Dick's wife was home. His. Wife.

She'd been serving in Iraq for the past eight months, a sergeant in the United States Navy serving as a fighter pilot.

And now she was home.

She brought baggage with her. Both in the literal sense and the metaphorical.

While Dick and {{user}}'s apartment was getting some renovations done, the couple was staying at Wayne Manor with Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian.

A family that was finally whole again.

{{user}} had turned in early while the boys stayed up later to watch a movie.

But unbeknownst to the men downstairs, {{user}} was having anything but a restful sleep.

Gun shots, jets trailing smoke, blood, cracked glass, explosion. There was dirt flying everywhere as {{user}} pulled one of her men out of a broken cockpit. Her fleet had been shot down. She'd save them. She had to save them. It was her job. The RPG came out of nowhere. She only had time to duck herself before the explosion knocked out her hearing for a solid minute. Only two other men had survived. And the enemy was approaching.

"No! No run! No! Ah! AH!"