September. It was September already. Where had the rest of the year gone? It was strange how rarely doing anything at all made time feel like it was standing still, yet blazing by at the same time. But worse than that, that particular day, was the worst day of the year; forgetting about it would be far more pleasurable than stewing on it...

"Are you going to change that target, or are you just going to shoot until there's nothing left of it?"

Jess bristled at Price's voice, and she exhaled hard, having held her breath for a while. Her heart was thudding oddly with him standing over the top of her. She looked at the ground on which she was lying, and then back at the scope of her rifle. "Why? You jealous I can hit the broad side of a barn?"

He threw a bullet casing at her, and it bounced off the brim of Gaz's hat. "You look like you're not all here; I was just making sure you had at least the capacity to notice you've practically blown that target apart."

She rolled her shoulders and lifted herself up to stand, tripping Price in the process. "I noticed. I wanted to see if I could completely destroy the head on the silhouette."

Price laughed. "And you have; you've just about used up all your mags. Don't you think you should be done?" he asked.

"I could, I guess," she said, placing the rifle in a hard case. "But I think it's a better pass time than drinking or meandering the base." She snapped the latches shut with a "clack," and hoisted the case over her shoulder.

"You don't have anything better to do today?"

She cocked a brow. "... No? Why?"

The Captain smirked. "Why don't you come with me to Three Elms?"

"Drinking this early in the day, sir?" she teased.

His eyes narrowed as he grabbed her hand. "You can get more than drinks at the pub, you know. Goes to show the only reason you go there."

They pulled up to the pub, and Price made her stay in her seat until he opened the door for her. She thanked him and walked by his side to the door. "So, what's the occasion? You never invite me to just go to the pub with you," she said, raising her brow with a smirk.

He laughed. "Have you looked at a calendar lately? How could you forget..?"

She stopped in her tracks at the sight of Bravo Team seated at a long table, raising their glasses upon her entrance. "Happy birthday!" they all exclaimed. 

"Price..." she growled.

The Captain was laughing, his head tilted back with the largest smile she'd ever seen him make. "C'mon, we never got the chance to celebrate last year, and how else was I going to get you to attend your own party if I told you?"

She sheepishly walked to the table and was bombarded by side hug, back slaps, and excited exclamations. Ghost passed her a shot of whiskey and she sneered at him. "You're not getting me drunk again..." she said, tilting the glass into her mouth. 

Ghost looked away with a chuckle. "Not even tipsy? Don't be boring, Gal."

Soap put down an empty pint, and though his blue eyes seemed to be looking at Jess, his gaze was far beyond her. She noticed his thousand-yard stare, and silently wondered if he knew what the others didn't seem to recall.

Price walked around and sat across the table from her between Roach and Walcroft. Griffin slid a pint of ale to the Captain's hand, and he took a sip. "So, was this a good enough surprise?" he asked.

Jess looked up at the ceiling, at first trying not to smile, but she ended up smiling anyway. "Yeah, it was definitely a surprise." She chuckled. "Thank you, Captain Price."

He shrugged, as if to say "no worries," and then tapped a waitress on the shoulder.

Once home, Jessica pulled a mass of cards and envelopes from her mailbox. It was almost disgusting, like unclogging a sink drain. As she walked to her front door, she flipped through each card, all of them beginning to blur together. "Happy Birthday" this, and "Celebrate," that. It was like she was sifting through the same three cards eight times. Did every agent at S.H.I.E.L.D. have to send her a card?

Her heart stopped at the sight of a familiar name. "Garrick." 

Gaz's family.

Though they didn't talk much, on occasion, she got a card from his family, reminding her that they had their minds on her and that if she so wanted, they could get together. As kind as the offer was, Jessica couldn't force herself to dine and make merry with a family who would no doubt be remembering their absent son. 

She opened the card to read it. 

"Dear Jessica," it read.

"Happy birthday! You were on our minds this week, and we wanted to take the time to remind you that we are still here in Birmingham if you'd like to join us for Christmas. In case you don't, we still wanted to wish you well this day. We miss you dearly! Hopefully, we'll see you soon!

"With love,

"The Garricks."

