furious. "_Don't_" He yelled angrily. "Those are _mine_. You piece of dirt, Baloo's gonna find me, he always does. _Always_, and you'll be so damned sorry-"

Moe stopped for a moment. "So, the little pilot hasn't gotten his license yet, isn't dat a shame? You were on your sunny way, an' just had to get into _mine_"

Kit was angry he could barely see straight. "Those are personal" he said, hating himself the minute he did.

"Don't worry about it, kid" Trader Moe, grinned. Kit felt the first flicker of real fear. "You ain't never gettin' no license. You ain't gettin' nothin', ever again. Trader Moe means what he says. Boys!!"

The goons, mindlessly, released Kit from the chair, but made sure his wrists and ankles were tightly bound and put a gag in his mouth.

"It's time ta say good-bye, _kid_." Kit knew where they were the moment they stepped outside, the salty air gave it away. He struggled in earnest, knowing what was about to happen and feeling an unfamiliar surge of helplessness.

"Says hello to da fishes, pickle-boy." Moe's evil face was the last thing Kit saw before he was tossed unceremoniously into the ocean. He sank like a stone, unable to kick to safety.

He thought he saw flashing lights and booming voices, but after awhile the agony in his lungs prevented him from concentrating on anything else.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and released the breath he'd been holding, but there wasn't any air to replace it. Water came into his lungs, cold, salty and deadly. He felt a moment of pressing pain before he blacked out.

In the meantime, just outside the warehouse, Trader Moe and his goons were putting up a terrific fight. He hadn't exactly covered his tracks very well, and knew he'd been caught red-handed.

Several non-descript gray vehicles pulled up, followed by police car after police car.

When one pulled up, a large figure, and a slighter one jumped out and ran to where a barricade had been set up.

Several swarthy, suited men who looked like they were all business were pointing guns at Trader Moe, who was shouting insults and threats to anyone who'd listen.

"What's happening? Where is he?! Officer, tell us what's happened!!" Rebecca Cunningham's voice was cracking under her stress. She and her pilot/best friend, Baloo, had just spent an agonizing few hours together at the police station.

He pseudo-son had been kidnapped, and his young friend Ernie, had been shot. It made her completely ill to imagine Kit, hurt or....

Baloo seemed beyond words, his face was pale and he was shaking. It scared Rebecca to see the usually carefree, strong-willed pilot like that.

"They've done something with the boy." One cold voice barked out. "We think they tipped him into the drink."

"Gary!" Another officer snapped, casting a concerned look at the pair.

"They dumped him in the ocean!! Let me through, ya gotta let me through, he'll die, he'll drown!! No! Kit!!" Baloo was struggling against the officers, frantic.

"We've got 'em." A voice crackled over the radio. "No sign of the kid."

The now surrounded crocodile was looking defiantly at the small army of men covering him.

"Ya ain't got no proof. There's no kid here."

"We have several witnesses that saw you shoot one boy, and take the other. It's over Moe." The captain shouted. "Now where is he? Don't make it harder on yourself."

Trader Moe looked like he wasn't going to say anything, but he caught the expressions on Baloo and Rebecca's faces and a truly malevolent look came over him.

"Dead. He's at the bottom of da bay by now. Happy trails."

"You-" Baloo lunged for him and was barely restrained. The captain, luckily, reacted differently, shouting for assistance which was near by.

It took several minutes to gear up, and to Baloo and Rebecca, it was like an eternity. The cold, black waves held no sign of life and the thought that Kit was under them was something neither could handle right now.

"Just hold on, they'll find him. It can't have been too long." The captain said kindly, but with a confidence that didn't reach his eyes.

It took several more breathless minutes before the diver's lights could be seen under the inky water. Then, two broke through carrying something.

Baloo recognized the blue sweater and the tangled, light brown hair. Kit.

The ropes that had held the boy were quickly undone, but his slack face looked gray. He wasn't breathing.

Baloo and Rebecca said nothing, only clasped each other's hands so tightly it hurt and watched.

For a long, long time the teenager just lay there not responding. Baloo, finally breaking, pushed through the group around Kit, though some tried to restrain him.

His guilt, pain, fear was overpowering him. It was his fault. He'd let Kit down again. Today was supposed to have been one of the happiest days of the boy's life. Not the last.

"Kit! Kit, I'm sorry. Don't go, please don't go." Baloo was on his knees, holding the boy's head as the others, giving up, worked around him. His grief was tangible, and Rebecca felt her own heart sinking like a stone.

The large bear sat there, thinking of every time he had done this, hadn't shown up or disregarded something for a few more minutes of relaxation, one more moment of pure selfishness.

He loathed himself. *Was it worth it?!! Was it?*

"Ms. Cunningham." Rebecca didn't turn at the voice. She knew what it would tell her, since Baloo was beyond listening.

But then, Kit's back arched and he began spluttering and hacking up seawater. He gasped and choked for several minutes, as the team around him gave him some oxygen and Baloo sat him up to clear his abused lungs of any excess water.

Weakly, blearly, Kit saw himself come back, coming back to Baloo's heart-rending pleas. It hurt so badly, but he did it anyway. Now, he saw the pilot's face coming into clearer focus through his strained eyes. His dad.

Baloo looked like an old man, kneeling above him. It wrenched Kit to see him like that. He spoke without thinking.

"You're late, Papa Bear. You're too late. You're always, too late." Kit's voice was getting weaker and Baloo looked like someone had just turned the final wrench of the rack.

"Kit? I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

Kit heard Baloo's voice, but he was so tired that he couldn't focus on it. His weak voice still gasped out, though, "I knew you'd find me. You always, do...."

He was gone, for the third time that day he had fainted away into oblivion. Baloo held onto him for a long time, making no noise and Rebecca quietly got to her knees on the water-splattered dock and put an arm around the pilot's shoulders.

She realized that Baloo was rocking Kit, smoothing back his hair. His face looked truly awful.

"Baloo" She said, her own voice unsteady from the hell they had both just gone through. "He's going to be all right. Ernie too. The boy lost a lot of blood, but he's all right. And Kit will be too, they just need to get him to a hospital."

"I was too late. I let him down. How could I do that to him?" Baloo said dully.

"Oh Baloo, you didn't know, you couldn't have. Here, you have to let them take Kit now, he needs medical help." Rebecca could barely convince the large pilot to release his son, he was nearly feral about it.

