A Matter of Course

By: cultureandseptember

Epilogue

Who says history is stagnant? For a historian, facts do not change; it is the way we look at things, our interpretations, that are always changing.

This is what makes history exciting - that we can always find something new in what is old.

- Ambeth R. Ocampo

one year later

John climbed the steps two at a time, cursing under his breath. He was late. He was so late. And was so going to be in trouble. He slid the key into the lock and turned, already shimmying out of his overcoat. Without a second thought, he tossed it onto the stairs atop a pair of heels that sat there haphazardly kicked into the corner. He could hear music playing in the kitchen, a soft swing tune that he recognized from years ago. There was a muffled voice that welcomed him home. "Hey! You ready? Sorry I'm late. Al was being a jackass and I had to take a cab and Astoria's packed and—" He nearly stumbled on the papers that were strewn across the floor. "Been busy? I thought you had spring break off?"

New York paused, looking over the chaotic mess that was their kitchen. She glanced up at him, a blue pen perched in her hand and another two pencils propped in her hair. After a moment, Michelle sighed and sank lower in her seat, throwing the papers onto the keyboard of her laptop. "Save me. Please." He laughed at the dramatics, picking his way across the stacks of papers. "I'm not kidding, Johnny. Save me. Tell me to take that vacation in Barcelona. Drive me JFK."

"Don't wanna risk LaGuardia again?"

She snorted. "You need to give them more money. Corey and I were trapped there for eight hours because there was a pothole on the runway." Johnny shrugged. He'd get to it eventually. "Barcelona. Or Florida. Or Canada. Matt said I could come up for a visit. You know what, I'm not picky."

"China's not on the list?"

Michelle grimaced, primly straightening the papers she'd thrown onto her laptop before.

"I thought it was Tuscany anyway?" He cut her a look and went for the fridge. It was hot as all hell outside. New York City was cooking. It was only April, but it was already too warm. His hand hovered over the wine cooler but he sighed and grabbed the water. "Wasn't it Tuscany? Or was it Rome?" Probably both, he conceded. Italy—both of the brothers—had been insistent. He glanced toward the boxed Italian leftovers from two nights ago sitting on the second shelf. Really insistent. To the point that it was starting to get annoying. Michelle seemed to enjoy it though, humoring Feliciano at every turn. John really couldn't say anything. "It was Florence. They wanted you to go to Florence." John took a swig of the water and smiled around it.

"Ivan offered St Petersburg," Michelle responded with an idle wave of her hand. Of course he did. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she brushed her hands over her face. He could see the late nights and the stress of it all. He'd never quite seen her so invested before. Well, okay, maybe he had, but that was almost a century ago. "Why did I agree to do this again? I could have just kept working at the museum. Then, I wouldn't have to grade." It was all empty complaining. He knew because he'd listened to her rant just the previous night about how bright her students were.

"Because you're—" The look she shot him was icy, raised eyebrows and all, and New York lifted his hands in surrender, leaning against the counter. "Because you're a beautiful human being with the patience of a saint."

"This patient saint just failed three student papers. Three." Michelle snorted out a laugh, shaking her head. "I won't deny the beautiful bit though. Take what I can get." She gestured to her messy hair and sweatpants. "So, Alfred made you run late? What's he up to? Anything I need to know before tonight?" New York smiled with full teeth and Michelle sighed, brushing her hair out of her face as she pushed to her feet, grabbing the cane that was hooked onto the back of her chair. "It can't be that bad, can it?" At his look, she clicked her tongue. "Okay, yes it can."

"Tennessee wants you in Nashville."

"I'm busy here," she answered immediately. "I've got work to do. I've got enough grading. And I'm on a grad committee now. He knows that. Plus I have service— This position is one of those once-in-a-lifetime things." He followed her down the hallway and to the stairs, trailing her as she spoke. It was nice not to have to speak for a bit. He'd been at the Annex all day. Just a few minutes peace was deserved. Michelle usually provided that without John even prompting. "I still have a hard time believing that you didn't pull any strings." She walked into her bedroom and pulled out her usual (starting to go threadbare) black dinner dress. John settled the water bottle onto her nightstand and fell into the pristinely kept bed, folding his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes while she changed. "Anyway, Tommy's got to come up here if he wants to see me or we can Skype, but I can't go down there. Not yet."

