This is my second part of what, I thought, was going to be a one shot. Thanks to my reviewers, I realize I misspelled some words the first time around. (Hopefully not the second time.) Thank you for reviewing anyway. This is of the son's and a little of the Colonel's POV. If this is to dramatic, I apologize. This is what I think a teenager (I set him at 19 after a twelve month tour.) would think.

The doorbell rang.

The Private shifted from foot to foot, as the Colonel pressed the tiny white button again and again. He wanted to beg the Colonel to stop, each ring reminded him of a different mistake.

Dismissing his dad as a simple P.O.W.


Dismissing his dad's stories of war horrors.


Dismissing his dad's advice to sit this war out.


He ran his trembling hands threw his hair, his body shivering in the cool December air. He couldn't take the uncertainty. His mind flashed through his options if things didn't go well. And by the rock in his stomach things were going to go badly.

He could live in a hole.

He could live with his aunt in Paris.

He could drown himself.

With this gnawing, biting shame growing inside of him, the third option seemed more pleasant.

He heard that old creak that his dad could never fix. A sure sign someone was heading to the door. The trembling instantly stopped, as sweat started beading on his forhead. He started hyperventilating.

The Colonel looked at the boy with some exasperation. Carter wasn't exactly going to turn away the boy. Still, the Colonel was impatient. He had told Carter he would get his son back. Mary Jane had apparently not taken the separation well. The Colonel winced as he thought of his mother when he had first come home after six years. It was not pretty.

The doorknob turned ever so slowly. The Colonel relaxed instantly as he anticipated his reunion with his old demolitions man. The Private, boy, and son winced as the door opened, and stood in shock his father's words.

'Welcome home, son"