Return to Cyprus (NStW)

Beach House

5/1/2030

It had been three years since Matti had seen the small waves of the Mediterranean crashing onto the shores of Cyprus. And it wasn't a particularly fun three years.

When Group 1 disbanded, partially due to the UN feeling it was no longer necessary, and partially due to internal problems between some of the members, a huge hole opened up in the Sicilian-American's sense of fulfilment. Finally, she had found something that seemed to give her purpose, and just a few short years later, it was gone. Taken away from her for reasons beyond her control. 

She didn't know how long the group would last this time either, in fairness. All she knew was that she was there again. Back on the beautiful island in the sea. To live with her closest friends, as they strived to preserve justice in the world. To fight for the future, and to bring those responsible for war to justice. To fulfill her life. She was over the moon.

As the plane touched down, and touched down hard, she tapped her foot rapidly, awaiting the return to the "beach house." The big Group 1 building, the beautiful modern training center located on the far west side of the island. Sheltered by Cyprus's beautiful mountain ranges was where Matti and "the gang," as Sam would say, had previously gotten up the noses of anyone the UN wanted them to. Many tried to take them down, but they were always there. Or at least until they took themselves down. That was the one thing Matti hoped wouldn't carry over from last time.

Now wasn't the time to reminisce about the past. She had done so for three years. Now was the time to rejoice. The time to see old friends. The time to train on odd days, and party on evens. To go for three in the morning drives in Marcy's RX-7. To talk shit with Ben and Sam until the sun rose. To help people on the weekends, and help yourself on the weekdays. All over again.

Matti called for the first taxi she could find. An old black Mercedes pulled over and let her in, and when he asked where to, she replied with overwhelming enthusiasm, "South Lara Beach." The driver raised his eyes in surprise and pulled away from the curb. She was about to put her headphones in, but just before she could, the older taxi driver asked what she was doing over there. All she said was, "working," with a big, big smile.

A few hours later and Matti could see the hangars and runway fence. Somewhere in there was a dusty old jet and a young rebellious pilot brushing off the cobwebs of his previously well oiled machine. His pride and joy. Marcy could ramble for hours about it's composite airframe and supermaneuvrability capabilities. She loved how proud he was of it, how much he bubbled and smiled when working on it and chatting about it to anyone who'd listen. She'd been dying to see him again. It really hit her when she saw the runway: Group 1 was back together.

He was the one who let her know that she had been invited to (re)join the reformed Group 1. He let her know all the details: most of the original members had been kept, the only exceptions being Elise and Chester, as they had run off to GD and had no plans on returning. But it seemed that everyone else had confirmed their return, or in Lisle's case, hadn't answered. Nobody had heard from him since long before Group 1 originally disbanded, except for the one letter he wrote to Captain Taylor years ago, saying that he never wanted anything to do with war ever again. Nobody could argue with his logic, but they did miss him. But now wasn't the time to dwell on those who were absent.

Matti closed the door to the taxi, and with her suitcase in hand and backpack strapped on tight, opened the door to Marcy's hangar. There he stood: standing on one of the wings of his dusty jet, with a handful of tools and a laptop wired into something. He peered to the door, and his face light up as if someone had just turned the sun back on. All he uttered was her name.

"Matti!" he shouted with all the energy in his body.

"Marcy!" Matti shouted back with the same excitement. 

Marcy literally jumped the ten feet down off the wing of his plane and ran towards her, arms extended for a hug. She ran towards him, and they collided hard. The harshness of the two boney bodies colliding was countered by the worries decompressing away from the two of them. With each of the audible waves in the distance, something pent up over the past three years just washed away. Anger. Anxiety. Depression. All gone.

"Welcome back to the beach house."