He could hear her pulling on the dress and then the pull of the pearls across her dresser. "You don't gotta do anything you don't want, doll face. Tommy's just kinda the sort to make you uncomfortable enough to face it." She came to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to pull on her saddle shoes. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but he's just worried is all. Can't blame him, much as I hate sayin' it. If you weren't up here, I'd be the same way. You haven't been home since Christmas."

"And that was hard enough." She sat up straight and turned, expression serious and confident. "I'll get there, John. I'm getting there. I talk to Momma and Corey and Donna. It's just…It's gonna take some time." She deflated a bit, shaking her head. "Corey still wants to know what happened. Momma's…I mean, Donna practically dragged me into the dining room and ordered me to come clean. She's a lot stronger than I remember." Johnny gritted his teeth, trying not to curse. He hadn't known that. She'd never told him that. "It's gonna take some time to adjust. I'm still—" She turned, patting his knee as he sat up and stood. "New world and all. I'm still getting settled in."

John decided a change in subject would probably be best. She never liked to linger on it for too long.

Someday, she'd have to, but not right now.

"Arthur's coming tonight."

"Is he? I thought he had a meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow."

"How'd you know that?"

She shrugged, drawing her fingers through her hair. "Text. He told me when I invited him. I thought it was a no. Instead of just saying 'no,' like a normal person, he said 'I have a meeting with David.' Normally, that would translate to 'no.'" New York grinned at the irritation in her tone as he followed her down the hall to the bathroom, planning himself firmly on the closed toilet. "It's been eight months. We really don't need to celebrate it anyway."

"You got a teaching position and this is the first time we've had time to celebrate. Last time we tried, there was that issue with Russia…Just let loose and have a good time." The sound of her tooth-brushing paused and he flinched when cool water peppered his face. "Hey! It's as much for you as it is for everybody else. Don't think of it as a party. Think of it as a casual gathering of…international politics personified." Michelle laughed, dabbing her lips on the towel. "They're excited to see you again. It was all Al could talk about."

"No, it wasn't. Star Wars is coming out in a few weeks. That's all he could talk about."

"Okay, yeah. You're right."

She laughed, shaking her head. Fair enough, John grinned. "I'm excited to see them, too. It's not that." Her hands went to her hips as she looked down at him, lips pressing together in thought. She looked uncertain. That's what she did when she was nervous. "I really am excited to see them. It's just— I don't know. I guess I'm a little… nervous for whatever reason." Bingo. Like, she'd been recovering from a traumatic experience and a gunshot wound last time she saw all of them? John stretched, trying to be more casual. She didn't need the pressure. Not from him, not right now. Her eyes narrowed before she sighed. "C'mon."

"You gonna be okay?"

"Always am!"

Tommy figured that New York had told her, or at least given her some warning. When she stepped into the room, a flash of obvious irritation clouded her face when she saw him. That irritation was thrown back at John, who held up both hands in mock surrender before ducking behind Ivan's bulking form. Not one to be rude, Michelle still pulled him into a hug and pressed a kiss to his cheek a few minutes later. Before he could say anything, she hurried over to where North Italy was waving, throwing her arms over his shoulders as if they had been separated for weeks. Tennessee let out a soft snort, shaking his head as he fell heavily back into his seat. "You didn't tell her, did you?" New York shot him a grin, a gleam of maliciousness in his eyes that made Tommy just want to smack the ever-lovin' out of him. "So, what? You can't play keep-away with a human, John. She's not a plaything." It was Tennessee's turn to grin at John's flinch, catching the chastising look at Canada sent him from down the table.

New York held out his hand to be shaken and Tommy rose up to meet him, not surprised when he was pulled forward a little too violently for polite company. "Knock it off. She's been dealing with enough. Figured you'd know better." Pushed back, he was left to watch as New York strode away down the table to plant himself, like always, by Michelle's side. Arthur, surprisingly enough, had taken up the seat across from her, actually seeming to smile at something she said.

