Chapter 11

A/N: From 10-4-2019, the date I published Chapter 10, to 5-11-2020, the date I finally published Chapter 11, took a span of 7 months. Not at all respectful of my readers, I have to say. However, during the majority of that 7 months I was either far too busy to write, or without a computer to use, since my previous laptop went and died on me. I don't want to make it another 7 months between now and Chapter 12, so, for anyone who reads this, just bear with me. Read on if you like; I sincerely hope you will find this new chapter worth the long wait.

After staying in Washington overnight, the Marshalls took a cab out to the airport, with Tony contentedly tagging along. Elizabeth met them there, and the loving kiss they shared before parting made Tony think again about what a dependable guy Josh was, what an admirable guy, even as Chris pretended to gag at the sight and got smacked by his adoptive father on the back of the head.

Big things happened around Josh, that was for sure. He lived large and feared nothing. Tony liked that. Getting to meet the President had been cool, and so was attending that big awards ceremony. The way the Marshalls lived, devoted to this Marine code of honor they so admired, was not really what Tony wanted for himself, but he could respect it. The Marshalls made their values likeable. The elitist jerks in Honor Corps could have taken a few lessons from them.

Bad weather ended up grounding the flight in Scranton, which Tony was pretty sure was in Pennsylvania, for over five hours before they finally got moving again. During the wait, just as Tony was about to remark to Chris that it looked like they were in the clear, Josh showed up and sat down next to them, a solemn look on his face.

"I hope you guys know that I haven't forgotten anything."

"What?" Chris asked.

"Huh?" Tony added.

"That shit at the airport. I didn't forget. You better believe I'll be paying attention to how you do before the fall semester ends. You're a cadet sergeant major, Chris, the top-ranked NCO for the whole Corps. That means responsibility, a lot of it. And Tony- you got a chance to make good and graduate. Dad and I have too much invested to watch you both go and fuck it all up."

"Aw, Josh," Chris complained. "I'm gonna be all right. Don't worry about it."

"That stunt at the airport makes me worry. You understand that?"

Chris grumbled to himself. "Yeah, I get it."

"Tony?"

"Uh… I mean, I can do this, I guess. I mean, like you said, I gotta graduate high school somewhere."

"So get your fucking act together and stop fucking around. Go to class, do your job as a cadet, and you will graduate. I guarantee it."

"Honor Corps might have some things to say about that," Tony grouched.

Josh looked at Tony intently. "There is no Honor Corps, Tony. Best I could say is, maybe another group of cadets heard the stories and decided to start calling themselves that, as a means of scaring people. Yes, you've made enemies at Remington. There's people who would probably like to see you leave. But that doesn't mean there's a conspiracy against you. I really would stop thinking about that."

"But how can you be so sure it's not real?" Tony insisted. "What if it was?"

Josh shook his head. "It's just a fairytale. I looked. Trust me, man. For years, I looked everywhere and never found even a secret janitor's closet."

"Then what if we find something?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, what if we did?" Tony added, looking at Josh. "Would that help?"

The way Josh looked at them then made Tony wonder whether they hadn't said the wrong thing. The hard look eventually softened, though, and Josh sighed and shook his head.

"It's nothing but a damn fairytale, guys. I'm telling you. But- fine. Find me something and maybe I'll believe you." He considered. "Somebody operating outside the law of the Corps, doing whatever they want? You find those sons of bitches. I don't want anybody disobeying the law of the Corps at my school."

"We'll find the sons of bitches," Tony assured him. "We will."

"Give it what you got, if that's so important to you," Josh replied. "I can't promise anything, as far as that goes. Not now. Just remember- graduating is your first priority, both of you."

Sergeant Major Marshall, who had been conversing with a fellow veteran who was now an airline executive, returned then, a big smile on his face and order tickets for burgers in his hands. Josh jumped up and hugged his adoptive dad, followed moments later by Chris. The sudden show of affection surprised the old Marine, and he made a big show of brushing them off, but he couldn't quite keep a smile off his face.