Finally, the pair got into the cramped ambulance with Kit, whose color was improving but who was still out cold. They said nothing, both holding onto Kit's hands. They were shell-shocked, the image of Kit coming so close, again and again and again, too vivid this time to just slide by.

Kit woke up right as the ambulance pulled up to the hospital. He only saw the bright lights, heard the reassuring voices but it didn't help his confusion and hurt. Emotions that he couldn't understand were overwhelming, the awfulness of what had happened today finally sinking in.

A woman's voice, one he recognized very well, spoke to him quietly and he relaxed under its soft, loving tone. "Honey, you need to relax, you've had a close call. Your friend is fine, he's going to be just fine. Ernie just lost some blood, but you probably saved his life. We're so proud of you."

Someone lightly kissed his cheek and Kit felt the caring in the voice, he felt it in the two hands that were holding onto his own. He wanted to drift back into peaceful dreams, but his body was acting against him.

"Kit, you need to wake up. No time to be laying about. Kit, Kit!!" The voice was changing, as were the sounds around him.

It wasn't the familiar Cape Suzette tone that he'd heard for a large portion of his life, but a very different, exotic kind of voice. It made him think of late-night fires and tents full of spicy-smelling candles.

It was soft, soothing altogether feminine, full of sweetness and modesty, full-

"Kit!! Get your lazy arse up this moment or else I will skewer you and serve you to the dogs!!"~

Kit jerked awake with a panicky feeling. Standing above him was Anca. She had her hands on her hips and the same hard expression she had worn before.

“You! How do you know my name?”

“How do you know my name?” She mimicked in falsetto. “I have ears jenica, and I use them. Unlike you. Augu says you are to come with us. We will be there in a few days. Come now, or sleep the day away in a field like the timid, little mouse you are.”

Kit stood there blinking at her and she kicked at him in frustration, the bangles on her dark legs jingling distractedly.

“Up jenica! I am not your ema, now go before Augu regrets taking you in.”

Kit’s gaze as he slowly rolled up his blanket and began following her couldn’t tear itself away from her voluptuous walk.

He cleared his throat self-consciously and looked down at the ground.

Augu was standing outside of the disintegrating circle, stretching his massive arms and yawning loudly.

“Ah, Anca. He has followed your sweetness as a bee does honey. Ready boy? You travel with us. Now, now, what is such a look?” His reproachful tone did nothing to ease Anca’s angry, resentful glance at Kit. “He is not like us, da, but for a time we must all see past such things. We are all refugees, in a way.”

“As everyone sees past what I am?” Anca spit out and stomped away, her long, dark hair catching the sunlight and shimmering like a living thing.

Augu sighed and clapped Kit on the back, sending him sprawling. “As I will never find my own son, let us hope that your father will have better success. We go.”

Allied Headquarters

Secure Location; Border of Eastern Europa

May 21, 1945

“His name is Baloo. I don’t know if he even goes by a last name. His, um, his son that the officer reported? The Thembrian, Dunder? He’s on his way east and I wanted to let the other pilot know.”

“Our last known report shows him landing in the Falkans, helluva place to chose if’n ya ask me.”

It was on the tip of Eric’s tongue to state that it wasn’t but he held onto the thought as the greenhorn in an over-sized uniform continued.

“It’s Falkan policy to have all outside pilots, ‘specially those not havin’ dog tags and milit’ry standin’, send a report to the airbase they reported from. If’n the code matches, they don’t shoot the sorry bastard on sight. Helluva place. Don’t know where the kid is but I guess it’s okay to send one more message. What’s it to ya, pops?”

“If the lad’s alive, I…I think he’ll, he’s got a chance if he’s in the vicinity of this pilot.”

“Tha’s a lot of geography to cover. Can’t trust Thembrians neither. Stab us all in’e back. You goin’ on some tuskers’ word? Mighty big risk.”

Eric sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. He was getting too old for this. He was too old for this about twenty years ago.

“Maybe, maybe someone there can put out a word, look for the boy.”

Eric’s voice was becoming softer. The young soldier, the Thembrian who had delivered the message to anyone looking for the erstwhile navigator, himself….it was apparent to all that this search for an ant in an antpile was coming to an end. A frustrating, call it a draw, end with no success and the running around in circles had worn on the aging racoon’s nerves.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know where that stupid boy was. The chances of the older pilot finding Kit was slim at best.

Who was he kidding? It always was. The long line of clues was ending. The trail had been lost and Eric knew that he couldn’t pick it up again.

His penance had been for nothing.

“Sorry pops. No response from the earlier message. No response from this one. Wherever this pilot is, he ain’t payin’ us no ‘tention anyhow. I say let him look it out. Give ‘im closure.”

The soldier wasn’t so young or naïve after all. There was a difference there, that Eric could see. He wasn’t ashamed to be alive.

Eric looked at him and felt….something.

“You all right sir?” the young soldier, a chimpanzee, looked at him cautiously.

“I’m not your superior officer” the older veteran said softly.

“I know that. Um, not ta get personal an’ all, but aren’t you tired sir? Ain’t it time to go home? Tha’s all my dad wanted to do, was go ‘ome an’ start over again.”

Eric looked at him and the soldier looked back.

“Did he?”

“Me an’ seven other brothers an’ sisters ain’t testimony to that? He lived, I survived an’ I’m going home to give ‘im some grandkids.”

Home. What was home to Eric? He hadn’t had one for so long. He hadn’t allowed himself one. It wasn’t that he was a drifter, a loner, or even incapable of tolerating other’s company, though at several times in his life he’d been all three.

He couldn’t live with himself, in the solitude of a civilian life. But….

“I want you to do something for me, soldier.”

The younger chimpanzee saluted and Eric handed him a piece of paper with a name on it.

“Just see, y’know. He deserves it. His family does. Tell him, that I said so.”

And Eric didn’t know who would care or why he felt a sudden rush of emotion. He didn’t know that he had liked Kit, he would have liked him twenty years before and he liked him now.

It had to be that if the boy had died for his ideals, it was all right. It couldn’t be a waste and it shouldn’t be forgotten.

It would never be either for him.

“I think I will be getting’ home me lad. You have a sweetheart waiting for you?”

The chimpanzee grinned and nodded.

Eric swallowed the lump in his throat, glad for its presence. “Don’t let her leave without knowing that you, um…that your life should be, be with her. Don’t leave her behind.”

