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"Technically me an' the Dannys are in DOGA, but sometimes we take other missions, too. Krotket says that we're like the Justice League, but more fun," Bree chirped. "Whattabout you? D'you kill Sues an' stuff?"


Zach bit his lip, snickering. He was so, so tempted to sing along with Nat, but as this often precipitated his partner throwing shoes at him, he refrained. Then suddenly she made eye contact, and he blushed. She had such beautiful, intense eyes.

"You...you're beautiful," he blurted out, then blushed harder and shut his mouth. Oh, wonderful. There I go again, cocking things up.

"Set things on fire? I... can't say I've ever done that. But I do get accused of sneaking up behind people on occasion, yes." He smiled at the perky girl. "Can I ask what you do here, then?"

On the dance floor, Nat was singing along happily to the current song - Queen music was always guaranteed to liven her up. She made eye contact with Zach and laughed, though she had no idea why she felt so happy all of a sudden.

The inquisitive Bree gazed up at Kelvin with awe. "That's pretty cool. I've always wondered what it'd be like to be an Elf. Then I could sneak up behind people and set things on fire and it'd be cool!"


Mental note: thank partner for dragging me to party. Zach was rather surprised. He was at a party. He was dancing. And hell, he was enjoying it. Immensely. And he had yet to--no, best not tempt the Ironic Overpower. As Nat pulled him further into the dance he threw inhibitions to the wind and, for the first time in a long time, just let himself have fun with other people.

"Hello," he replied with a smile, taking the proffered hand. "I'm Kelvin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Bree."

Still feling rather embarrassed, Nat nevertheless smiled at Zach again and began swaying in time with the music. Why the hell she'd hugged him like that, and then kissed him - even if it was just on the cheek - she had no idea, but the look on his face told her he didn't mind at all, and being in his company certainly made her feel better.

Her smile growing wider, the young woman threw herself into the dancing, tugging Zach with her.

Perhaps he should have been embarrassed by the kiss, but, high on adrenaline and dancing with an attractive woman, it only served to elate Zach.

"You should smile more often. It suits you," he laughed as the stereo began playing Jack Johnson's "Banana Pancakes".

Meanwhile, a small girl bounded out of the dancing crowd and grinned up at Kelvin.

"Hiya!" she exclaimed, sticking out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Bree! What'syer name?"

"If ya so desire, m'lord," she replied, trying to dredge up the old-fashioned language she remembered from watching old costume dramas at home. She took his arm, grinning hugely, and examined him as they moved towards the dance floor. "Ya know, I don't think you're a clumsy dork, Zach. I like ya, anyway," she observed, before leaning over and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

A few seconds later, she blinked and registered what she'd just done, at which point her face went bright red.

Meanwhile, Kelvin had watched his friends walk off without a backwards glance, and smiled slightly. At least they were looking happier. He leaned against the wall, just watching them quietly and feeling like a bit of a wallflower.

Zach grinned and hugged Nat back tightly. When she released him, he held her by the shoulders and smiled at her, noting amusedly that they were about the same height and that she had a nice face.

"Now, no more crying, okay? We're here to celebrate our friends, not mourn them. So will you allow this clumsy dork to take you to the dance floor, my lady?" he asked, bowing flamboyantly and offering her his arm.

"I don't want ta get off my face, thanks. An' ya probably wouldn't want me ta, I get stupid when I'm like that."

Zach offered to go and make an idiot of himself, and she couldn't have stopped the smile that spread across her face in response, even if she'd wanted to. "Ya really must want me ta smile if you're offerin' ta go an' show yourself up for it." Then, on impluse, she gave him a real, warm hug, of the kind she rarely gave anybody nowadays.

Kelvin's smile was just as wide, though mostly out of relief at seeing Nat pull herself together. "Thank you," he said gratefully to Zach, though he was doubted whether the young man heard, as Nat suddenly engulfed him in a hug.

"D'you want me to get you a drink or something?" Zach offered, knowing from experience with his own partner that a sudden change from weepy to smiley didn't necessarily mean everything was okay. "I can go and make an idiot of myself, if you'll give me a real smile," he said earnestly.

He'd had no idea Nat even knew how to cry - nothing ever seemed to touch her feelings in that way. Fortunately, their companion seemed to be at as much of a loss as he himself was. For a short while the two young males hugged their friend, before she pulled away from them both and sniffed, making a rather horrible noise.

"S-sorry," she mumbled, wiping her face with her jacket sleeve and looking ruefully at the large damp patch on Kelvin's shoulder. "Got a bit... ya know. Didn't mean ta." Sniffing again, she managed a watery smile at them both. "Thanks. Bein' stupid."