Tony, who sat there watching the scene with a mix of admiration and envy, almost jumped when Josh turned and set a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, man. You're gonna go far. You're gonna really be something. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life. It's printed on you plain as day. Forget about your lousy dad. Come on and let's go eat."

"But you guys don't have a meal ticket for-"

"You?" Josh asked, pulling out a receipt from behind his back.

"Oh, hey."

"Yeah." Josh grinned. "Come on, Tony, and let's talk. You're some kind of big deal to my brother, so I think we should get to know each other. That sound all right to you?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. Sure."

"Okay. Let's go. Pick up those feet, DiNozzo, and move with a purpose!"

"Aw, man. Do I have to?"

"Yes!" all three Marshalls answered him. Tony laughed and got up.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The remainder of the flight back to Rhode Island was quiet and uneventful. When they landed, a slim, sharply-dressed young man with a heavy Carolina drawl was waiting for them as they got off the plane.

"Mighty glad to see y'all," Henry D'Arbanville said in greeting, nodding to them.

"Hey, Darby," Chris replied, shaking hands with him.

"Sir," D'Arbanville said to Josh. "Sergeant Major," he added, to Thomas Marshall.

"Glad to see me, too?" Tony needled, unable to help himself.

The South Carolina aristocrat's voice could have crushed boulders into sand.

"Oh, yes, DiNozzo, just delighted. Real pleased. Gettin' to stay with the Marshalls over Thanksgiving hasn't done your manners much good, I see."

"Why do you say it 'mannahs'?" Tony asked. "And 'ah see'?"

"My father sends his regards," D'Arbanville went on, ignoring Tony. "Mister Travis drove me up here in my car. He's waiting outside and ready when we are."

Tony started to add some wisecrack or another, but Chris, Josh, and Thomas Marshall all shot him a warning look at the same time. A little disappointed, Tony settled for glaring at D'Arbanville when he figured nobody else could see. Could looks have killed, the Marshalls would have had to call security for a pair of dead bodies.

The car ride turned out to be really something, much as Tony didn't want to admit it. A massive, hulking, yet sleek and elegant black car sat at the curb with a well-dressed man in his early fifties behind the wheel, reading a newspaper. When he saw D'Arbanville approaching with the disembarked travelers in tow, he released the trunk latch and got out.

"Good evening, sirs," the man said.

"Mister Travis," D'Arbanville said, "I give you the heroes of the hour: the Marshalls." He paused. "And Cadet Anthony DiNozzo. He's an- acquaintance to Chris."

Chris laughed easily. "Oh, come off it, Darby. Me and him are friends."

"So you are," D'Arbanville agreed, giving Tony another dark look. "Well," he said brightly, "Mr. Travis, it's about time we got back."

"Yes, it is, Henry," Mr. Travis agreed. "Gentlemen, please give me your luggage. I guarantee it will be in the best possible hands."

"Certainly, sir," Josh replied. "Okay, Tony. Hand me yours first. Then, uh, Chris and, uh-"

"Dad?" Sergeant Major Marshall rumbled. "Did meeting all the big shots make you forget who I am?"

"Aw, Dad," Chris quipped, "a face as ugly as yours is just impossible to forget."

"Tony, slap that little punk for me."

Tony grinned and gave Chris a good smack across the left cheek.

"Ow!"

"Good man."

"Yes, si-Sergeant Major," Tony replied.

"Tony?" Josh asked. "Your bag?"

Handing his bag over, Tony stood off to the side while Mr. Travis and Josh got everything situated. It wasn't clear to him whether the two men had just met or were old friends. Josh seemed to have a real gift for befriending people. A real gift. Senators whom Tony had never heard of had addressed Josh by his first name. He had now shaken hands with- and been decorated by- the President of the United States. And in every situation, he was unquestionably one to take charge, someone possessed with unshakeable confidence.

All in all, not a bad guy, Tony thought. Not at all.

"You gonna keep staring at my brother like that, or you gonna ask him out?" Chris asked, grinning impishly as he poked Tony in the head.

"Stop that."