John could believe all he wanted to, in the dream world that he seemed to be living in, that this would continue—that Michelle's connection to the Nations would stay strong. He could keep naively believing that it was better for her to keep her friendships with the Italys, England, and Egypt. With Russia. Thomas glanced at the Nation, catching sight of a bland smile. Tommy knew better. He crossed his arms and watched as Michelle laughed louder than he'd ever heard before, when Hungary sat beside her and said something with a crooked grin.

"So, how's everything down south?"

Thomas refocused on his end of the table, looking toward Matt. "Fine. Same old, same old. Keep on keepin' on. How are things on the frozen tundra?"

Canada raised his brows at him, giving him an once-over through his glasses. Maybe his tone was a bit more biting than was normal. "You're normally a bit more polite. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"How are the Daniels?"

"Oh, Michelle would know better than me," Tommy returned as he leaned forward to catch her attention. "Hey, Michelle! How's your family?"

She whipped her head around, eyes going wide for a moment before she settled again. Though she smiled, he could see the strain in it. "They're fine. Corey got restationed, so he'll be moving. You know him and Carolyn broke it off." Hungary nodded at her side, resting her hand on her shoulder, murmuring something that Michelle seemed to take to heart. Thomas tried not to lose his patience. "Momma's still got the restaurant. Donna and James have been seeing each other, apparently."

"Did you hear that from her or Georgia?"

"From her. I talked to her last week."

"Get it out of your system before it ruins supper," Arthur suggested as he crossed his arms and leaned back. Thomas had actually never been prone to violence but he kind of wanted to punch the old man. He was never going to see any of this through. None of them were. Tommy gave it five years before all of them moved on, and he was just trying to keep the pieces together as best he could. New York wasn't helping him do a damn thing to keep this from getting any bigger. Michelle shot England a critical look. "Speak your peace, Daniels."

She sucked in a breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, and Tennessee heard New York's familiar snicker. "I know you're mad that I live up here now. I get that, but I'm not coming back to Nashville until I'm ready. I know you're close with my family and that you and Jessie are 'bros' now, or whatever, but I'm making my own decisions." She gestured to the table at large. "This is one of them." Before he could retort, as he priming to do, she held up a hand. "I know, Tommy. I know. If you think I haven't been wrestling with this," she waved at the assembled Nations and States and then herself with a frown, "or that I don't—get it, then you're underestimating me. I know."

Tennessee sat back, mouth opening and closing as he looked for what to say.

"You're just trying to protect me and I appreciate it." Michelle smiled, eyes flickering to where Alfred stood on the other side of the table behind his open chair. "But I'm just trying to take my next best steps. Christmas showed me that I wasn't ready yet." Thomas felt like there was something more in those words, not really meant for him. America nodded his head in agreement, suspiciously quiet about the whole thing. "It's gonna take me some more time. But I'll get there."

"Are you ever gonna come home?"

Michelle looked at him, mouth open, brows pulling together in confusion. Like she couldn't understand, like she couldn't believe he was asking her that. Her expression changed into something unfamiliar. Then, she settled back and smiled, a peaceful sort of acceptance in her that Thomas hadn't yet seen. "I am home." Her nod was encouraging, accepting.

Tennessee watched as conversation resumed. Michelle and Arthur exchanged half-hearted barbs while Hungary made recommendations on the menu as the wait staff came around. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he stood from his seat and moved to stand by the window, looking out onto East 49th. It was a useless trip to this overcrowded city. Again. He'd never liked Manhattan. In his peripheral vision, he saw Alfred lean against the wall by the window, arms crossed over his chest.

"Since things have settled, y'all need to start pullin' back."

Alfred huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Give it some time, dude."