The Elf just smiled back. "You're allowed to be upset too, you know." He glanced at Zach again in hopes of his being able to come up with something to do.

...Zach found himself unconsciously rubbing his arm where it had been broken in the fight. He knew he had been lucky, pulling through with only a broken arm when many of his friends had lost their lives. He glanced over at Bree and couldn't help but quirk a smile as he watched her pull them into a big, cheesy group hug.

As the two minutes ended and conversations began slowly picking up again, he whipped off his foggy glasses and cleaned them carefully on his shirt, taking the time to wipe eyes eyes. When he had replaced the spectacles he noticed, to his surprise, Nat crying. He walked over to the Welsh woman and put an arm around her, awkwardly patting her back.

"Hey, hey there," he he murmured, trying his best to comfort someone he'd never thought he'd see cry.

Luke looked around for a moment, noting the wet eyes around him, then blinked hard as the memories of last year's tragedy rose up. While he'd made it through without sustaining any real injuries, he'd seen plenty of others who hadn't been so lucky. For a moment the memory of finding his partner nearly dead in the aftermath of a battlefield threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to wipe hard at his eye to stop the tears overflowing.

Damn it, Jessie, why'd you do that anyway?

At least she had pulled through. He'd known others who weren't so lucky. Taking a deep breath, the tall man swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at the floor, remembering the friends he'd lost.



Nat, who hadn't known any of the fallen, was nevertheless swept up in the emotional wave sweeping the room. She might have complained about the PPC non-stop since she'd arrived, but nothing brought home just how special it was here as much as the sight of all these other people joined together to remember those they'd lost. Suddenly, the solemn atmosphere dragged up some incredibly painful memories, and despite trying to fight them she broke down, though thankfully without making too much noise.

Next to her, Kelvin had also been touched by the remembrance ceremony of silence. He barely knew anything about the event being comemmorated, but took the opportunity to pay his own respects to the fallen. When Nat suddenly burst into quiet tears, however, he reacted instinctively and gently embraced her, letting her cry on his shoulder even as he tried to repress his own emotions.



Despite having been rather giggly and fairly tipsy, Cassie was quick to sense the changing mood of the room, and sighed sadly as she let the memories of the fighting return. While she'd managed to avoid the most brutal of the fighting, she'd still seen several Agents killed in the Tomb battle, including one man who'd caught a bullet aimed at her. Sniffling a little at that, and somewhat aware of Troy's comforting arm around her waist, she returned the favour and leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling a bit better for the company.



Jessie stopped dancing and turned to face whoever had spoken as the call for silence went out. Having just been beginning to enjoy herself, the switch back to solemnity was a rather unwelcome surprise, but she guessed it couldn't be helped. She glanced around the room, and was mildly surprised to actually spot Luke wiping tears away. Guess he must be more upset than he let on, was all she thought before turning her mind towards the friends - and lover - she'd lost in the fight.

Waking up in Medical, still shocked to find out she'd needed an emergency operation to save her spine, only to then be told that Emma had died in the battle... Jessie blotted the tears away on her sleeve. Don't cry, dammit. Just pay your respects and don't bawl your head off. Em's gone, but she wouldn't want you to cry. You know that.



A young brunette woman hovered near the door, biting her lip as she took in the scene. She'd wanted to help out her fellow Agents during the invasion, but, being a member of the DIA, she had been drafted in to help keep order in the PPC city. She'd seen the injured coming in to rest up, though, and couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved that she hadn't had to face the fight.

Across the room, she spotted a fellow DIA Agent, Basilico Andretti, and nodded silently to him to acknowledge his presence. Then Hollian Tannis joined the rest of the PPCers in paying her respects to the fallen.

Osbert had been about to answer Celinus' question, but when the trumpet sounded he instead turned on his heel, facing the players. Old reflexes and habits kicking into action, he found himself standing at attention, his arm snapping rigidly into a salute as Leas called for two minutes' silence. In his peripherals, he could see Langston struggle to his feet, almost falling but managing to stand and fire off his own salute even as he swayed drunkenly. Nobody said a word, total stillness befalling the Store as a spirit of reflection and remembrance took hold over the celebrations from before. In almost eighty years, he had seen several occasions like this, but he was sure that for many of the people inside, it was their first. By God, did that make him feel old...

You watching us up there, boys?