Poke. "Stop what?"

"If y'all are finished," D'Arbanville interjected, "Mr. Travis is ready."

The chauffeur stood beside the open passenger doors on the massive Rolls-Royce, as trim and meticulously maintained as the thirty year-old paint and what looked like approximately forty tons of chrome. Tony knew little about cars and so he wasn't sure exactly how to be impressed, but impressed he most certainly was. The car looked like a rolling cathedral, some obscenely-expensive work of art carefully imported from Europe decades ago.

Sergeant Major Marshall sat up front with Mr. Travis, while Josh and Tony took the rear-facing extra bench seat. D'Arbanville and Chris took their places at the other, and after a few heavy-sounding 'thunk' sounds as Mr. Travis closed the doors, they were moving, gliding all but silently out into the traffic, out amongst a sea of boxier, smaller, lesser cars.

Looking out the window, Josh was the picture of respectability and success. The new medal was draped around his neck, and the handful of military awards he held- for now- rested on the left side of his chest, meticulously arranged. His captain's bars gleamed brilliant silver.

"They're probably going to make a big deal about this at school," Chris said. "So be ready."

"I'm always ready, Chris," Josh replied. "Always."

"It's never boring around you guys," Tony said, resisting the urge to fidget with his uniform necktie. "You know that? It's like something is always happening, or about to happen."

"Is it my family's purpose in life to entertain you, Tony?" Josh asked, glancing back from the window, his tone neutral.

"Well, yeah," Tony answered, as if that went without saying. "You got an important role in life, man. You should feel honored. You know, or something."

Josh laughed. "Okay. Thanks, Tony."

"Anytime."

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The Rolls-Royce drove smoothly through the heavy rain, its sheer bulk and cost seeming to safeguard it on the road as well as it insulated its occupants. With D'Arbanville and Tony glaring daggers at each other, silence largely dominated the car, broken by the occasional question or comment.

Finally, D'Arbanville leaned over and said quietly, "You better be thankful Chris likes you so much. If he didn't you would've been tossed out of school a long time ago."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tony demanded, both annoyed and confused.

"Just what I said," D'Arbanville replied smugly. "And if Mr. Bi-"

"That's enough," Josh said in a voice of steel, clamping a hand down on the Charleston aristocrat's shoulders. "You shut your mouth. Gentlemen don't speak like that."

"Yes, sir," D'Arbanville said instantly, returning to sitting upright again. He looked at Josh, surprised and hurt. "I didn't mean to-"

"A deed done by accident, or by mistake, is still done," Josh pronounced.

The window partitioning the front of the car from the back slid open.

"Everyone playing nice back here?" Thomas Marshall asked gruffly.

"Yes, Dad," Josh answered. "Everybody's fine. Tony just told Darby he was thinking of voting Democrat when he turns eighteen."

"I'd pass on that, son, if I were you," the veteran noncom said. "But it's your call. That's what freedom's all about."

"But I never said I actually wanted to-"

"No, Tony," Chris said with a smile and a wink, "don't lie. Just… tell Dad the truth."

"He's not my Dad."

"But you wish he was."

"Hey, that's getting a little pers-"

"Gentlemen, we're at the front gate," Mr. Travis announced. "A little quiet, if you please."

"In that case, then, lemme just shut the door to the monkey house," the Sergeant Major rumbled. He slid the glass partition shut.

They were stopped at the gate only briefly; the young man working for Zero Risk Security, the firm protecting the Academy grounds day and night, wore an RMA class ring and gaped at the rear compartment of the Rolls after asking some questions of Mr. Travis and Sergeant Major Marshall. Josh sighed and rolled down his window.

"Captain Marshall, sir," the young man said, "this- it's an honor." He saluted sharply.

"Good evening," Josh said neutrally, returning the salute as Mr. Travis carefully moved the Rolls up a little, getting them more directly under the gatehouse overhang.

"Sir, I don't know if you remember, but I was a freshman your senior year. My brother and I were in A Company."

"Room 252 and 353," Josh said. "You made corporal in six weeks. Your brother took five but he got busted for going off-post to see the girls."