He turned, frustration mounting. "She's been through enough and—"

"We know. We saw it. We ain't gonna do anything to hurt her any more than she's already been hurt, but…She's not done healing yet." America cocked his head to the side, obviously watching the table as a round of loud laughter overtook the room. "You're lookin' out for her, like you're supposed to be." Alfred laughed, leaning his head back onto the paneled wall. "She's still figuring it all out, man." Tennessee stumbled back when America hit his shoulder as he moved away. "Give it time, Tennessee." He couldn't tell if that was an order or a suggestion. "She'll find where she needs to be." With a wink, he spun around and cheered as he ran to the other end of the table.

Sighing, Thomas Morgan braced his arm on the window sill and pressed his forehead into it. He just got the feeling that eventually they'd forget and leave her behind, making her heal again. And he didn't want that.

"It's her decision," New York had told him last year when she decided to take this position. "Let her make her decision."

It didn't matter if he liked it or not.

He'd be there if things ever started to go south.

three years later

"This is probably one of the dumbest things I've ever done," Jessie declared as he eased on the brakes at the stoplight. I just raised my brows at him, braced on the seat—flashes of the Swiss countryside in the back of my mind. He caught my look and smirked, a wicked sort of humor in his eyes. "Okay, I didn't say the dumbest. I said one of the dumbest. And it is." No, it definitely wasn't. Behind us, Tennessee laughed quietly, covering his mouth with his hand as Jessie stomped on the gas. There was a screech and a string of indistinguishable curses. "The dumbest involved shots and 'I bet you can't.'"

"Why am I not surprised?" New York drawled from the back. "You're basically the embodiment of 'hey, guys, watch this.'"

"And you're not?" I questioned, outright laughing at John's stunned face. He raised a finger and wagged it, daring me with a smirk to continue. "That's how the history goes. England says: hey, don't do this. And all of you say: well, screw it, he's already pissed us off. Hey, guys, watch this." Tennessee clapped me on the shoulder, giving me an appreciative squeeze as if I had won him some sort of unsettled argument. "Some of that most definitely involved 'hold my beer.'" We whipped onto our street a moment later, pine trees towering and the heat of the afternoon drying the freshly soaked roads. The cicadas were screeching.

"More like 'hold my tea,'" Jessie cut in with a smirk. "Right?"

"The tea was in the harbor. No one was holding it."

"Throw my tea?"

I laughed despite myself at New York's joke, lame as it was. We rounded the corner and I saw a familiar crape myrtle. Seeing home after all these years…it felt different. Not necessarily 'bad' different, but just the sort of different that twinges the gut. I couldn't pinpoint it. The street was familiar and when my house came into view, I could remember playing with Corey on the rope swing, and the cookouts that happened every summer. I could remember all of that, but it was like a double memory. When we pulled into the driveway, all cracked and greened with moss, I threw open the door and slid out of Jessie's gigantic truck.

Tennessee caught my arm, grabbing my new cane and handing it to me with a grin. "You miss it here."

"Of course I do," I responded as I passed him heading for the tailgate. "I miss everything about it." Pulling up on the gate, I sat it flat with a loud metallic shriek. "Jessie really needs to get this thing oiled." Tommy lowered down so that I could use his shoulder as a support to push myself up into the bed. "Anyway, I've told you plenty of times before—you have the better food and, don't tell Johnny, the better music. And that's pretty high praise in my book." Tennessee chuckled, taking his hat off his head and running a hand through his hair.

I smiled back, finally able to see him without a bullet through his head.

None of us ever spoke of it. Arthur and China kept their word. Tennessee never knew. He never knew that it took me years—and weekly counseling sessions in those years—to even look him in the eyes without seeing double. It took me years not to see the blood or to see a rifle aimed at his head.

It took me years not to hear the echoing gunshot.

Or to see the strings.

He thought I was just avoiding my family, but that wasn't true.

Tapping the box in the back of the truck lightly, I tucked myself in the shadow between it and the truck's ledge. It'd be hard to see me in that space. "You okay in there?" He started to answer when John's raised voice caught out attention. With a light laugh, I tapped the box again.