The soldier looked confused but nodded.

“Love her. It’ll be all right if you just love her.”

His own lesson, given to someone else. His own lesson, learned too late, but learned nonetheless.

“I’m goin’ home. Tell ‘em that he deserves that.” Another nod.

There was only one place that Eric could remember thinking was home for a long, long time.

It was time to go back.

May 1945

Sarajuevo, Falkans

Max was getting sick and tired of waiting around at the air field. Baloo, whose charms Max had openly criticized, had predictably been getting nowhere with both the authorities and any kind of information he could gather.

It was a rotten deal and Max didn’t know for how much longer he could take the older pilot coming back with such a downhearted look that it made Max wish he’d never come along on this wild goose-chase.

The people here were about as friendly as a shark in a dentist chair. Not very much.

Max didn’t want to blame them. He just wanted to leave. He knew he should be ashamed of himself but he wasn’t. The time wasn’t right here. It wouldn’t be right for a long time.

Whatever can of worms that had been opened elsewhere would keep on squirming here. He didn’t know why they had come. Baloo was starting to wonder himself.

That was how Max knew that it was almost over.

He was lost in his own moody thoughts, (doodling Sylvia’s name over and over again without realizing it) when a sudden pounding on the cockpit’s door startled him.

It was raining. When did it start raining? A dour looking jackal in a gray, weathered uniform was there, heedless of the fact that he was getting soaked.

He had a message in his hands.

Max read it and didn’t bother to thank the messenger, who didn’t seem to expect it. Some lines had been blurred but it was still readable.

“Well, well. That rotten old goat finally came through.” It was a stab in the dark, a clueless assumption, but Kit was coming this way.

And if it’s one thing that pilots understand, it’s to always come to an airfield no matter the time or situation.

How he could get here or why wasn’t important. He’d survived this long, he’d come to the closest area of civilization this side of the Allied line.

When Baloo returned, more blue than grey, Max finally had some good news to give him.

Kit was no longer shocked at the appalling state of the cities he passed. They had arrived in one of the worse ones. Augu had said that there had been many Roma in this country before the war.

It stood to reason, though they were hardly a cosmopolitan people, to meet in a populous area to find more of their own kind.

Still, it shook the nerves to enter a place that was more dead than living.

Kit had tried to steer clear of Anca during the short trip. It hadn’t been too difficult.

She seemed to want to have as little to do with him as he did with her. Still, some part of him wondered why, or what was wrong with him.

He knew he couldn’t blame her. He had no idea of what she’d been through.

It was perhaps Kit’s nature that allowed for the fact that he didn’t think of what had happened to him.

He couldn’t help thinking of her, though. It was a strange connection, unwelcome but there.

Augu was like a dear old uncle to the young pilot. He was jovial at times, gruff and hard the next, but always straightforward. He didn’t mince words. Kit liked that.

It was, therefore, with a heavy heart that Kit surveyed the city beside the huge, dark-furred bear.

“How are you going to find anything in that?” Kit asked, sweeping his hand along the devastated landscape.

“You would be surprised, boy. We have ways.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

“I have enjoyed getting to know you, young Kitck. The airfield is not so far away. Best to hurry, before the storm hits.”

Indeed, dark clouds were billowing up in the distance and thunder rumbled, for once, not confused with the sound of angry gunfire.

“You see, you did bring lia. You did not even know it.”

Augu fixed a dark eye on the brown-haired bear. “Do not think too harshly of Anca. She cannot afford let herself become soft, like you.”

Kit was about to protest but was silenced by a wave of a massive hand.

“No insult, boy. It is not a bad thing, to feel. She cannot feel love, it is too dangerous. For Roma, it would be devastating. For you, it is a tragedy.”

Kit’s head was spinning.

“You are not for her, and the same the other way. Learn each other’s lessons. I am asking you, an old man who has known the sweetness of a woman’s love. The right woman.”

“Thank you, Augu. For everything.” Kit felt choked up. He knew that he would never see the group again. More people he cared about that he had to leave behind.

“Do you still doubt that someone is waiting for you?”

Kit thought, his brow creased, than shook his head. Whatever doubt was gone. It was eerie.

“You should have been a Seer, boy. With us. Or no, maybe it is not an unknown magic, but something older than time. Those bonds, of love and family, they do not end with distance or death.”

A large hand pulled the boy closer and he squeezed the life out of Kit, who could barely return the embrace.

“Remain as you are, Luminite. Do not change. You are, good. I will remember you boy. Remember what you have seen here, but do not dwell.”

Then, they were gone. Anca was at the rear, her long, beautiful hair swinging behind her. She turned to look at Kit. There was something in her smoldering gaze.

He looked back. She stopped and the distance between them never seem so far, or so nonexistent.

His bruised soul, her empty heart. Maybe, in another time that didn’t know war, or want, or hatred, but not here.

There was a distant whisper of what could have been, then she was gone. Kit would remember her for the rest of his life just like that. The sun in her hair, those eyes that laid him bare.

He never asked if he could have loved her. It didn’t matter anyway.

Kit walked towards the airfield, knowing his journey was at an end. He didn’t know if he was better, or worse for it, but he knew that he could never go back to who he was before.

Some small part of him wanted to turn back, run far away from what was happening in a world gone crazy. He didn’t want Ms. Cunningham or Baloo to see him and be saddened, or uncomfortable with what they saw.

He should have known better.

The airfield had few planes on it. There was one that he would have recognized anywhere.

The sun was setting and Kit could see two figures in the cockpit of the Sea Duck.

He walked slowly and time almost came to a stop. He recognized both of them and they both stopped and gaped at him.

The door opened and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Father and son, navigator and pilot, friends, allies, through pain and loss and heartache. Every thought, every emotion that they had shared, had learned from together was in the moment.

Nothing was said. It could even be anticlimactic. But it was over and they had found each other. In the end, all it had taken was faith.

Baloo and Kit embraced and Max turned away, not wanting to intrude. Both were weeping uncontrollably.

They just held each other, saying each other’s names. The sun set and they couldn’t let each other go.

Finally, finally when they separated, Baloo turned his face away for a moment, lost in his own moment of thankfulness for his son.

Max cleared his throat for a minute and Kit shook his hand distractedly.

“It’s, it’s good to see you, Cloudkicker. We got a message saying you would be coming through this way. Been awhile, hasn’t it.”