Jessica folded up the letter again and tucked it back into the envelope. She shut the front door and leaned on it, feeling the weight of the world settle back on her shoulders. The thoughts she'd been staving off all day were suddenly swarming her mind like hornets, their wings buzzing, whispering the things she had been so desperately trying to ignore since the moment she woke up. 

"Gone."

"Murdered."

"What could I have done?"

"NOTHING."

She slammed her fist against the door, the wood creaking, wincing in pain at the blow. Jess' hazel eyes stared ahead of her, a little wet at the lonely thoughts. She swiped the tears away before they could brim over and fall, and then, as suddenly as they had set upon her, the feelings went away.

Later that night, Price drove back into his driveway after staying behind to talk to Soap. After shutting off his headlights, he looked at Jessica's house. All the lights were out, except one in her bedroom. He pursed his lips as he got out of the cat and walked across the grass between their yards. He knocked on her door. It was chilling the way it echoed through the house like rattling the bones of a frozen body. There was no response, and he knocked again, harder this time.

He nearly knocked again until Jessica opened the door, just more than a crack; enough to reveal her hazel eyes standing out against the chilly shadow. "Yes, sir?" came a low, groaning voice. "I was about to go to bed, do you need something."

Price set his jaw. "Your light was on; I figured you were awake."

"You're not answering my question," she said.

"I just thought it was a little odd that you leave your birthday celebration in the evening, and decide to go to be early; I would think you'd still be up at..." He checked his watch. "2100."

She sighed. "I'm just a little tired today, that's all."

"You didn't seem too tired before..." he said.

She took a step closer to the door frame so her whole face showed in the light. "Are you policing my sleep schedule, sir? I'm tired, so I'm going to bed." And she began to close the door.

Price put his hand on the door to stop it. "What's going on with you? You're hiding something, what is it?"

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, her voice quieter than before. It almost sounded weak, and it surprised John.

He licked his lips. "I want you to tell me what's wrong," he said, almost a grumble.

Jessica sank against the door frame, her arms crossed as she stared past Price in thought. A few seconds passed and she straightened again. "Come inside, it's chilly out there."

John followed her in and shut the door behind him. He was taken aback when she flipped on the lights and he saw her leaning ever so slightly against the wall, her shoulders hunched forward and her face pale with puffy red eyes and nose. She looked eerily frail, and he didn't like it. 

As she went to walk past him toward the kitchen, he caught her by the shoulders and held her in front of him. "What happened?"

She offered the weakest smile he'd perhaps ever seen. "Don't you know what day it is?"

"Your birthday?" he asked, terribly confused.

Jessica closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. "Gaz, Griggs, and Carter died a year ago today," she said.

He sighed and closed his eyes, too. "Damn..." he muttered. "I didn't even realize... It makes sense why Soap seemed so out of it."

She nodded. "Yeah, I noticed he wasn't looking so well."

John opened his eyes and studied her face. He let his hands down her arms until they landed just above her elbows. "You still remember it's not your fault..."

"I know it's not..." she said. "But that doesn't take away the fact that I still miss them. It doesn't take away the fact that I still wish it was a bad dream, and it certainly doesn't take away the fact that some days I wish I could go with them..." Her voice was cracking so much now that her throat ached. She covered her mouth with her hand; she had never admitted that to anyone before.

He was on the verge of tears listening to her and he closed his eyes, turning his face away; he didn't even know what to say.

So he didn't. 

Jessica buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry, Price... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let that out."

"Don't..." he said, voice tight as he spoke. He cleared his throat and continued. "I would rather know than be clueless." John bowed his head. "But know that the thought of you killing yourself makes me sick..."

She looked away. "I'm sorry..."

He held her upright and leaned his face mere inches from hers. "Stop it," he rumbled. "Stop apologizing; all of us know what that's like to feel suicidal, but I don't want you to think it means nothing to me when you tell me that."

Her eyes cast down to avoid his gaze. "Yes, sir..."

John hesitated for only a moment, and then hugged her. "I care what happens to you; don't ever forget. So, please, even if just for me, take care of yourself, and don't do anything to hurt yourself, do you hear me?"

"I do... I understand," she said. Finally, she heaved in a great sigh, and let it out, her body relaxing with the motion. 

They were both quiet for nearly a minute. Despite how soft her voice was, Price could just make out her words:

"Thank you, John..."