"C'mon, Mrs. Daniels!" I rolled my eyes at the fact that a-couple-hundred-year-old State was still calling my mother 'Mrs. Daniels.' Johnny's voice was excited and I hoped that getting out of New York City for a bit would give him more energy. On top of helping me through—everything—John was under a lot of pressure with the updates to the subway system and the chaos of the hurricane just a few months ago.

"Denise, John." She corrected with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Call me Denise."

"If he ain't listened after all this time, he ain't gonna." Tennessee stepped over to hug her. "Good to see you, Denise."

"So, we know it's your birthday and—"

Before Jessie could finish, Corey burst out of the top of the floundering cardboard box, throwing his hands up like some kid at a birthday party. His yell of 'surprise!" echoed through the trees as Momma squealed, hand going to her chest as she jumped up and down. Corey looked down at me, all smiles, holding out a hand to haul me up. "And I brought a Michelle!" At this, Momma just started bawling, folding herself over the gate of the truck with her hands over her face. John sent me a nervous look but I waved him off and hobbled toward her, settling on the ledge before drawing her up into my arms.

"Oh, honey!" She cried into my shoulder, reaching up to drag Corey down to us. He laughed and I felt him brace on my shoulder, trying not to knock me off the truck. "Y'all didn't have to do this! You didn't have to—" Momma drew back, eyes red and puff as she looked up at me and Corey. Her hand came to my cheek and then to my brother's before she pulled us into another hug. I heard Jessie, John, and Tommy laughing. "Oh my God."

"Surprise! Happy birthday!"

"How long have you been here?" She pulled back again, drawing her hands down her face as she turned to Jessie and dragged him into her arms too. He sent me a grin and a wink over her shoulder as Corey stood back up cracking his back. "Jessie Miller! You little sneak! What are you doing home?" She turned back to Corey, who held up both hands.

"On leave!"

She, as is her custom, drew both John and Thomas into her arms as well, showering them with her love just as much as the rest of us. I knew it touched John, he'd told me so before, during one of our many late night talks. Though Alfred was not around as much anymore, he was always welcomed with open arms too. It was my mother's gift, her policy for those I considered family.

Jessie picked me off of the tailgate, carefully setting me down on the uneven concrete. Corey hopped down off the side, sweeping Mom into another hug. "Haven't gotten a moment to ask, but how's teaching going?" John and Tommy were shoving each other back and forth as we moved toward the front door, up the unsteady pavestone path. "Tommy said that he's never seen you so caught up."

"I love it." I nodded with a smile as we moved up the steps. I could remember flashes—Jessie and the rain, Jessie and my recovery. His funeral didn't come to mind first, but third. And that was a start. My counselor said I never mourned him, that I hid in my work. She said that's why I still remembered his funeral so vividly. "I missed it. Three years back in and it's…I'm still learning every day."

"You're always learning."

"When do you ship out?"

We stopped at the top of the stairs and watched as Momma was shuffled inside. John shot me a look over his shoulder, silently begging me not to make him listen to country music and I wasn't so stunned to realize that I'd read his face that well. I didn't turn to look at Corey, but I did see his hand rise to the back of his head. The door stayed open. "So, Corey can't keep a secret, huh?"

Snorting a laugh, I shook my head and gave his shoulder a shove. "Corey's got a big mouth and you know it. You just didn't want to tell me yourself. That's what Corey said."

"Yeah, well…Eh, he's probably right." Jessie sighed, rolling his eyes and chewed on his lips. "I mean, it's not like I'm going to an active theatre. Plus, uh, Tommy already kinda put me in touch with a buddy of his over there." That definitely caught my attention. Italy hadn't mentioned a thing, which meant that Germany hadn't said anything either. I jerked at the realization that he probably meant Prussia. And it wasn't fear of Prussia that struck me, not like it would've before. "It's Ramstein. Pretty big installation. A lot of international presence." He paused, cutting his eyes over to me before he deflated and turned. "I gotta ask, Shells. How's the counselor helping? I won't ask anything more than that. I—You don't even have to answer that much. I—I know I probably shouldn't've—"

I smiled, reaching forward to pull him into a one-armed hug. My chin rested on his shoulder and I felt his hands link behind my back. "It's helping. I've got back on my feet. Not so many sleepless nights. Not so many episodes." Stepping back, I put all my weight onto the cane and nodded. "I've learned how to cope."

