Open Case File [COMPLETED]

Meeting The Family

It's frickin' long so remember you asked for this.

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A tight coil of nerves formed in Carter's stomach as the Marine at the guard house waved them through the gates, offering Donovan a cheery welcome home. As the car drove through, Carter tensed. Even as the torrent in her mind picked up, she could still sense the change in Donovan. Though nothing shifted in his demeanor a sort of lightness came over him. The passivity of his face softened. He was home.

Carter tried to let his ease be enough to reassure her, but it didn't. As they headed further onto the base, she wasn't aware of their surroundings, too focused on their destination. By the time they stopped outside a one-story house with a fresh coat of tan paint and a trim front yard, she was gripping the center console. Her knuckles were white but she couldn't bring herself to let go.

As Donovan drew out the keys, he looked over at her. Carter felt his gaze but couldn't tear her eyes away from the house. Donovan's house. His true home. Donovan rested his hand on hers, gently prying her fingers off. Even when he laced his hand with hers, she didn't look away.

"Carter," he said, his voice coaxing her to met his gaze.

Forcibly, she ripped her attention away from the brown front door.

It was only then she saw his transformation. He was smiling at her. A smile that was offered up without any true cause. He looked younger, the weight of responsibility always weighing on him left outside the gates. Even his blue eyes had a brightness to them like he was simply a college kid coming home for Thanksgiving.

"I can't cook," Carter blurted out.

The laugh that this comment received was untroubled and somehow different than any laugh he had given. It spoke of the boy Donovan had been in this place. Someone who tackled his brothers because they annoyed him. Someone who joked around with men twice his age and never felt the difference. Someone who knew exactly who he was and what he was going to do when he grew up. It was a laugh that soothed a fraction of her nerves.

"You don't have to cook," Donovan said. "My mom will and she doesn't expect you to. Come on, they're going to love you."

Releasing her hand, Donovan climbed out. After a slow breath, Carter did as well. It was warm despite the season. The California sun watched over the world, unobscured by clouds. Around her, the smell of dirt, machine oil, and a dry heat layered the air. The low rumble of tires undercut by gunfire filled her ears. Even far from the main training area, the ground thrummed with energy. All these pieces seemed to fit into the puzzle of Donovan, defining him even more.

Taking her hand, he guided Carter up the front path and to the house. When he opened the door, they were swept up into the scent of Thanksgiving. A long hallway stretched out in front of them, doorways lining it.

"Mom, dad?" Donovan called out.

Carter knew those terms but hearing them from Donovan felt strange. He was a bachelor, a man that had been on his own since he was sixteen. But he was still someone's son. They stepped into a living room and Carter was struck by it. It was neat, a dark blue couch butted up against a white wall with a light gray carpet beneath.

But that was not what she noticed, instead it was the signs that this house had held four boys. There were marks in the wall from fights that had gotten out of hand. A spot in the carpet that looked like someone had burned a hole in it. Fraying edges on the couch that told of roughhousing boys who had clambered over it too many times.

This was Donovan's childhood. This was the part of him that she had been slowly teasing out of him. Now she saw so much and felt like she knew him better than before. His early life hadn't been easy, but these markings were signs that he had been young and wild once.