The young man stared in astonishment. "Uh, yes, yes, sir. That was us."

"So what brought you back here?"

"I just got my undergrad at West Virginia University this year," Baker explained. "Zero Risk pays well so I figured I'd go ahead and start private sector. Means I get to look after the place, too. I'm in the Marine Reserves, too, so, it all works out."

Josh cracked a small smile. "Tommy Baker got his shit together and turned into a security guard," he said. "How's your brother?"

"He commissioned into the Marines this year. Infantry."

"Bet we'll chew some dirt together in the next war," Josh said warmly. "Tell him I said hi."

"Yes, sir." Baker hesitated. "It's an honor to meet you personally, sir."

"I imagine it would be, yes," Josh cracked. "Carry on, Tommy."

Baker saluted. "Yes, sir!"

As Baker leaned into the gatehouse and pressed a button to raise the barrier, Josh rolled up the window. "Now," he said, "we're going to have to get right to the TAC office, get you guys signed in. We're late so expect some flak for that. Dad and I will handle anything we need to. We're barely in time for dinner, so, we'll go straight to the mess hall. Then Dad and I need to get out of here. We were lucky to get leave time for this."

"Ah, Remington," Chris sighed wistfully. "Look at that architecture. Almost makes it feel like home."

"Yeah, if the guy who did your house also does prisons," Tony retorted.

"Smart, Tony, real smart," Josh said. "Just remember. Prison or not, get your shit together and you'll graduate from here. But only if you get your shit together."

"And that's mandatory, huh? I have to?"

"Yes. Now, you see how Mr. Travis is stopping? Means it's time to get out of the car."

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Surprisingly enough, they were not detained any longer than usual at the TAC office, where Sergeant Major Ambrose and Sergeant Major Marshall embraced like brothers and spent a few minutes exchanging stunningly colorful insults with smiles on their faces. Sergeant Major Marshall signed for Chris and Tony, while Mr. Travis signed for D'Arbanville.

"Get right over to the mess hall," Sergeant Major Ambrose advised. "You'll be just in time." His rough-hewn, craggy face cracked into a smile. "I think they might be expecting you."

"Oh, I'll just bet," Sergeant Major Marshall rumbled.

"Hail the conquering heroes!" Chris said, doing a little dance.

Josh smacked Chris on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

Without missing a beat, Josh turned to Ambrose. "Sergeant Major, can we leave the luggage in the TAC office and get it after we go in for dinner?"

"I'm gonna charge a personal convenience fee on top of the Academy's Luggage Storage on Short Notice fee," the veteran Marine replied.

"Sure thing," Josh replied smoothly. "Darby'll take care of everything; his parents own most of South Carolina. He's good for it."

"Okay, he'll get the bill. Just remember I'm the one charging by the minute. The Academy is nicer; they charge by the hour."

"My father's gonna hear about this," D'Arbanville grumbled, putting on a mutinous expression.

"What was that?"

"I'll take care of it," the blond aristocrat said. He looked at Josh. "So can we go eat now?"

"Yeah, can we?" Tony asked.

"Good grief, the two of you agree on something," Josh laughed. "Get all the bags inside the TAC office and let's go."

ΩΩΩΩΩ

As they neared the mess hall doors, Josh paused to adjust the Presidential Medal of Valor around his neck, then did a quick check of D'Arbanville, Chris, and Tony in their uniforms. He glanced at Sergeant Major Marshall with a laugh.

"I know you're good, Dad."

"I lived through three wars, son, so you bet I can keep track of a couple pieces of tin."

"More than a couple on there, Dad," Chris said. "Somebody might even think you're a hero."

"A new piece of tin doesn't change who I am."

"That's right, Dad," Josh agreed. "You already were a hero." He looked at Tony. "Always remember this, Tony, whenever people make a big deal out of me. The people in my life made me what I am. If it weren't for Dad, for Chris, for all the friends I've gotten to know, I never would've gotten so much credit. I never would've been anything. No one is successful on their own, ever. It's always 'we'."