How to cope with the loss.

And the memories.

And…everything that happened.

It was Jessie who suggested I try therapy. John had told me so many times that he didn't know how to help me, especially since I couldn't seem to tell him everything. And when John looked so helpless, things only seemed to get worse for me. I felt pressured to be okay, to be fine, to be strong, when I wasn't. And I didn't really have to be anymore. It'd been so long since I felt at peace that I didn't quite know what it felt like to be peaceful.

Jessie nudged me toward getting help, saying that it took strength to know when to ask for support.

Used my own words against me.

When I didn't listen at first, saying I could handle it, he staged what could only be called a 'theoretical intervention,' sending books and articles to make his point. "Okay, you're strong. Now, get smart."

We had the biggest fight I'd ever experienced after that, until I finally cracked.

I was teaching when I realized I couldn't keep going like that. It'd been weeks since I'd gotten a few hours of solid sleep. I was hiding in work. I was having flashbacks. Anxiety was an almost-constant. There'd be times when I couldn't breathe right or I'd see after-images and flashes. I'd been teaching about the Battle of Britain, relating the horrors of it with sweaty palms. It probably hadn't been a good idea to teach that subject so soon, but I was the most qualified and had no reasons to say no to the appointment. And then, the lights shut off mid-lesson and I was back in that cellar again. I was back in a place that I couldn't escape and I couldn't breathe. I was seeing faces, some of them my own.

I had blood on my hands again.

I held it together well enough for none of my students to comment or to notice.

When I got back to my office that day, I collapsed.0

A student knocked on my door for a meeting not long after. "Dr. Daniels?"

And then, I knew enough was enough.

"I'm doing better," I told him with honesty. "So much better."

Jessie grinned, throwing an arm across my shoulder as we moved for the door. "Good." He didn't say anything else and neither did I, as we stepped inside. I could hear Johnny and Tennessee bickering about something Alfred said in a State Meeting. I could hear Corey turning up the music and Momma's joyful laugh from the kitchen. I glanced back out of the door as I pushed it to, watching as rain began to fall.

The cicadas grew louder and louder and louder, but the whirring didn't change to an aircraft squadron.

And there was no thunder. I pushed the door shut.

twelve years later

Another semester, another class. I walked into that classroom just minutes before 4:30pm, settling my worn overstuffed leather briefcase onto the front table. There was an anxious energy in the room. A startling twenty-seven faces stared down at me, varying degrees of anxiousness clear and sparkling. A few of them already looked tired. My cane caught a few eyes, as it usually did. Egypt had carved it himself, gifting it one Christmas after…all of it, everything. Once things settled and life became something close to normal. That was years ago.

"To support you, when I cannot."

My first semester back in the classroom, a student asked me why I had a cane out of curiousness. I had stumbled over my answer then and cried when I got home, resolving to never be caught off-guard like that again. So, I always settled for the truth. Or some version of it. "You know, the usual. Got shot by an alternate version of the State of South Carolina personified…as you do, right?" I always left out the bit about Germany, but I always tagged it on mentally like a footnote.

My answer usually garnered some laughs and the occasional joke that I'd actually been injured from my secret battles with various persons. I really don't know how that started. I suspected Weiying, but I couldn't be sure. In fact, my graduate students and mentees had started a corkboard that had earned a place in my office. New pages were tacked onto the corkboard every year. Pictures and names and places corresponding to my imagined battles. The names ranged from Loki to Chuck Norris, from Pitbull to Spock. My esteemed colleague Dr. Rosenthal was up there too, much to his chagrin.

On a visit to campus, John had added "the whole country of Spain."

He texted a picture of it to Arthur, who then shared it with literally the whole world.

I was hearing about that for years.

Not weeks. Years.

Twelve years and the list was still there and still growing.

