David sat, panting, on the weight bench  in a blood and dirt stained off-white tank top, the tank top saturated in sweat, clinging to his newly built muscle. Behind him, Man in the Box played from his compact disc player, blasting what was easily one of the best songs he ever heard. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the wet locks back against his head.

Bart Walker stood a few feet away with a stopwatch, staring at David with a warm expression. "You're dad never appreciated a good coach, boy."

"Well," David caught his breath. "Maybe if he'd had one, right?"

Bart made a stern expression, not quite disapproving. "You sure got my boy's sass, didn't you?"

"I don't remember much about dad. He had maybe one serious conversation with me in my life."

"Which was?"

"Something about evil in the world. How beautiful evil could appear to be... that maybe the lesser of two evils was  good for a greater cause."

Bart nodded. "Be careful with the concept of any greater good, son. Good intentions have born up some of the worse things the world has ever seen."

David lay back on the weight bench, positioning himself under the barbell, and gripped the bar.

"Spotter?"

"If I drop the Damned thing, it's because I was too weak to carry the weight. No safety nets."

Bart shook his head. "You drop that thing on yourself, and there ain't no more sons to carry on our name."

David pushed against the bar, and lifted it. It teetered a moment to one side, tottered a moment to the other. Bart sucked in a sharp breath of air, but David steadied it out. "Oh, I don't know. I'm sure you've still got a few good genes left in you."

David lifted the bar up, and lowered it slowly, straining against gravity as the weight bore down. Bart ignored his comment. "What are you pushing?"

David grunted, pushing the bar back up, lowered it again, and pushed with a low growl. "Two. Two even."

"You're pushing yourself too hard, too fast. You ought to be pushing about half that."

David slowly pushed out another three reps. "Can we argue about this when I'm done?"

Bart grunted a half hearted disapproval.

David felt fatigue setting in, and ignored it. The enemy would not care if he was tired, weak, or sore. The enemy would beat down on him heavier than any weight he could imagine. They would pile on, and keep piling until they were dead, or he was. He pushed through another five reps. The bar teetered again to the left, then tottered again to the right. David closed his eyes, struggling against his shaking arms. "Stop!"

Bart, ready to rush to his side, slowed his advance.

David steadied out the barbell, and lowered it again. Down, breathe deep. Hold. Push. Up. Down. Breath deep. Deeper. Draw the strength. No rites and blessings. Not yet. This all had to come from him. He was strong over there - Taal's Realm - he could be strong here, too. He had no other choice. For all the Terrors, the Shadows stalking him with their razor touch. For the Face Takers. For Blanca, and Crimson, and Ammielle.

For Karen.

For he, and his own self.

David pushed up hard, screaming as he did. He held the barbell up a moment longer, and then carefully set it in its place.

"Five minutes that time."

"Goddamnit."

Bart furrowed his brow. "Language, boy. You got a rosary on hand?"

"What?"

"What do you expect? You'll get faster with every set?"

"I need to be faster now."

Bart shook his head. "Ain't how it works."

David sat up again, more slow than the last time, and rolled his shoulders. "Says who?"

"Oh, I don't know. Science I suppose. Limitations of the human body."

"Our enemies don't know much about limitations, do they? Science sure as hell don't know much about Coven. That monster out there," David pointed in a random direction. "The one that killed dad. It doesn't know much about limitation, and it doesn't seem to care about science."

"You'll get better, and stronger after the rites, and blessings."

"I need to be better, and stronger before I take the rites, and blessings. That was the problem with everyone who's gone so far, right? Everyone gets to depending on the rites and blessings, and not much for being stronger, and better on their own."

"When you say everyone who's gone before, you mean my boy? Clay was a strong man, and I know you won't believe me, but he was strong before he took them rites."

David was quiet a long time, just trying to catch his breathe again. "I don't mean you any harm, grandpa. I don't mean any offense. Maybe dad was strong, but if Dad was strong on his own, then I need to be stronger. It wasn't enough to be strong."

"I'ma go on in for now, boy. I know you don't mean no harm, but if I'm honest, I kind of want to choke the hell out of you right now. Clay was my boy."

"...and my dad. That thing out there was what killed him. Not you, or me. If you don't wanna bury a grand son, you need to let me train harder. If I break, you put me back on my feet, tape me up, and tell me to get back to it."

"I'ma go inside."

"I'll be here." David lowered himself back, collapsing on the weight bench, and drew in a deep breath. He pulled himself under the barbell, and gripped the bar.

"You get yourself killed by a damned weight set, and I'm going to kick your ass."

"You'll have to get in line behind Karen, I'm sure." David grunted, pushing the barbell up, and over his chest.

Bart passed him, tossing the stop watch on the floor next to the weight bench. He stared at David a moment longer, admiring his son's features in the boy, and then continued on into the house.

The Walkers were a strong line, with strong women, and strong men, and they had strong hearts. Rampant emotions at tines. They loved strong, they lost strong, and when they suffered, it was an emotional holocaust on the heart.

No one got to see them break.

No one got to see them cry, but if anyone did, it would never be his grand son.

Bart left the room, hearing David roar each time he pushed the bar up, and shut the door behind him. He looked once over his shoulder, and continued in past the hall, through the den, the kitchen, the dining room, and into the living room.