With that, he turned and strode toward the mess hall doors as everyone else followed close behind. Two cadets in full dress uniform, the grays-and-whites, snapped to attention and saluted. Josh returned the salute, and they opened the doors for the new arrivals.

The entire Corps of Cadets, all five hundred boys, stood at attention behind their chairs. They did not move or look towards the Marshalls, D'Arbanville, or Tony, but a sharp metallic clanging sound broke the silence of the room as the group walked in. It was high-pitched, brief, and frequently repeated. As Tony looked around in confusion, he spotted groups of older boys here and there, the entire command staff at the battalion tables, the oldest Brigade staff cadets seated at the High Table with General Blake and the other senior staff, all raising their right hands, each bearing a gold class ring, and striking the underside of their ring finger against the top of the arch on the back of their metal chair. The sound came again, again, again, as Chris steered Tony and D'Arbanville toward two spare seats at the 1st Battalion staff table, then quickly moved to follow his father and brother to the High Table.

General Blake stood and called out, "And now, gentlemen of the Corps, I give you the heroes of the hour: a great cadet, a great alumnus, and a great friend, the Fighting Marshalls!"

The cadets banging their rings on their chairs intensified their efforts, striking the rings harder still. Tony stood behind his chair, turning his head just enough to see as Josh, Chris, and Sergeant Major Marshall went to the three open seats, with Josh standing immediately left of General Blake. Josh briefly spoke to Chris and his father, each of whom shook their heads. Then the Marine captain went to stand at the center of the High Table himself.

As he raised one hand, the noise stopped, and silence resumed command of the room. When Josh spoke, it was in a calm, yet powerful, commanding voice, one that could not possibly be misheard or ignored. He looked out over the room, surveying the cadets one by one, as if he knew them all by name.

"Thank you all. As you know, Homecoming was back in October. But this- here, tonight, with you- is my real Homecoming. Any time I return to this magnificent campus and see the fine young men being trained here… that is my Homecoming. To say that the continued high quality of the Corps gives me hope for America's future is an understatement, a gross understatement.

"Men of the Corps, we Sons of the Brave, we know better than any others that life offers no easy paths, and that the hardest choices require the strongest wills. We know that a cheap, careless life- a dishonorable life- is not worth living, and that the strongest steel is forged in the hottest fires, for it is untarnished honor and unbreakable steel that are needed to triumph in peace and war. It is that common understanding that will bind us together forever. That, and a love of God, Corps and country that no bayonet can pierce, no bullet shatter." Josh raised his glass from the table and held it high.

"To you. Verum, Animus, Officium!"

Though only the adults at the High Table were able to hold glasses of wine, the five hundred boys in the crowd raised their glasses of water as though they held a vintage with no equal in the world. St. Esprit and other cadet officers and senior sergeants were particularly serious in their posture and expressions; to them, this was no mere military high school. This involved something sacred, something real. Taken up briefly by the gravity of the moment, Tony raised his own glass, turned toward Josh, and joined the rest of the Corps, the rest of the room, in shouting back, "Truth! Valor! Duty!"

ΩΩΩΩΩ

D'Arbanville evidently slipped out of the mess hall early, because he and his bags were gone when Tony, Chris, Josh and Sergeant Major Marshall returned to the TAC office. After bidding a heartfelt farewell to Josh and his father, Chris went to get his bags, accepting a handshake from Sergeant Major Marshall as he did so.

"Never forget what you are now," the old Marine told him. "You're a hero. Like your brother, like your dad. A hero. Nothing less, for the rest of your life."

"Aw," Chris choked out, tearing up. "I just tried to stay alive."

"You did more. Everyone knows you did more."

"Yeah. Well… thanks, Sergeant Major."

"Don't expect any favors when class starts again on Monday, hero."

Chris smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it, Sergeant Major." He turned to Tony. "Come on. Let's go get you and your bags back to your room."

"You're not gonna throw me out of bed again, are you?" Tony asked as they headed out of the TAC office.