For my thirtieth birthday, Alfred had gotten me a baseball bat ornament and it hung over the picture of Spain. Every time I looked at that board, I was reminded of good things. Well, as good as that moment of violence could get, I suppose. My office was full of memories and the whole room felt as if there were pieces of the world throughout. On the shelves, there were knick-knacks from Japan, the Italys, and Germany. Tacked to the wall were posters of Hungarian rock bands and images of Sweden and Finland's mountains and inlets. There were pictures of me with "random people" covering almost every corner. Pictures of me and my students, bits and pieces of projects, and postcards from former mentees were tacked along the far wall.

"Part of your legacy, Shell's Bells."

I hooked my cane onto the chair behind the desk and prepped the syllabi, tossing them onto the document projector. Sending the gathered students a small smile, I began to pull out my laptop and hook it up to the overhead projector. The desktops never seemed to work in the auditoriums. Poor funding and all that. The room was ill-lit and stifling compared to the beautiful summer day outside. The skies were blue—a real blue that was rarely seen in New York City. As a few more students trailed into the auditorium, I made a few clicks on my keyboard.

A swirling mix of trumpets and clarinets danced out of the speakers punctuated by drum beats. One of the speakers crackled a bit and then shut off, leaving one still functioning. A few students looked mildly surprised. I noticed three girls bopping along, all smiles as they continued to text. A couple in the front row quickly pulled their earbuds out of their ears as their brows shot up in unison. I thought I heard one of the guys turn up the volume in his earphones. This music took me back, back to a time when this music was one of the only beautiful things I had.

"Glenn Miller?"

I moved to lean against the front of the computer desk, crossing my arms over my chest as I looked over at the man who guessed. He wore fatigues and had a bright smile. He reminded me a bit of a younger Corey. "Nice guess. Miller's a solid. Name?"

"Shawn."

"Good on ya, Shawn, but it's not Miller."

"Uh, is it Artie Shaw?" That was a purple-haired girl from a few rows back, who was half-standing from her seat with her hand raised. One of her friends pushed his head into his hands, seeming to shake with laughter. I smiled up at her, recognizing Krissy from a previous class. Returning students always made me happy.

"Shaw's one of my favorites, you know that, but no." Crossing my arms in an "x," I grinned. "Third times' the charm? Oh, name for the class?"

"Krissy," she sat and frowned. She never did like being wrong and she'd been excited at the possibility of it being Shaw. I wondered if she'd kept listening to swing after the course last spring. I'd have to remember to ask. Maybe I could make some recommendations.

"Benny Goodman?"

Pointing at the winner and his victorious smile, I laughed at the groan that Krissy let out as she fell back into her seat dramatically. "Good! Good! Good!" There was good energy in this class. I could feel it. I wondered if they could too. Pushing off the computer desk, I left my cane behind and limped toward the door, pulling it shut. "And your name, victor?"

"Donte."

"Okay, Donte! Can you head over there and get the lights for me? Actually, from now on, you are our Lights Tech. You up for the job? With my leg," I patted my hip for emphasis as he stood up and moved toward the opposite side of the classroom, "I don't get around quite as good as I used to. Old bones'll do that to you." The lights were flipped off and we were plunged into darkness, with only the side-lamps and the projector to keep us lit. "Thank you, Donte. Krissy, you up there?" I shielded my eyes theatrically and saw a thumbs-up from the crowd and laughed. "Gonna have to speak up! Can you hear me? Volume check."

"I'm here, Dr. D!" There was a round of giggles. "I can hear you."

"Good! Alright, everyone! You heard her. I am Dr. D, Dr. Michelle Daniels. Welcome to History 352: World War Two in Global Perspectives. I'm not gonna go over what core goals and hoopla this fulfills. You can read it for yourselves in the syllabus, which you will get in a moment." I gestured toward the screen as the music continued to play. "We are well-above capacity this semester, so if you have a friend who wants to jump in, I'm afraid that they are out of luck unless one of you drops and then bribes three others to drop too." There was another round of laughs. "We're looking at everything we can in a sixteen-week course. We're looking at military and civilian issues. We're looking at morality. We're looking at memory. We're looking at memoirs, journals, and lived experiences. We're looking at culture. And yes, part of that is the excellent music." I reached back and stopped the music from playing. "And we're not just staying here to do it."