“It has Max” Kit looked so much older. He was leaner, his face had more lines and his uniform was ragged beyond repair. “Thank you for helping him.”

They both looked toward Baloo.

“You’re welcome.” Max said quietly. Which was all that was needed for him. He was ready to leave it all behind as well.

As Max was climbing back into the SeaDuck, Kit gently placed a hand on Baloo’s back. Baloo turned and looked at him, wiping tears off of his face.

They embraced again and Kit found himself comforting the older pilot. Which was always how it had been with them. Kit being the stronger one, Baloo’s anchor, his reminder that life could be more than what it appeared to be.

But Baloo had given Kit what no one else could. Something that words can’t explain. He had made Kit into the individual that he was. For so many, that was something beyond price.

“I love you so much Papa Bear. I knew you would be here.”

“I knew you would get here, L’il Britches. Somehow, you would. I love you more than I can ever tell you. You’re my reason for living. You’re my family Kit-boy.”

After the last embrace, after the Sea Duck had taken off again, Baloo realized something. For the first time since he had met Kit Cloudkicker, this had been the first time that he had pulled away before the young erstwhile navigator.

He had found him. Now, he could let him go.

May 1945

Louvais, City of Love

“Molly, honey, do you really think it was necessary to bring every belonging you’ve ever owned?”

An annoyed and out-of-breath Rebecca pulled fruitlessly on one of the many straps connected to the boxes and boxes of luggage

Molly, suspiciously luggage-free was looking around the crowded sidewalk outside of their hotel with a face full of youthful excitement.

Rebecca was almost ready to forgive the circumstances of why they were there, as well as the obviously unsupervised over-packing that her daughter had done, just to see that long-forgotten expression on the girl’s face.

Almost.

“Would you mind taking some of these, since they are mostly yours, dear?” Rebecca’s strained voice could be heard from the mounds of baggage surrounding her.

Molly eyed her coolly and snapped her fingers. In moments the bags were gone, loaded and a frazzled Rebecca could only watch in astonishment.

Trying to smooth her hair back into its neat coif, Rebecca gaped at her daughter. “What was that all about? Is there something you should be telling me?”

Molly just shook her head. She looked quite lovely, wearing a smart blue outfit complete with a bowl-like hat that just showed off her blue eyes when she tipped it up. It was, perhaps, a little too chic for a girl Molly’s age but they were here, in the heart of fashion and although it would take a long time, even from the Uslanders’ inexperienced view, to rebuild, the city’s true nature couldn’t be buried.

What was alarming to Rebecca, however, was the looks that her daughter was getting from men much, much too old to be gaping like that.

She couldn’t glare at each of them.

“Um, Mom?” Molly was looking at her mom studiously. “How about ditching that old-fashioned hairstyle? And what’s with the cardigan? You can loosen up a bit, c’mon! Since we’re here and we’ve already filed the paperwork, let’s have some fun.”

Rebecca shrugged. She couldn’t quite explain it to Molly, but she really wasn’t in the mood to ‘loosen up’ as her daughter put it. It was an odd feeling. She, well, she didn’t want to get all dressed up when there wasn’t anyone to appreciate it.

She told herself that she was here to find Baloo Don’t think of Kit, not yet, it’s too soon, it hurts too much still, and then to go home. She wanted Molly to remember that she was still young and to have fun, within reason, but she herself felt lonely. She hadn’t felt lonely like this for a long time. After Stephen died, before her heart had healed.

“Mom?” Molly didn’t look young now. Her face was sad, at odds with the bright gaiety surrounding them. “They’d want you to enjoy yourself. They said that contacting Baloo would take some time. Let’s, um, relax. Is that all right?”

Rebecca knew what she was really asking. ‘We’re not forgetting about Kit, or Baloo, if we have a bit of fun? They would want us to, right? Our hearts are still with them, isn’t that true?’

Yes, yes it was.

Rebecca sighed and threw her hands up in surrender. “Consider me made-over. Where do you want to go?”

Two hours later Rebecca was very Very sorry that she had allowed Molly to talk her into this.

She was scowling at a reflection of herself in a huge, gaudy, Sun King style mirror with a wafer thin weasel pulling and twinging, tut-tutting her hair.

Now it was pulled up in a ghastly pompadour that looked as though it would snap her neck from the weight.

She had banished Molly to the marbled waiting room, letting her daughter gape at the richness surrounding them. Rebecca was just a little troubled as to how it had survived and tried not to think too much about who had sat in this chair not so long before she had.

“Hmm, no, no, Madam, your face, your erm, body, or what you can call such, zis is no good. I try again, avec! Francois iz here to serve you, in spite of yourself. Uslander, pah! Atrocious sense, oui?”

Rebecca tried to mutter a feeble protest but she was being strangled by her own hair. Within minutes it was up in a bride of Frankenstein look, just shy of two matching white stripes.

“Takes ze years from ze face, oui?”

“NO!” Rebecca shouted, digging her hands into her hair frantically. “Just, fix it plain. Nothing Fancy. NOTHING!” She shouted in the oily weasel’s face.

“I vas only trying to help. Zome people and zeir fashion needs.”

He tried again.

Molly, in the meantime, was trying to get a glimpse of her mother’s progress from the exquisitely uncomfortable chair she was squirming in. If the shouts, broken glass and occasional girly scream (Not her mom’s, yeeech) were anything to go by, she needed to um, observe, with a detached sense of austerity. Sure.

She barely noticed the cologne drenched youth who sat one chair away, eyed her up and down, then stood up, adjusting his collar, smoothing his greased down coif and sitting closer.

He grinned a thousand watt smile at her and winked. She started coughing from lack of oxygen. The smile quickly faded.

“Vat is a pretty zing like you here? Vaiting for boyfriend?” He leaned closer, leering, “Lover?”

That got Molly’s attention. She gaped at him unbelievably. “Zen wait no more. You are like the sunshine zat gives flowers life. No, zis is not true, you are the sunshine and ze flowers. No, ze sunshine, ze flowers and ze sky above. Still no, mademoiselle, let me continue….”

Molly rolled her eyes and tried to bury herself in a magazine. It didn’t help that she didn’t speak or read French, or that the magazine was upside down.

“I have money, leftover from the Occupation. My fazer is very rich, he, um, helped those in our country, no matter who zey are.”