Troy had wrapped an arm around Cassie's waist to support her when she said she needed to sit down, and had been about to try to lead her to one of the empty RCs he had seen along the hallway, but was interrupted by the call for a moment's silence. Keeping his hold on the young woman to keep her from falling over, he took on a sombre expression, lowering his eyes to the ground. So many people dead, not all of them his friends but all of them comrades-in-arms, it was just terrible. He shuddered, thinking about how many people he almost lost, and did lose, especially as at the same time he wondered how Berger was holding up. His partner had been hit a lot harder by the Invasion than he had.

Shine on, ya crazy diamonds.



To Roy Berger's mind, it was almost as if the fighting had still been going on even as he half-heartedly drank and celebrated with the others. The call for silence had its intended effect, apparently, especially as his eyes moved to the floor and paused at the two mechanical fingers on his right hand. Prosthetics, of course, he'd lost the genuine articles in that damned Escher Room. Gunshots, metal swinging through the air, the screams of the dead and the damned, in the back of his head it was all as fresh as when it happened. Fifty Agents trying to hold off what had seemed to be hundreds of Sues...why had he been the one that made it?

Damn it, don't fool yourself...it's because you ran. Just left them to die while you high-tailed it. You Eru-damned coward! Damn it, Silas, Dixon, Carpenter, Harris, Reason, Silverman...they all deserved to make it out of that room more than you did. They were walking around with far worse than a couple missing fingers! You should've faced your fate with honour, dammit!

A hand placed itself on his shoulder, and he looked over just out of curiosity, having to redirect his glance downwards at the shorter man to his right. He didn't dare break the silence, but the look on his face communicated well enough.



To use a saying that had popped up long after he had supposedly "died" on the fields of Waterloo, Alois Bouchard had been given the short end of the stick. Being dragged off the field by what he had thought were either angels or looters in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Waterloo, delirious and nearly dead from three bullet wounds and having been stabbed with a bayonet, he'd been an Agent less than a month before the viruses hit. Still not fully recuperated from his wounds or the shock of Napoleon Bonaparte's fall and finding himself in totally alien surroundings, he'd had to fight for survival against gigantic, monstrous macroviruses that tore Agents apart by the hundreds. Even after that it hadn't been over, he'd had to face a literal army of Mary Sues.

He didn't know what it was, the hand of God, his own skill, or something else entirely, but somehow he'd made it through the ordeals and fighting far more hellish than what he'd seen in the Grande Armeé with not even a scratch. His partner hadn't been so lucky, she didn't even have a chance before the bugs ripped her apart.

In the silence of the Store, he could still hear Lee's screams and remember his own frenzied attempts to fight through the viruses to her. If it hadn't been for that strange blond-haired Norseman, he'd have likely met a similar fate to his first partner. Now, though, he stood here where there was no gunfire, no screams, no dying, just those who lived remembering those who had not. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he looked to his left at the Agent who stood by him. The man was a good bit taller than the 5'1 Alois, but even without looking at their face he could tell they were upset. In response, he found his hand reaching out, resting on the man's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Am I the only one in this store with dry eyes?



Sandra Richardson placed down the mug once the request for silence was heard, the drinking contest she had so boisterously called for grinding to a halt as she looked to Leas, not even paying attention to the drunk man on the other side of the table whose gaze had now drifted to the front of her uniform. She'd been one of the ones lucky enough to escape HQ during the Macrovirus attack, and hadn't been very active in the Invasion's fighting, but she knew many people who had been. Most didn't make it, not even her best friends or partner. That unlucky bugger had caught a bullet with his head in the very last seconds of the fighting. It was a sobering thought, but it hadn't stopped her from coming to the party and trying to enjoy herself like she knew they'd have wanted her to. Her eyes started to water up, but she closed them and shook her head, trying to force any of those feelings down. She couldn't let her feelings or memories get in the way of the party. Eventually, everyone in the store would be dead, why get so worked up?

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

***

Basilico Andretti had done a rather good job of blending into the crowd. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure if the majority even knew he was there. However, he was comfortable with this, as he was there just as much to keep an eye on potential troublemakers as to pay his respects to the dead. Of course, he still gave the bar a very wide berth, unlike many of the partygoers, especially since the one time he'd tried to go over one of the people there had given him a look so hateful he almost thought he'd drop dead on the spot. Still, as the moment of silence was called, he bowed his head in respect, even though he'd lost no friends in the fighting.