"I don't know," Chris replied evenly. "Are you gonna try to sleep in past Reveille again?"

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Tony's door was blissfully free of markings, numeric or otherwise, for which he gave silent thanks. Travis was inside, already getting ready for bed, but he called out "At ease!" as Chris walked in.

"Carry on, my dude," Chris said easily. "Get your beauty sleep. God knows you and DiNozzo both need it. Hey, I'm gonna volunteer your roommate to help me get my shit upstairs, so, you can have him back later."

"Yes, Sergeant Major!"

"See you," Chris said. He left and Tony followed him, pulling the door shut again. "Your roommate's okay. He needs to lose some fucking weight, though."

"I'm surprised he still has it with what they make us eat," Tony replied.

"Jeez, what'd you expect, five stars?" Chris retorted. "This school's food is good enough for what you need. It'll keep you alive plus a little extra, like when the cooks actually remember Fishsticks Friday and Taco Tuesday."

"Wait, we have those?"

"Sometimes. Like I said, when they remember. Coach will be all over you if you pig out on the tacos and he sees it, so, consume at your own risk."

As they climbed the stairwell to the inner sanctum, the hallowed and cramped hallways of the Brigade staff hallway, Tony said, "Your brother gave a pretty good speech."

"Yeah, he's good at that. I think he kind of likes it. You know, like, part of him doesn't like being called 'legend' or 'hero,' but I think part of him does. It means he's gotten that much farther from where he started in life."

"What do you remember? Like, before your dad adopted you guys?"

Chris stopped on the stairs and looked at Tony sharply, his face white. "Don't you ask me about that. Not casually. Don't ever treat it like it's some cool subject you can bring up anytime."

"Hey, man," Tony blustered, "I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't. C'mon, I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't," Chris retorted. "You don't need to be sorry. How would you know, getting ignored by your rich dad all your life? He didn't teach you a fucking thing. Well, stick with me, and listen to Coach Tanner, and you'll learn, Tony."

"Oh, hey, another inspirational speech from a big goddamn hero."

"It's improper to take the Lord's name in vain, Tony," Chris chided. Then he smiled. "You feel inspired right now?"

"Oh, yeah. Really, really inspired."

"You fuckin' liar," Chris laughed.

"You're not a fuckup, man," Tony said suddenly. "You're not. Don't think of yourself that way."

"You don't know me that well," Chris said. "If you did you wouldn't say that."

"Sergeant Major Ambrose doesn't think you're a fuckup. He called you a hero. You went into that sinking ship and got all those people out? That sure sounds like a hero."

"I didn't do a fucking thing besides be scared. I just tried to live, Tony. My brother, the band on the ship, they were the heroes. I basically cried the whole time after I busted my arm, anyway. You wanna stop trying to make me cry now?"

"I'm not. I just wanted to tell you- well, you know, you're not such a bad guy."

"Well, thanks. Now, if you could help me get my bags up to my room, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure."

Tony followed Chris into the Brigade staff hallway, down to the room Chris indicated. It was small, spartan, and meticulously neat. The room of a model cadet.

"Don't believe everything you see," Chris grinned as he saw Tony looking around. "I'm just good at looking good."

"Yeah, right, Boy Scout."

"Get outta my room, you fuckin' bum."

Tony stepped out into the hallway and promptly got shoved hard from behind. He staggered forward and almost hit the door arch to Chris' room, then turned around, thoroughly pissed off.

"Hey!"

"Thought I forgot about you, motherfucker?" Mark Golan demanded, poking Tony hard in the chest.

"Gosh, was it too much to hope?"

"You think getting to go to the fucking White House makes you special? You think you're not still gonna get it in ways you've never dreamed of if you don't figure your fucking life out?"

"Well, I sure love it, you know, that I got an asshole like you to help me do that," Tony shot back. He shoved Golan with both hands; the Brigade exec fell back a step, briefly surprised, but then he grinned and straightened up.

"You're gonna regret that, DiNozzo."

"I regret ever coming here."

"No, you don't. Not yet."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Golan," Chris said, "do you really gotta do this now?"