Molly gasped but he took no notice. “We have a nice, new home. Zose who owned it before, were, how you say? Disposed of, se moi? No matter, ze had no need of such zings were zey were going.”

Molly felt her hand twitch and tried with all of her might to resist the urge to smack this oily little upstart’s smug face.

“You could join me zere.” He went to put a hand on Molly’s leg and she tried to push it off but he was stronger than he looked. She was about to call for help when another voice, still young and accented but hard as nails, was heard from the other side of her.

“I vould be letting her go, Bernard. You cannot find any decent women here, you have to find children. You are disgusting, oui?”

Bernard flushed beet-red and took his hand off of Molly’s leg quickly. Molly turned to look at the newcomer.

He looked about Bernard’s age, and the similarities most definitely ended there. He had on a battered, old cap and a gray trenchcoat. His facial fur was clipped into a funny little goatee and he kept fingering his pockets like there was something in there he wanted to hold onto.

He wasn’t technically handsome, but there was an aura around him that Molly had never encountered before.

“You should leave here you tusker sympazizer! Izn’t zis place, erm, too rich for your thinned blood?”

“I go where I please. I vanted to see how the ozer side lives. You make me ill, zere are starving ones just outside ze door and you lay about in wasteful capitalism. Soon you vill see how follied you all are.”

Molly felt a wave of guilt from the impassioned speech. She looked down at her fine clothes and, unbidden, an image of Kit came to her mind. It was something she had only thought of once or twice. The thought of Kit hurt or hungry wasn’t something she liked to dwell on.

But she knew that there must have been a time in his life where he was alone, bedraggled and struggling to survive.

She stood up a little straighter in her chair.

Bernard was twitching with rage, his thin hands clenching and unclenching.

“I vas not meaning you, pretty one. Forgive, mademoiselle. It is just zat parasites such as him need to taught a lesson. Zey welcomed ze enemy in with ze welcome arms. Worse than scum, traitors to our nation!”

Molly felt overawed by the fiery young man. She leaned back and that was all the encouragement Bernard needed.

“Zere, you see! She does not vant anyzing to do with a gutter rat like you. Pah! Go back to your pamphlets and meetings. Zey do not mean anything.”

The other boy, Molly wished she knew his name, stood up. Bernard did the same but kept looking towards the door.

“You zink so? Our brothers, our allies are coming. When they arrive, ze people will rise up and overthrow such bureaucratic blood-suckers as you and your father. Zen our utopia will have begun!!”

“Antoine, you have alvays been mad, but the years of fighing have unhinged you. Leave us, I saw her first.”

Molly bristled furiously.

“Excuse me!! I think…..”

“At least I did fight you cowardly bastard. I vould challenge you to a duel if I vanted to sully my hands in such a vay.”

“Hey, I was trying to say something here…..”

“We vill see who is better, you socialist maker of trouble!”

“Uppity snob!”

“Filzy revolutionary!!”

“Weak-minded fool!!”

“You!!”

“No, you, Monsieur!!”

“HEY!!” But Molly was now just part of the scenery. The two boys began duking it out and destroying everything in their path which Molly was desperately trying to stay out of.

“Now, now, NOW!!” A much deeper voice was heard and Molly looked up from underneath her hat, which had slipped over her eyes in the hubbub.

Rebecca and her minute stylist were outside gaping at the mess. A large, extremely handsome and polished man was holding the two boys apart and shaking them like wet towels.

“How dare you fight in front of a lady! You are not worzy to be called our countrymen! Get out!!”

“Mademoiselle, can I…” Bernard started but Antoine had already grabbed by the front of his immaculate collar and hauled him outside.

The older gentleman, a very good-looking panther, was looking at Rebecca with undisguised admiration. Molly was open-mouthed.

Her hair was down from it’s usual up-do. It hung in long, chestnut curls down her back, bringing out the rich color of her eyes. She looked years younger and very lovely.

Molly almost didn’t recognize her. “Mom?”

“Molly! What on earth were you doing with those two ruffians. Thank you, erm, Mr.”

Rebecca blushed as the panther took her hand and kissed it expertly.

“Foucalt. You may call me Foucalt. I must say ze way zat you butcher our language is quite, charming.”

The smile slipped a little from Rebecca’s face.

“Are you here alone? With this pretty girl? Surely she cannot be your daughter? But, oui, it must be, such loveliness can only come from ze mother.”

Molly wondered if she should feel swept off of her feet by the corny speech. Rebecca looked even less impressed. Which was surprising. Usually in the face of such debonair and polished men, her mother lost all touch with reality.

But Rebecca not only looked rebuffed but completely uninterested.

“May I escort you back, to, erm, a hotel room?” The look in his eyes hid nothing and Rebecca stepped back.

“No thank you” She said firmly, surprised at herself. What was wrong with her? Here was this incredibly handsome, obviously wealthy man interested in her and she was acting like he was a bug in her path!

She felt very confused all of a sudden.

What was it? Something about his smile (too big) his clothes (too polished, especially in a city just recovering from war) even his hair (too well done, probably toupee) that got on her nerves.

He was wanting. In every way, in her eyes, he was lacking. She wasn’t impressed and wondered at it.

Not to mention the fact that he was persistent.

“Oh, come now. You would not want me to zink zat….”

“Foucie!! Vere are you peaches? You promised zat you would help me! FOUCIE!!”

‘Foucie’ winced, along with Rebecca and Molly as a large, red-cheeked woman in a checkered dress that was several sizes too small came barreling out of one of the salons.

“Zere you are snookums. Pepe said zat we cannot be late to dinner. Or else you will not be getting anozer franc from him, oui? Who is zis, Foucie?” The woman was looking at Rebecca suspiciously.

Smothering her laughter, Rebecca pushed Molly’s hat down to cover her daughter’s large grin. “We were just leaving. You husband was asking where you were.”

As she left she could hear ‘Foucie’s’ frantic explanation as to what he’d been doing and why, etc., etc.

Maybe first impressions weren’t always right, but sometimes they were spot on.

Later that night

Rebecca was lost in her own thoughts. For a long time, she couldn’t think about her Captain, or his promise to her.

She couldn’t really remember his face, even though his voice was still very clear. He really was a ghost, just a phantom in her fantasies.

It wasn’t enough anymore. It had been sweet, fleeting but brief and she had always known it had to be.