Lord, please watch our fallen comrades as we ourselves watched o'er them. Let them not be wanting, or troubled. For in Your kingdom, there is naught but peace, and respect for canon. Never shall they go unremembered or unloved, for the PPC still lives, and so does Your kingdom in Heaven. As the Word Worlds are in our care, so are their souls in Yours. In Nomine Patris, Et Fili, Et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.

She shrugged. "I see no reason to leave you here." Rilwen looked around. "Of all interesting combinations to create, I think they have Bleepanar over there, right next to the Bleepulan ale."

"If, of course, you'd prefer to absent yourself, there's always kotra." She smiled, and took a neat step sideway to allow an inebriated fellow Agent to stagger past without colliding with her.

"I see. I... appreciate your clear thinking," he said at last, his voice completely flat and calm. It was closer to sincerity than he had ever been, perhaps was actual sincerity.

"Well," he added, after a long pause, "do you still intend to leave, or shall we attempt to mingle with the celebration?"

"It does, a little," she admitted. "I refuse to lie to you. But your reactions are your own, and scarcely my business to judge." Rilwen met her Cardassian friend's eyes, her expression remaining utterly honest.

This was neither the subject nor the time for their usual dancing about on meanings, deceptions and little games.

"Oh, I think she'd be astounded to hear I actually seem to have some vestige of respect for the dead."

Crelmos paused, and put his head to one side. "No, silly me," he added, "she'll only accuse me of some twisted ulterior motive or another. In, of course, less than polite terms."

He smirked again, adding, "It's a pity Astatine is gone. I would have quite liked to see what he would have made of my dear current partner... Really, half the things she accuses me of are quite tame by comparison."

The Cardassian stroked the ridge on his chin, looking thoughtful. "And then, of course," he murmured, "there was the Bajoran... How ironic that he survived, only to succumb to a virus."

Crelmos turned his head to gaze at the candle again, his dark eyes shadowed and unreadable. "I would be lying," he said at last, "if I claimed to feel any emotion over the loss. I hope that does not trouble you."

She gave an almost delighted smile upon seeing him. "I wasn't expecting to see you here either. I promise not to tell Teek if you don't." Her smile turned faintly teasing for a moment.

Rilwen nodded a little gravely at his comments about the tribute. "I felt it fitting, even if I never knew them. Because I never will. And, given what you've said, I'm grateful to one of them in particular. I'd have a friend less in that case, and that would be a sad loss." She smiled again.

If only a Cardassian could manage an audible smirk, it was quite possibly only Rilwen who could have been that sincere in describing it as a sad loss in this specific case, though she seemed rather unaware of this singular status.

The voice was low, calm, and familiar, sounding from just behind her.

"To be fair, I was not directly involved in the circumstances either. Even after the viruses had been eliminated and the quarantine ended, I didn't venture far from Research during the fight..."

There was a note of amusement in Crelmos' tone now, mingled with a certain wistfulness. "Although I will admit, when I did so, the benefits were considerable, for a while at least... But," he amended, "I suppose this isn't a topic I should pursue at the moment."
It was, at this point, probably fair to say that only a Cardassian could manage an audible smirk.

Then, surprisingly, he added, "I thank you for your tribute. Astatine survived the viruses, through some miracle best known to himself, only to die at our enemies' hands. Were it not for him..." There was a pause, as though he was considering whether or not to reveal his true thoughts.

"Were it not for him, I would not have lived- in more than one sense, you understand. This place may have its shortcomings, but it did allow my mind to awaken at last..." He chuckled softly. "But, once again, I digress."

"With Anzac Day in a week back home, it seems well. Sort of appropriate. Something. Just can't play it myself, not yet. And it's not the same on clarinet, of course."

She wasn't getting very far with playing it, though.

Leas sighed. "I think perhaps we should just recite the Ode to Remembrance and observe the silence," he said as she blew another fouled note. "We're not getting anywhere with this."

"And I promised I'd be ready, too," Deryn muttered, lowering the trumpet.

"Well, you might get some attention," Leas suggested. "Two minutes silence won't be much good unless people are."

"Least people probably won't mistake a trumpet for gunfire," Deryn said, and blew. The sound she produced was remarkably unlike gunfire, and also unlike the sound of a practised trumpet player.

Leas cleared his throat, and pulled out a piece of paper. "If I could From For the Fallen, Laurence Binyon, forth stanza.

"'They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.
'Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
'At the going down of the sun and in the morning
'We will remember them.'"

"Lest we forget," Deryn murmured, head bowed.

Leas folded the paper up and put it away. "I would now like to ask that we observe two minutes' silence. For ours- and for kin." He bowed his head.

Just curious."
"Curiouser and curiouser," said Krisp.