"Field trips?" One of the girls up front asked eagerly. "Are we taking field trips?"

"We are. History happened right here and it happened in the streets." There was an excited round of whispers. Now came the hard part, the part that usually lost some students. "We'll get to that later. This isn't going to be an easy class. You're going to have to grapple with ideas that you may have never thought of before. You're going to deal with some really terrible concepts and issues. You're going to struggle with them. You're going to have to reconsider things."

I could see a couple nod in agreement. Some looked apprehensive. In the back, I could see Krissy already scribbling notes. To my right, Donte already had his voice recorder going. The couple to my left looked at each other and smiled. I stood a little straighter, stretching my age-curving back out.

"If you stick it out, my hope as an instructor is that you come out of this course not just feeling like you can recite the facts and dates. Anybody can do that. Anybody can remember dates. It doesn't mean anything. I want you to understand it—history— as more than just facts that you fill out on a scantron. Understand it as experiences."

Somewhere in my peripheral vision, I saw someone yawn. I saw the glow of a cellphone. Smiling to myself, I glanced up to see a majority already thinking. Already puzzling. "Every good and bad thing you've done and experienced has brought you to this point. This room. This moment."

Krissy nodded emphatically, then whispered something to her friend. Devote sat back and crossed his arms, staring at the floor. Shawn's mouth opened slightly in thought.

"And you may not be here—in this space at this moment— if one thing had gone different in history. One nation. One battle. One person. One decision. One second of hesitation or reckless courage." My smile held all my secrets as I leaned forward, as if bringing them into my confidence.

And, to a degree, I was. I was sharing a part of myself. They just would never know how much.

Seeing these students, I remembered a past classroom, not so very different from this one.

Years and years ago, half-way across the country and a world away.

"We don't just watch history or read history. We're not just observers." I smiled, gesturing toward the students in the class as I grabbed my cane again to take a few steps forward. I braced both hands on it and leaned toward them again. "We are history, people. The weight of that is on our shoulders. So…What are we going to do with that kind of knowledge?"

Author's Section:

Holy cow! *takes a deep breath, let it out again*

It is so hard to believe that this is ending. This has been the largest fan endeavor I have ever undertaken. It's been sleepless nights and pages and pages of planning. It's been a catharsis for hard times, losses, hurts, and fears. This story has been with me through a huge transitional period in my life and I am incredibly thankful for the support it has received. Michelle, for me, was a character that came out of some of my own struggles, but she developed into her own character. I am so proud of her, where she went and how she grew. I grew with her. Likewise, New York and the others are very dear to me. I have learned so, so much as I have written this story. It required research and thought. While I would never, ever say that this story is perfect, and it has so many flaws (which I will get to in a moment), I am proud of it. A Matter of Series has been such a blessing and such a formative experience. I hope I did the fandom proud.

This story has flaws. It dragged at times and I wish I could go back to fix those issues. My pacing was terrible—terrible. At times, I truly felt it as the writer, but I felt stuck in the pace I had established. I struggled with making the connections I had intended. I struggled with clarity. If I ever get the chance to revise in the future, I will fix these mistakes. Nevertheless, for all of these negatives—they show room for further growth. They show me what I can work on to get better! There are still lots of questions that will go unanswered. And the readers have been so very patient with my missteps and mistakes.

Which brings me to the most wonderful part of this story: the readers. You made this story an experience. Your recommendations, reviews, works of art, music recommendations, encouragement meant so much throughout this process. Thank you for reading this story! Thank you for embracing my characters! Thank you for reading even those chapters with no canon characters! Thank you for your patience when there were no updates! Thank you for nominating and voting this story to multiple awards! Thank you. And, to the people of tumblr, thank you for your messages, reblogs, comments, and support!

THANK YOU for coming on this journey with me! I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

This is the end of the A Matter of Series. THANK YOU!

Once again, thank you! Please leave feedback/reviews/thoughts!