Someone else had been there, to show her and to help her. But it was so silly to think of him. Even though she often did, more so than anyone else in her life.

He was nothing of what she wanted, everything about him made her want to scream in frustration.

Well, not everything. The way he acted around Kit and Molly was incredibly sweet and he could be very considerate at times.

It could be worse. He wasn’t cruel or hurtful. There wasn’t a spiteful bone in his body. He was careless and irresponsible and sometimes it hurt others but he never did it on purpose. It didn’t make it right, but she couldn’t see how it made him wrong either.

Rebecca wanted to go for a walk. Molly, after much begging and cajoling (especially after what had happened this afternoon) had gone to explore their hotel.

There was still no word from Baloo. Rebecca felt confused and disheartened. She picked up a shawl, since the spring night was still cool and started downstairs.

The sky was clear and thousands of twinkling stars shone down on her, like old friends. The streets were quiet, most people wanted to stay home and rebuild, if they were lucky enough to have a home to go to.

She wished Baloo were here with her. He could make her forget her serious thoughts, make her smile and laugh in spite of herself, at least he used to.

She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and accidentally bumped into someone who was walking the other way.

Expecting to be cussed out in a foreign language, Rebecca winced, but instead heard a polite, older voice inquire gently.

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” An aging raccoon was there, more gray than black in a lot of his fur.

His uniform was a little worn but still clean like only the other generation of veterans could get it. The accent was crisp and polished as only an Anglian one could be.

“No! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“It’s quite all right, there’s no ‘arm done.”

Rebecca started. His voice, there was something about his that was…..familiar.

“You!” She gasped, stunned. “Oh my god, it’s you! What…what are you…”

Eric stared at her, confused. He hadn’t the slightest idea of who this woman was.

“I have never seen you before in my life, my good woman. You must be mistaken, my name is-“

“Eric Baggett! I knew it, you…” Rebecca looked tense, sad and angry all at once. “You’re Kit’s superior officer. I spoke to you, once before…..”

Now it was Eric’s turn to look stunned. He just stared at Rebecca for a moment.

“You are Rebecca Cunningham.” Eric said in a flat voice. Of all places, of all times. He would never cease to be amazed at how fate worked her wily ways.

Rebecca didn’t ask how he had remembered her name. She felt numb, past pain and fear.

They just watched each other in stony silence. There seemed to be nothing that they could say to each other, but there was so much that needed to be said.

Eric broke first. “Is he…I mean, have you….?” He stopped. “I am sorry.”

Nothing.

“Your, husband?” Rebecca didn’t correct him, “has gone to find him. He will, and soon, I know it.”

“I know”

“He’s alive, he’s ‘eading in the right direction and they are going to find each other.”

“I know that too.”

Silence again.

“He trust you.” Rebecca hated that her voice was unsteady. “_We_ trusted you with our son’s life.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“No, we didn’t, and you being sorry doesn’t make anything any better.” It was funny how Rebecca felt worse, not better after saying that.

“Do you need closure, Mr. Baggett? For what happened or what you did?”

“No” Eric was fighting something, it was obvious. He was trying not to fall back into himself like he had for such a long time. He found that he didn’t want to be hard and stoic to this woman and he didn’t know why.

The fight ended and his expression softened, looking at Rebecca who was so very lovely in the lamplight, the beauty of a spring night personified, refreshing and peaceful.

“I will never ‘ave closure. I accepted that a long time ago. I didn’t force Kit to do anything. Look inside of yourself ma’am, you know that there wasn’t any other way. He did what he did for himself. In the end, I was just a pawn, a ‘alf-decent antagonist to the knight in shining armor. Every story needs one. Just don’t blame me for my position, I’ll do that myself.”

He turned away.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca called after him, her emotions in a whirl. “What gives you the right to assume anything?!!”

But when he looked back at her, his eyes saw right through her and she knew he was right. He was right about everything and she’d known it from the start.

“To answer your question with one of my own, why do you care where I go?”

“I don’t” Rebecca said, puzzled that she’d asked at all.

“I’m turning myself in, ma’am. A slap on the wrist for an old-timey veteran like meself. I’ve paid my dues an’ then some in the trenches. They’ll strip me of my medals that I never wanted in the first place and then move on. Anglia, Rebecca, is where I’m going. To collect me things and then return ‘ere. I ‘ave some property here. I should ‘ave died here twenty years ago. It’s where we all end up, those like me, sooner or later. It’s a shame this is where we’ve all met, Rebecca Cunningham.”

“Things should ‘ave been different. We should ‘ave been different. Friends and family mean something else I know but, for what it’s worth, I’m glad just for this moment.”

He looked at her appreciatively, a ghost of what might have been haunting the lamp-lit street.

Rebecca’s clean, strong features and the corners of his heart where few things ever visited anymore all came together. Then it was gone.

“Go home ma’am. It’s not too late. They’re both coming.”

But as Rebecca turned to go, she heard a soft “Wait”.

Eric pulled out a handkerchief and opened it slowly. The object inside glinted like a bauble.

Rebecca recognized it immediately. Kit’s compass, a little worn but polished until it shown like new. Before Eric handed her the precious object, however, he reached inside of his jacket lapel and pulled out a silver disk.

Rebecca recognized this also, though she hadn’t seen one in years.

“I asked for Kit to receive something, anything for his pains. He should have this, also. I’ll lose it anyway. Give it to him.”

“To remind him.”

Eric held her soft hand for a minute longer than was necessary then walked away, disappearing into the night’s shadows.

Rebecca looked at the bundle he’d placed in her palm and wondered why she felt pity, sadness and the urge to go after him.

The emotion passed in a blink of an eye and she felt a heady relief in its place.

She wanted to go back to see her daughter, to wrap her arms around the son of her heart if not her body. She wanted to see Baloo and find out what he had discovered though all of this, if it was anything like the changes that had enveloped her.

She didn’t walk, but ran. Rather undignified for a middle-aged businesslady with a teenage daughter but she didn’t give a hoot.

The hotel’s doorman looked alarmed as she plowed through the revolving door and looked after her shaking his head at those crazy Uslanders.

Up the stairs (Damn elevator was too slow!) and down the hall. Rebecca only back to herself when she saw that the door to hers’ and Molly’s room was ajar.

Reality came crashing in and a thousand horrifying ideas jumped to the front of her mind. Heart pounding against her ribs, she edged the door open and was momentarily blinded by the lights turned on inside.

