The sound of a gentle knocking upon the bedroom door stirred me from my slumber, my mother's muffled voice resonating through the wood.

"Gray... Dinner's ready, sweety."

Rolling over, groaning softly as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, I called out, "Okay, mom. I'll be right down."

I heard her footfalls as she retreated.

It took me several seconds to get my bearings, the few hours of fitful sleep I had managed to claim leaving me disoriented. Glancing quickly around my room, noticing my discarded soiled clothes, I knew I couldn't bear the thought of slipping them back on. Even from across the narrow room I could smell the sweat that clung to them thanks to the previous days' worth of travelling.

"Let us see what we have," I mumbled softly as I staggered towards the dresser.

My clothes were still neatly folded and tucked away from my high school days; arranged from the bulkier items - like sweaters and sweatpants - at the bottom drawers, to the lighter clothes near the top.

I fingered through my clothes, smiling at the teenage angst so apparent in my shirts alone - vulgar and offensive statements on several.

Luckily I found a pair of clothes that somewhat fit - the sweater snug across my chest and shoulders while the sweatpants clung to my thighs.

'It will have to do for now.' I thought, mentally reminding myself to go shopping in the morning.

As soon as I pulled open my bedroom door I was assaulted by the smells of my mom's cooking; the mouthwatering scents that could only be the Thursday night special of my youth.

With a smile, feeling slightly reinvigorated despite my lack of decent sleep, I wandered into the kitchen.

My nose hadn't deceived me, taking in the sight of my mother as she lathered a generous helping of pot roast and mashed potatoes upon a plate.

Without looking over towards me, she asked, "Would you like carrots?"

Smiling, "Please."

Taking the plate from her, I set it down at the table before returning to hold her plate for her as she loaded it up for herself.

I expected there to be an awkwardness between us after these years, yet the easy familiarity had returned as if nothing had occurred. It was refreshing, making me feel at home for the first time in ages.

"How did you sleep?" My mom asked as she sat across from me, studying me with a critical eye.

I knew it was foolish to try and even lie to her - her being far too astute for that.

"Terrible. Restless."

Her meal was forgotten as she asked, "How come?"

I savored the first mouthful of a home cooked meal in what had felt like ages as I pondered my next words.

Sighing softly, I opted for the truth.

"It's just disorienting is all... Being back here - back home," I began, gesturing vaguely around me. "After everything I've seen. After everything I've done. I truly didn't believe I would ever be back here."

Nodding, "I'm sure you will settle in eventually. It must be quite a shock."

"I didn't expect your reaction," I confessed.

"How so?" She asked, one eyebrow arched quizzically.

Shrugging, "I figured you'd be angry. Beyond pissed, even. Yelling. Screaming. Calling me an idiot. Or worse."

She looked away for several seconds, appearing thoughtful.

"I was at first," She finally answered, holding up her hand as I moved to respond. "It hurt deeply once I realized that you and Dalton had ran away...

"The worry did eventually turn to anger - but I had ten years to work through that. I promised myself that if I ever saw you again that I would just be grateful."

Gulping audibly, suddenly feeling emotional, I answered. "I am grateful. If you had turned me away - had disowned me - I don't know what I would have done. Where I would have gone."

"This will always be your home, Gray."

I had no response, merely nodding as I continued to enjoy the dinner she had prepared.

"Do you want to tell me where you've been?" She asked softy after the silence had continued to stretch on between us.

"I don't even know where to begin..."

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" She offered, smiling softly in encouragement.

Nodding, taking a deep breath, I began.

"The day... Well the day Dalton and I ran away, we took a bus downtown to the C.F. recruitment station. He and I were both fast-tracked - completing our applications and eCFAT that afternoon...An aptitude test." I clarified as I noted my mother's confused expression.

"They paid for us to stay in a Hilton hotel that night, having us complete the remainder of our evaluations in the morning. Medical, fitness, reliability." I continued, checking each one off with my finger.

"That night we boarded a shuttle bus that took us directly to Saint-Jean Garrison outside of Montreal where we began our basic training."

I smiled as I remembered the memories fondly - the competitive nature of Dalton and I which made us stand apart above the rest.

"Dalton and I excelled at basic training. Once we completed our basic military qualifications, which was ten weeks, we went on to complete the land course training which was four weeks. After that we were transported to The Royal Canadian Regiment in Meaford. Once there it was when training really began.

"Our instructors as well as the C.O. immediately took notice of both he and I. It was a competition between the two of us that left everyone else playing catch up. We were constantly pushing each other in everything regardless of how insignificant or mundane it might have been. Faster run times. More push ups. Aiming. Accuracy. It all boiled down to who would do it better - quicker."

"What happened next?" My mother asked, urging me to continue. Her wide eyes stared at me unblinking, engrossed in the years of my life she hadn't been privy to.

"We found ourselves in the Rockies. Dalton and I both completed the Mountain Warfare courses before going to C.F.B. Gagetown in New Brunswick to complete the Urban Operations training course...

"After that we were deployed to Afghanistan. Our first tour."

My words tapered off into silence, the once happy memories turning into more tame and mournful ones. The world had devolved into nothing more than periods of boredom separated by the lows of combat and death during that time. The excitement of serving our country had faded fast as we saw the true brutal beast that war was.

With a shake of my head, trying to clear the melancholy that had settled upon me, I continued my story. Our story.

"On our first rotation home after our twelve month deployment we were approached before we had even left the hangar...

"Dalton and I were flown directly to Ottawa that very day and found ourselves tired from the hours of travel yet forced to do several intense and grueling courses."

"Why?"