Chris got in between the two of them, visibly alarmed. "I am not allowing this. Not here, not now. I will not have you two start a fuckin' brawl here the night we come back!"

"You're getting awful soft about this guy," Golan said. "What's going on, Chris? Oh, and DiNozzo, he's the only thing between you and a trip to the hospital right now, so, I'd thank him if I were you."

"This whole Big Tough Guy routine's getting really old."

"Actually, I'm just getting started!"

"Oh, really? What else you got?"

Golan grinned. "Oh, you don't wanna know, man."

"I don't?" Tony retorted. "Why don't you tell me anyway?"

"Will you people shut the hell up?" Chris asked, visibly at his wit's end. "There's no fuckin' need for-"

"What's going on here?"

All three boys turned to see Alexander R. St. Esprit, IV, standing outside his room door, still wearing his grays-and-whites dress uniform. Three silver diamonds gleamed in the hallway lights on each of his shoulders, and so did two more on either side of his collar. He surveyed the scene with an expert eye and did not look especially pleased.

"Mark," he said, "I thought I told you to lay off right now. We got enough to worry about just getting to the end of the fall semester."

"Just found some trash in the hallway," Golan replied. "Nothing serious, Alex."

"I'll say if it is," St. Esprit replied. "You better be glad Chris was here to get in your way, Mark, because your hot head almost made you start a riot."

"It's not a riot if I throw him down the stairwell," Golan shot back.

"And you're not doing that tonight," St. Esprit answered. "DiNozzo, what brought you onto my hallway? I'm in command here. I'm responsible if anything happens. Tell me you had a good reason to be here."

"Jesus, man, I was just helping Chris carry up his luggage!"

"All right. But two of my staff don't like you. Actually, they hate you, and a lot of the rest of my staff aren't too fond you, either. You oughta think about that before coming up here."

"Tony isn't unwelcome on this floor if he's with me," Chris said firmly. "And he's with me."

"Shitbag isn't worth your time-" Golan began hotly, but Chris held up a hand.

"Mark, just let me do this my way. He's on the basketball team and Coach Tanner won't like it if you beat up one of our guys."

"I can do it."

"That's not the point."

"Guys," St. Esprit said, "I'm done with this. Understand? We don't all have to get along but this is my hallway and right now I don't get to sleep. And I like my sleep. Can we pass on killing each other for right now? We got Chapel to go to in the morning."

"I'm done with this, too," Golan sighed. "I got better things to do with my time."

"Chris, get some rest," St. Esprit said. "I'll see DiNozzo out."

"Alex-"

"I won't throw him down the stairs either," St. Esprit said calmly. "Don't worry."

Chris smiled. "Okay. That's better."

"Mark, Alex, see you guys in the morning."

"Yeah."

"All right."

Tony was tensed up, ready for anything as he stiffly headed back down the hallway with St. Esprit, but neither of them said anything until the door was closed and they were at the top of the stairwell. The blond cadet colonel looked at Tony for a few moments, thinking about something.

"DiNozzo, I don't know why Chris likes you so much, but he's taken to you pretty fast," St. Esprit said finally.

"It's called having friends, Alex. You should give it a try sometime."

"That's a smart mouth. I could write you up for that. But you know what I'm gonna do instead?"

"What?"

"I'm giving you an order to drive by my room tomorrow, let's say 1200. The rest of the guys will be at Bible study so the hall up here'll be empty. I'm gonna be up here. You come in and you talk to me."

"About what, sweetheart? What makes you think I even wanna talk to you?"

"DiNozzo, when will you realize just being an asshole isn't a workable policy in life?" St. Esprit asked. "You gotta at least graduate high school to get started at anything. You fuck it up here and you won't exactly be closer to achieving that. So, come by my room, and we're gonna talk. That's all. Just two guys having a normal conversation. Understand?"

Tony wanted to fire off another one of his signature remarks, really wanted to, but St. Esprit wasn't rising to the bait like Tony had been so sure he would. The rich little blond prick just stood there in his flawless gray-and-white uniform, waiting for Tony to respond.