Like a scene played out in slow motion, three figures in the room turned towards her and her heart filled to the brim with joy.

“Kit” she choked, tears streaming down her face. She held her arms out and the boy, no, a man now. A young, tall, lean one but a man still, fell into her embrace.

He looked so much older, but his face, and the eyes, a clear, thoughtful hazel, were the same.

They were now filled with tears as he held her. Sniffling behind them reassured her that Molly was safe and sound and had been here to meet the prodigal son.

They were a family again.

Rebecca rocked Kit in her arms, smoothing his hair.

“Thank you, thank you, you came back, thank god, thank you.” She whispered.

Kit finally pulled back and wiped the tears off of his face. “You look terrific Rebecca.” Then he grinned and Rebecca saw the twelve-year old who had opened her heart and given so much to so many.

Then he was gone and the man Kit had grown to be was there instead. But it was all right.

“Mom! Mom!! You just left and I was here and then oh, ‘knock, knock’ and I opened and ‘WOW!!’ Kit and Baloo, screamed, then, ‘Whomp’ heart attack, it was….” Molly was talking so fast that her cheeks were turning red from lack of oxygen.

“Sorry Becky. Guess you didn’t get the message that we were coming.”

“It was kinda short notice”

“Not that we knew that you’d stepped out”

“But, hey, we’re glad that it was such a great surprise!”

Rebecca found it endearing the way that Kit and Baloo were stepping on each other’s sentences. She also saw how the large pilot had his hand on Kit’s shoulder no matter where the boy moved like he couldn’t bear to even slightly break the connection between them.

Molly was still talking but Baloo looked at Rebecca with a strange expression as Kit shook his head ruefully and listened to the petite blonde’s ramblings as she blushed and stuttered under his suddenly unfamiliar gaze.

“So, um, what happened to you?” Baloo asked, taking in Rebecca’s disheveled appearance. Just as she bristled defensively, he chuckled and winked at her.

“Looking good, boss-lady. I sure did miss those brown eyes.”

It was strange but it was like everything they had gone through and become together had brought them…well, closer together.

There was a moment of tension that neither expected or knew how to react to, then it was just Baloo there, her dear friend.

“Oh Baloo” and she threw her arms around his neck. He held her very close and buried his face in her silky hair and she found the closeness very comfortable. It was nice, in his arms, the way she fit so snugly against him. It was almost…..perfect.

Rebecca gave in to one of her unsettled emotions and kissed Baloo on the cheek. Baloo looked surprised for a moment then his eyes deepened and he leaned forward…..

-Only to be interrupted by a giggle and a throat being self-consciously cleared. Kit and Molly (Rebecca saw with a rush of ‘ahhh how sweet, emotion, that they were holding hands) were looking at them.

Kit was politely trying to hide a smile while Molly was grinning like the devil-child she could be, sometimes.

“Shut up and c’mere.” Baloo growled.

The four embraced and Rebecca took the opportunity to push Eric’s gift into his hand. When they separated, Kit looked down at it with a far-away expression on his face.

“Kit?” Baloo said softly, squeezing his shoulder. He looked at Rebecca but she didn’t meet his gaze.

“My compass. Forgotten about this.” Kit stared at the medal also, heedless of the silence.

“He wanted you to have it, he said,” Rebecca finally looked at Baloo, “that he was sorry.”

Kit looked at each of them with a strange little smile, then embraced Baloo fiercely, who held his erstwhile navigator for a long time.

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter, tears and remembering.

The Next Morning

Far outside of Louvais, Max stood at the edge of a cliff that was still marked by shells and gunfire.

There was a makeshift memorial here but he ignored it. He held a single, red flower in his hand and he looked at it for a long time before letting it drift out of his hand.

Catching the breeze and floating away from the cliffs, the poppy was soon just a dot of red in a horizon of blue-gray.

Max watched it go with mixed feelings. “Goodbye little brother.” He whispered to the wind before turning to go.

I’m back again in the depot, with a pot of beer in me hand.

Hark at them cheering the draft off. Hark at the strains of the band.

As I watches a crowd of chaps there, standing around to shout,

Somehow the thought comes to me-‘it’s the same old crowd goes out’.

Out to the slush and muck, son, out to the stink and blood,

Where the streams of jolting lorries splash through the greasy mud.

Where the lights go up on the skyline and the gas-shells plop and spout

‘Hurry, blokes, get your masks on!’-and the same old crowd goes out.

You’ll know it’s the Push when you see them coming along the road,

Wearing the old blue chevrons, humping a nice new load,

To pick up another wound stripe where the rats all scuttle about,

Or lie on the wire forever. Still, the same old crowd goes out.

Yes pick up another Blighty (under the knee cap for me)

Or load about in the billet, chaffing of Gay Paree.

Look at that blooming officer finding his way about-

Know him? I think we ought to! He’s the same old crowd come out.

-Private E. Lowe,

13^th Royal Fusiliers

April, 1919

Louvais, revisited

Louvais was a beautiful city. The air at dusk was pink. Eric was surprised to see that it hadn't been a myth.

There were flowers, and small gardens. There were trees, and laughing children, large women walking small dogs and older gentlemen oogling young girls. There were maids beating out rugs, crooked dusty chaps covered in soot and the occasional bobby, though Eric supposed they were called something else here.

There were trolleys and cabs, there were buses and trams. There were shoe-shiners and lads selling papers, there was even the sight of a 'seamstress' on a corner but they didn't stand out in Eric's innocent eyes.

Louvais was a city alive. It was a city that had held its breath through four years of war, and had convinced itself that nothing, nothing was worse than invasion. Now, it didn't even play the part of a victorious capital. It just wanted to live again.

It, along with every inhabitant, every stone and every brick laid down, knew it had been wrong and couldn't face it. There was the knowledge that there were things worse than what had been here for four years, even worse than what had been lost and what still survived to remind them all. And it was coming ever closer.

So, a deep-seeded sadness accompanied the normalcy in the city. Like a play that no one wanted to have a part in, actors tired of their roles, it was an act.

And Eric knew it. It went past the denial of how bad the war could actually be and what those here could take before they were broken. It was a city forced to move on and leave the glittering past behind, forever.

That was always hard.

Eric strode past the streets lined with lamplights. He sat on the iron-wrought benches and watched many, many black-clad inhabitants stroll past. He felt like a pioneer. He was standing on the edge of something important, he had seen the world change and he felt like he was alone in the knowledge that it could never return to what had been.

