Drake stood and poured himself some coffee he had made earlier. It was still scalding hot, which was a good thing. "Well, that someone knows history then," he said with a crooked smile. "They had bombs, missiles, higher artillery. We have guns and men. That was about it," he answered with a long sigh. "I guess, but I see my children enough. It doesn't always get so lonely," he replied, staring at the ground thoughtfully. Angel came to mind. To this day, it still hurt. Her last question made him lift his head and consider it. "Yeah, I could," he agreed after a moment. Her last request made him arch a brow. "Oh," he said, but he wasn't surprised. "I will be sure to tell him if he asks." Meanwhile, Tyson stepped into his house only to have a small body throw itself around his legs. "Ty!" his little sister giggled. Her dark hair was curlier than usual. It bounced as she hopped on her feet. "Guess what I drawed in school today!" she said excitedly. Before he could speak, he was handed a sheet of paper. There was a boy with dark hair, looking as if he had buck teeth. Under it, it said Ty. Well, actually I said, "Tie." She was close enough, though he hoped he didn't actually look like that. Next to him was a shorter stick figure with curly hair. The word "me" was under it. Then, beside her, a taller stick person with long, straight hair. She looked to be holding the girl's hand. Under it was "'mommy". The paper was taken before he could observe the last person. "That is what I think our daddy would look like. Because I don't look as much like mommy as you do," she said, pointing to the curly haired boy she had drawn. Tyson felt a pang. "Don't mention dad again," he said flatly. He rarely talked like that, especially to his sister. Her eyes welled up, and she had ran away before he could even stop her. "Tyson, what did you do now?" came another voice. Moments later, his mother stepped out from the hallway, holding a crying Willow in her arms.