By the time the bartenders kick them out, it's just Ray, Walt, Poke, Pappy, Gunny and Brad still hanging on. Nate leans against the wall and watches them all, smiling as they tumble around each other, none of them willing to let the night end. They do fade away, Ray and Walt stumbling off first, then Pappy with his cane and then Poke, reminding Nate not to surrender to the white man. Nate shakes hands and slaps them all on the back, saying private thanks and goodbyes no one else can hear.

Brad hangs back from the rest, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, which does nothing to make him seem smaller. Gunny gives him a look as he claps Nate's shoulder one last time, but Brad ignores him, keeping his gaze fixed on puddles of dirty water littering the parking lot.

"Well." Nate's cheeks are flushed and his green eyes are bright with booze and laughter. "Looks like we're the last men standing."

"Guess so." Brad looks up at him and offers him a wry smile. "Good luck."

"Thank you. I'm pretty sure Harvard's going to be a piece of cake compared to riding through Iraq in Humvees."

"I don't know. You've got to add in all the fending off of co-eds, partying, term papers…"

"No term paper is going to compare to an after-action report on an exploding espresso maker." Nate's smile is pure amusement. "I almost got you guys commendations with that."

Brad smiles back, his eyes shadowed. "We should have realized it was an omen."

"I don't believe in omens." Nate shakes his head and stares out toward the ocean. "I've got a six pack of Guinness in my car."

"Beach?"

Nate grins and goes to this car, grabbing the beers out of the back. After a few quick strides, he catches up to Brad, heading toward the surf. Brad's still hunched slightly forward, but he straightens as they get closer to the water. Nate settles on the sand, jamming the beer down to keep it steady before peeling one off for each of them. Brad takes off his shoes and socks and heads for the waves. Nate leans back on his elbows, watching him.

"You know, it's all lies. We can't actually walk on water."

"Speak for yourself." Brad tilts his head back and takes a deep breath. "We should go surfing."

"Right now?"

"No. Before you bail on us."

"I've never bailed on you." Nate takes a pull from his beer and looks away, his face shadowed by the moon.

"No." Brad turns back toward Nate, silent for a long moment before he comes back, sitting next to Nate. Nate hands him the beer without speaking, his fingers cool against Brads.

"Besides, you're going to England." Nate takes a drink, watching Brad's fingers curl around the dark glass neck. "Even if we went back, it wouldn't be the same."

"I like having a commander I trust."

"I'm sure you will."

Brad cocks an eyebrow. "You sound like a goddamned recruiting officer."

"Hey now." Nate shakes his head in warning. "No need to get nasty." He lies back in the sand, eyes on Brad. Brad shifts and turns sideways, looking down at Nate. Without thinking, Nate reaches out, fingers skimming Brad's sleeve. "Either way, has to be an improvement over Schwetje, right?"

"You know we respect the hell out of you, sir."

"You'll get someone good, Brad. I promise. I'm not leaving you guys to just anyone."

"I know, sir. And I'm sure whoever we get will be a good man, but…what we did, sir…he's not going to be you."

"Be honest, Brad. I'm not me." Nate smiles and closes his eyes, the faint breeze warm on his skin, and Brad's arm warm beneath the fabric of his shirt. "And you guys don't need me, not really. You know the way there now, and you're experts at what you're actually trained to do."

"You make it sound like we're that easy to walk away from."

Nate's eyes snap open and he shakes his head, keeping his gaze locked on Brad. "No. You're definitely not that. None of you are. You are all my Marines. I don't care who commands you, from Mattis on down to whatever gunny they have working you over. You're my Marines."

"But you're still leaving."

"We're all leaving, Brad. One way or another to some place or the other. I'm not the only one leaving home."

"Yeah, yeah." Brad drains his beer and looks back out at the water. "They're trading their best players for new recruits, wondering why we didn't win their war for them, thinking fresh blood will clean up the mess they had us make in their name."

Nate sits up as well, his arms draped over his knees. "We got out alive and intact, most of us physically as well as mentally. I count that as a win. It's the only win I'm concerned with. The only win that ever concerned me, increasingly so as our time went on." He peels off another beer and hands it to Brad, watching as he opens it and swallows a third of it down. "You ready for England?"

"As I'll ever be." He mimics Nate's posture, holding his beer loosely. "Join the Marines. See the world."

"They never promised it was the pretty parts." He exhales quietly. "You can come to Boston and visit. I'll show you the sights."

"You going to get one of those little signs for your house? One of those welcome mats? 'Beware of Devil Dog'?" Brad laughs and drinks more. "Real life, sir."

"You can call me Nate."

Brad looks at him and holds up his beer, the glass clinking against Nate's bottle. "No, sir. I really can't."

Nate laughs. "Well, if you call me 'sir' in civilian life, people are going to think we have some weird sexual relationship going on."

"We're not going to see each other in civilian life, sir." Brad finishes his beer and sets the bottle on the sand. "You know it and I know it. You're an officer and I'm just a grunt. We're two different worlds. We're not going to buddies and we're not going to be friends. There's a divide, sir, and you know it as well as I do."

"I'm going to be a civilian, Brad."

"You're always a Marine." Brad turns his head and smiles. "Doesn't mean I don't like you, sir. I mean, I'll still take you surfing, and I promise not to let you drown."

"Thank you." Nate drains the last of his drink and sighs. "I guess I should get going."

"Reveille comes early," Brad agrees, standing up and wiping sand from his back and ass. He gathers the empties as Nate grabs the last two filled ones. "Captain Fick?"

Nate stops and looks at Brad. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Good luck, sir."

"Thank you."

Brad's one hand clutches the bottles and the other is snapped against his forehead in a perfect salute. "Semper fi, sir."