"Fine," Tony sighed, out of ideas for the moment. "Fine. I'll be there."

"Think about saluting me when you come in," St. Esprit added. "The Army and this school is the only life I know. I've spent a long time earning this rank. If you'd put up with this military stuff all your life, you'd want a little respect, too. Understand?"

"Yeah, all right, Colonel."

"That's something. Get outta here, DiNozzo. Get some rest."

"All right."

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Chris had just hung up his jacket when D'Arbanville dropped by and jerked his thumb toward the far end of the hall. "Colonel wants to see everyone right now."

"All right," Chris sighed, knowing what this was about. He followed Darby down the hall and joined the other eight boys already waiting in the Brigade Commander's room.

Once everyone was inside, Golan secured the heavy blanket covering the window and then checked the one over the small, square window on the door.

"Gentlemen," St. Esprit began, looking out at them from his fold-up chair, placed in front of his desk, "it's late and we're all tired. Let's make this one short. Now, we all know Chris is doing his job. He's playing the role that he has to. He's got permission to be doing what he's doing. So, Mark, you of all people need to ease off and remember that. Understand?"

"Well, look at it the way I do, Alex!" Golan shot back heatedly. "I'm not saying anything against Chris, or you. But think about how it looks to me. I don't want that scum on our hallway."

"He can be up here if Chris really wants him up here," St. Esprit replied. "And besides, I gave the guy an order to report to me tomorrow. I'm gonna read my Bible in my room so I can be available. I'm gonna talk to the guy. Maybe he'll be reasonable."

"Fat chance of that," D'Arbanville sighed, shaking his head. "Alex, I don't like it but that's your call."

"Thank you. Now, Chris. You had our good buddy DiNozzo at your place all Thanksgiving break. What's he told you? What've you got for us?"

"I don't know if we should really go over it all tonight," Chris said, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't want to keep everybody up. How about tomorrow? I got plenty, don't worry. I just don't want to make us all stay awake even more."

"That's fair," St. Esprit sighed. "I did start this saying I was tired. Okay, give us a rundown. Then tomorrow we'll hear the rest."

"All right," Chris said. He cleared his throat carefully. "First thing I can tell you is the most important thing."

"What's that?" D'Arbanville asked.

"He trusts me."

A/N: 5-11-2020.

And there we are! After all this time, Chapter 11 is done. During the long span of months where I didn't have time to write, and then when I had no computer with *which* to write, I took so many notes by hand that I actually wrote an outline for the entire remaining length of the story, going approximately to a 21st or 22nd chapter. The story runs from November 1986 to early June 1987, so right about 6 more months to go. Thankfully, I have a new laptop with an outstanding SSD (solid-state drive) that guarantees both speed and reliability, a handy thing for a writer to have assurance of. I will be able to write more steadily from here on.

Jenny wrens: I apologize for taking so long to post this! It was not at all my intention. I was delayed and delayed by circumstances beyond my control, but I got past all that. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter and found it at least somewhat worth the wait.

Captain Josh Marshall's speech to the Remington Military Academy Corps of Cadets is based closely off a speech given by Lieutenant General Joseph Campbell in the 1999 film The General's Daughter, which is in turn based closely off the 1992 novel of the same name by Nelson DeMille. I highly recommend both the film and the movie.

St. Esprit is quite truthful to Tony- surprisingly so, I think- in saying that the Army and the Academy is the only life he knows. It explains much of his behavior, as does the fact that St. Esprit has been told for seventeen years that his sole purpose in life is to be a soldier. Unlike some military "brats", St. Esprit embraces that and views his open path from Remington to West Point as a privilege and opportunity rather than a problem or punishment. He is from a stable, strict, but also a loving home, so he has had a better experience there than Tony has.

Reviews are always welcome. If I have made any mistakes in the chapter, feel free to send me a PM or just mention it in a review so I can get it corrected. If a spotted mistake is actually something I intended to be there, I'll edit the chapter's A/N to explain that