I chuckled softly. "We thought it was some military bullshit. Testing the combat readiness of battleworn troops or something along those lines. Of course we were wrong."

"What was it then?"

I felt the pride in my voice as I answered her. "Both Dalton and I were essentially trying out for JTF2 - Joint Task Force 2. The Canadian special forces."

"And?"

"We were both recruited. After that... Life became hectic. And fast. The training was intense and constant. We were shipped back and forth across the country, sometimes together, sometimes apart, as we undertook specialty training in a wide variety of niches...

"After that we found ourselves back in Afghanistan. Only now we were the proverbial tip of the spear."

The conversation lapsed into silence, both my mom and I returning our attention to our meals as we pondered what I had shared.

I was loath to speak more of what had transpired following our recruitment into JFT2 - and as if sensing my apprehension, my mother didn't ask any further questions.

"Thank you for dinner,"

My mom smiled at my words, letting me take her empty plate as I moved towards the sink.

"It's nice to cook for someone else for a change." She confessed.

I could only nod. It was hard not to think of how lonely she must have been in the past years.

I knew she had her friends, and our extended family that must have still lived around these parts still, but I knew it is something else entirely to have an empty house to come home to each day.

I vowed to try and recoup some of the time that I had lost.

"Why don't you leave those? I don't mind doing them in the morning."

"Whoever doesn't cook, cleans. Remember?" I answered, quoting the kitchen mantra from when I was a child.

Her laughter was bright, "I didn't think you'd remember that."

"The memories of this house, this family, from growing up kept me sane over there."

I saw the understanding in her eyes.

"Well make sure they are spotless." She grinned.

"Just like old times." I mumbled softly, my grin mirroring her own.

---

Sleep was determined to shun me.

I watched the neon numbers of my clock as they continued to count upwards.

The occasional passing car lit up my room, lights flashing across my bedroom ceiling casting ominous shadows in every direction.

My depression crept back into the forefront of my mind. Like a gnat buzzing in my ear, I couldn't swat it away.

Rolling over, I fluffed my pillow before closing my eyes once more. I tried to blot out the memories before they would eventually come. I struggled to think of anything and everything but the images that tortured my soul.

It was no use, my efforts proving futile.

In my mind's eye I could see the pain and destruction I had endured. Sadness settled upon me like a smothering blanket. It had frightened me how detached I had become, the coldness I had felt as I saw death in its true form.

Perhaps I had lost my humanity.

Perhaps the numbness, the constant reminders of deeds done and witnessed, was my punishment.

All of a sudden I felt angry, cornered. Invisible ants crawled across my skin, leaving a fiery path of itchiness in their wake.

It was as if my conversation with my mother had stirred up the hornet's nest - awakening within myself what had only recently begun to lie dormant.

Standing up abruptly, the bed creaking, I struggled against the urge to pace within the narrow confines of my room that appeared to grow smaller with every passing second. I threw my clothes on in a rush of movement, cursing softly as my foot got tangled in the leg of my pants.

With a frustrated sigh I sat down once more, my legs tapping up and down as I leaned forward to rest my head in my hands.

"It's all in your head," I chanted to myself.

I could feel the cracks in my armour; inky black tendrils reaching up from the depths of my being to pry them further apart.

The images continued to assault me, the scents associated with them permeating through the room even as I knew they shouldn't have.

I wanted to scream. To rage against myself.

Why did I feel like this?

No answer bubbled up from within myself, the coldness only settling upon me further.

I had to get out of the room. Out of the house. My body was drawn taut, threatening to snap if I remained. Throwing the bedroom door open, I struggled to merely walk towards the front door of the house even as my demons gave chase - urging me to sprint.

"Gray?" My mom called out, the sound of her footfalls echoing down the hallway towards me before she emerged.

I could see the worry in her gaze, the creases that now bunched up her forehead.

"Where are you going...?'

The question hung in the air, the fear within the words.

Turning, I answered, "I just need to go for a walk and get some fresh air."

Unable to meet her gaze, I continued, "Just a little overwhelmed right now..."

It was the most I could say, as honest as I could be at the moment.

With the understanding only a mother could have, she simply nodded - not pursuing the matter further.

"Take your jacket. It's gotten chilly out."

"I won't be gone long."

Sliding my jacket on, I all but ran out the front door as my anxiety chased me from my mother's home.

The old neighborhood was quiet as I wandered along the streets, the light posts above lighting my way. With every step my labored breathing began to calm; the adrenaline slowly waning as I fought against the fight or flight instinct ingrained within me.

Through windows I could see that the neighborhood was still very much alive, the sounds of televisions and conversations floating through open windows towards me.

I didn't have a destination in mind, simply meandering along the streets I had once walked daily during my youth.

The night chill helped to ground me, the scent of pine needles nearly intoxicating. I hadn't realized just how much I had grown to miss home - having become far too accustomed to the smell of sand and dust.

Eventually I found myself at a park - one close enough to the street that the light posts lit it fairly well. It wasn't much; no more than a pair of swings and a slide next to a park bench, yet it carried a certain charm to it.

I made my way over towards the bench, suddenly feeling the weight of the past few days events all at once.

Sighing softly, I leaned back against the solid wood before closing my eyes. The feeling of the breeze caressing my face soothed and comforted me, lulling me into a peace that I had been chasing for awhile.

I tensed as I felt a shadow cast over me, cracking my eyes open to take in who had intruded upon my moment of peace. I relaxed once more as I recognized who it was.

With a sigh, "I was wondering when you'd show up." I said, the irritation plain to hear within my voice.

Dalton didn't look the least bit worried by my annoyance - merely offering a shrug and a sheepish smile as he took a seat beside me.