He sat on a handsome, old and comfortable couch - older than he - and slumped back into it. The television was off, the room was quiet, and he stared into empty space.

Sometimes the room smelled like Clayton, and if he concentrated enough, he could still smell Jonathan. He could look in the dining room in this very moment, and imagine young Jonathan sitting at the table next to Nadjia, arguing over cartoons, or discussing what games they would play this year at Twin Knolls before the New Year.

He felt a lump in his throat, and had not the strength to cough and clear it, as a solitary tear spilled over the right side of his face in a thin trickle, trapped in his wiry gray stubble. Too old to bawl like a baby, but he sure as hell felt like bawling.

Clayton never cried.

Well, of course he cried.

The boy wept like anyone weeps. He just never cried where anyone could see it. When that Julie girl went the way of the angels back in fifty-six, Bart did not see his son for a week, except for long, quiet meals. Meals spent with his red and raw eyed boy, Clayton forcing down his food, and fighting to keep it down.

That same man would lose his daughter, Nadjia, and his son not long after.

Never once did Bart see him shed a tear. Never once did he hear a complaint. Life was never a fair thing, but for Clay, it was increasingly vicious. Surely as his line was cursed by a damnable witch to hunt her kind until the end of their line, or the end of time, whichever came first... his boy got the worse of it.

Lost too much, too quickly.

Bart grunted, and wiped his cheek on his shoulder just as the front door opened to the sound of Karen singing under her breath, humming a solemn melody that reminded Bart that one generation, to the next, this was it.

This was all there was, and all there would be, for he, David, Karen, and all of the Driftwood Knights.

✟ ☧ ✟

David lay in bed, staring at the stucco ceiling. His compact disc player played tracks from Nirvana's album Nevermind. It was not his only Nirvana album, but it was absolutely his favorite, and it fit his mood.

His arms were sore - more so then they had ever been - and tomorrow was going to be far worse than today. If he expected to ship out with Karen, he had to be fit for duty by summer. There was no negotiating time. Either he was strong, or he was weak. There was no middle ground.

Not this time.

As he lay in bed, he heard her footsteps approach before she knocked. By the second knock, David was sitting, massaging his knees. "Karen, you know you don't have to knock."

"Teen boys and their private habits," Karen opened the door, slinked into his room, and shut it behind her with a quiet click. She locked it. "Wouldn't want to interrupt anything."

David felt warmth rushing to his cheeks. "Shuttup, oaf."

"Says the guy trying to kill himself, and break an old man's heart."

David frowned. "If you're here to pick at me for having words with my grandpa, you'll have to leave a message with my secretary."

"Ooo, is she hot? Should I be jealous?" Karen put her hand over her mouth in mock concern. "I'm not here to nag at you for being a bad grandson."

"Clearly."

"Bart thought maybe you'd just like some time alone to hang out, and relax."

"I don't have time to relax. I needed to be FFD by summer."

"...you've got time, tough stuff. Besides, if you can't go, I won't go. Born on the same day. Together, or not at all."

"You're too good for me."

"Yeah, but who's keeping track?"

David flopped back, and made a face.

"Hurt?"

He shook his head. "Not like it will tomorrow."

"Need a little help?"

"You love me long time?"

Karen punched him in the chest, and David groaned. "Turn over, jerk."

David continued groaning, and Karen sighed, rolling him onto his side, and then onto his stomach.

"Ow."

"You know better than to push your elders." She began kneading the muscle around his neck and shoulders.

"We're the same age..."

"Pfffpt. You wish." She clamped down on a shoulder, and David yelped. "I've got a minute and thirty-three seconds on you, darling."

David drew in a slow breath, and exhaled through his nose. "That's a lot better."

"Hush now." Karen's dulcet whisper carried just over the somber near monotone of Something in the way, marking the final song on Nevermind. Excluding the hidden track Go to Hell.

Karen continued kneading his back, waiting for the disruptive screeching of the hidden track, and smiled when the disc changer in the compact disc player switched to the next disc. After a few more moments of silence, a familiar melody filled Karen's ears.

"Dive." Karen smiled, massaging the stiff muscle in David's back. "You know I love Sarah Bright man."

"Mmf." David yawned. "Ever since we saw Phantom."

"You always remember the little things."

"Hush now." David felt a little slobber slip over his lip. "Just do that."

"This?"

David nodded into his pillow.

Karen worked David's back carefully, and by the time The Second Element began to play, he was sleeping, snoring lightly. Karen shook her head. "Tough stuff."

She climbed off him, and slid off the side of his bed. Karen tiptoed to his door, and unlocked it. She crept back to his bedside, and lay beside him, staring at his face as he slept. She pushed at him slowly, and David furrowed his brow. Karen pushed until he was on his back.

She curled up beside him, and watched him sleep. She leaned up and kissed his forehead. "Don't you ever scare me the way you did this last year, you jerk."

"Mmm."

"Yeah, yeah. Prove it."

"Mmm hm."

She giggled. Nothing she would ever do with David fully awake. "I didn't ask you. I told you. Demanded it. Sleep, baby. I'll be here when you wake up."

✟ ☧ ✟