It was now that Eric developed a great love for the city of Louvais. He picked out a place, quiet and secluded on the outskirts. Past the river and the towering buildings, past the opera house, the museums, the monuments. He chose a small place near a church, and a cemetary.

Over half of the graves were fresh, with 1916 ending the dates on all of them. A small sign in the native language stood newly painted by the graves. 'To Our Beloved Boys' was all it read.

Someday Eric would come back here. When all of the madness and hate, the rage, frustration and endless bloodshed had erupted and calmed again.

As the peace talks went on and Eric walked through the city streets, many glanced his way and then kept walking with a puzzled expression. The war was over, the soldiers departing, but they couldn't forget.

Most of them knew, that they shouldn't forget.

As Eric was preparing to leave, he stood in the train station and listened to people debating on how the peace was being prepared. A wave of dread passed over him, followed by deep apprehension and then it was over. For twenty years he looked for peace......and he would never find it.

Eric Baggett was as lost as those who never saw 1919 in his generation. War would forever mark his life, his past and his future. He, and the world that he lived in, was changed forever.

A young girl, handing out flowers at the station, impulsively tucked a rose into Eric's pocket and then kissed his cheek.

Eric, so young and strong and uncertain of how to go on, looked at her. And he smiled.

"Merci" She whispered, squeezing his hand.

Eric just nodded.

To everyone who had so much patience and whose encouragement meant so much. You know who you are. Thank you.

(Don’t worry, or do worry, whatever, Epilogues are something Aly likes!!)Epilogue

December 14, 1947

Louie’s Christmas lights seemed to get better, more extravagant, every year. Now, the palm trees sparkled and the bustling laughter of a holiday party (like they needed an excuse) was in full swing.

There had been additions to the Cape Suzette group. Two reddish-blonde toddling orangutans were crawling over the walls, tiki masks, etc., pursued by a good-natured by harassed Waldo.

Bess and Louie were both crooning a bluesy carol, their arms around each other. Wildcat was tinkering, as usual, in a corner, blissfully content to stay the way he was, the most permanent fixture in the group.

There was also a serious young bear cub who had been invited, and who only had eyes for Molly. That young bearess, now a full-fledged teenager, was prettier than ever.

She just giggled at her friend’s behavior, enjoying the attention, still too young for a serious relationship from one date. She was, however, still a little bit hopeful of something, though it was more of a crush than anything else.

The years were changing her and the young pilot she’d loved for so long. She didn’t know where they would end up but their friendship would always be strong.

Maybe he would always be the babysitter who fed peppered ice cream to a squid and clunked his head on household furniture.

Still, she had more sympathy for her mom’s dilemma.

Rebecca had aged gracefully, Baloo…..less so. But they were still themselves, still parents for their children.

They had built a life together, it was just that last step that was so hard to take.

Postcards from Europa, Louvais, even a solitary one from Anglia hung on Louie’s wall, a reminder of the war they’d all lived through and the threat that was always present, as though they needed to be reminded of it.

Rebecca and Baloo were holding hands, reading the latest letter from Kit Cloudkicker. Kit had been an inspirational pilot for those working to bring relief to a blocked off city.

He had had the courage to return to that terrible place. This time he knew it was for the best and no matter how it ended, he could face it. So could Rebecca and Baloo. They had to let him go, again, to face that danger all over again.

It was Kit’s way, to want to help others and they never, ever wanted to change him.

Cape Suzette was a city prospering, no longer living in the shadow of conflict and poverty. Decades of struggle had molded it as well.

Thousands of miles away, as Kit landed safely and his shift ended far from Thembrian controlled territory, he held a vigil. He lit one candle, representing past, present and future. He thought of home but also of others, of a girl he’d lost, one he’d never found after the carnage had ended and one that was waiting for him. He clutched his old air-foil, still cherished after all of these years and remembered.

Another fly-boy, nearly done with life’s troubles, did the same that night, lighting his own candle to his life. It lasted the night. Now, finally, was his time to let go.

The Beginning

Kit tossed and turned in his bunk on board the Sea Duck. His emotions were as turbulent as the ocean beneath him. He knew he had to leave soon, that he didn’t have a place here with these people.

He was Kit, ex-pirate, vagabond, trouble-maker. There were few constants in his life and a roof over his head wasn’t one of them. He tapped his scuffed airfoil underneath his sweater, there was one, and the other was his dream of flying. That was all.

But, for tonight, he could dream and it was very sweet. That businesslady was nice, and she sang well, even if she was a bit uptight and bossy.

He wondered what it was like for a mother to sing you a lullaby like that every night, to sing it just for you.

He wondered if a father, a real one, would have acted like Baloo had when Karnage had held him prisoner in that jungle.

He’d acted like he cared. He had even sacrificed his beloved plane for him. Kit squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the waves of pain inside his heart.

He hadn’t asked Baloo to do that, he still didn’t understand why he had.

Kit listened to the pilot’s soft snores underneath him and wondered what Baloo saw in him that had made him, like, him at all.

Kit finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

Unfortunately, it was short-lived as he was rudely awakened by the rough seas outside. It must have been very late, or very early, since the only sound was the harbor bell and a mild storm outside.

He tried to disentangle himself from his covers and lost his balance, yelping once as he fell. Before he could even draw another breath, however, an arm shot out and grabbed him.

Kit let his instincts take over, kicking and fighting whoever had him before a familiar voice broke through his panicked haze.

“Ea-sy kiddo, that was some tumble. You’re safe now. You’re safe, I’ve got ya.”

Kit blinked and quickly pushed Baloo away angrily. He didn’t look at the large bear when he grumpily climbed into his bunk again.

He heard a weary sigh and told himself that he didn’t care, that he didn’t need anyone and it was better that the pilot found out about him now rather than later.

He didn’t fall back asleep that night.

In the bunk underneath him, Baloo was wondering at himself and that odd kid who he already felt way too attached to. It was ridiculous, someone like him and a kid like that.

But, in his heart, he knew that the boy needed someone, and……maybe he needed Kit too. Yet, the boy wasn’t ready. No matter, he could wait.

“Goodnight, L’il Britches.” He said to the darkness. Before he drifted off, he heard a soft, “Goodnight……Papa Bear.”

Fin