Check on dad's office.

Todd volunteers to carry the new kit bag, knowing that you're more likely to hit something if shots end up being fired. He manfully hoists it up, struggling both with the awkward shape and the weight, and steps out into the corridor outside the armory.

You lock up behind you, and start to wind your way back out of the building. After turning one corner, you suddenly stop dead in your tracks, and pivot back to where you glanced at a shut door.

T MARSHALL - SHERIFF

Dad's office. You feel a pang of sadness. You know you shouldn't stick around here any longer, but you have to go inside. The door is locked, but it doesn't take long to find the right key, and you usher Todd to follow you as you sweep into the room.

It's not a large space, but it's tidy and well organised. There's a long couch along one wall, which you know dad slept on more than once when work kept him here. The desk is uncluttered, with just a phone and a rather outdated computer on it, and in the far corner is a locker, again with his name on it. You walk over to the locker and start trying the smallest keys. The third one opens it.

Inside, several very neatly pressed uniforms, all clean but still smelling of home because of the laundry soap your mom uses. On the shelf at the top, his razor, shaving foam, and favourite aftershave, as well as a few random bits and pieces of things needed for his daily routine. The main treasure here is his prized sunglasses. You reach up for them, clicking open the case, and immediately burst into tears at the sight of them. He loved these shades. Had been wearing them since his first days as a patrol trooper. They are very old but absolutely timeless; large, mirrored lenses showing you your own reflection in a strange chrome and purple hue. They are far too big for your face, but you put them on anyway, and turn to Todd with a sad smile.

"Howdy pardner," you drawl, trying to make light of the situation. He's been sitting awkwardly on the couch, trying to leave you to your reminiscence, but he laughs despite himself at the sight of you.

"I will respect your authoritah." You smirk, and turn back to the locker. There's nothing of real practical value here, but your attention is drawn to a number of photos of him and the rest of you stuck on the inside of the door. In particular, there's a photo of you two together on vacation in Florida, back when you were about 14. Your dad stands behind you like a giant, arms folded in his customary photo pose, and you've managed to ape the stance perfectly. Your little teenage face is kicking out attitude to match his gruff, veteran officer-of-the-law appearance, and the memory of how the two of you cracked up for a good five minutes immediately after the shutter went brings more tears to your eyes.

God, I really really miss you dad.

You take the photo, as well as one of your parents together, and the only photo of Jim, proud as anything on the day he got his sergeant's stripes. You slip them into a pocket, shut the locker, and square your shoulders as you prepare to go.

"Thanks Todd," your voice is quiet, a last few moments of vulnerability before facing the world outside. "I needed that."

"Hey, Alana, you're the boss. No worries." He fidgets with a strap on the large bag. Suddenly, strangely solemn, "When we are safe, then we will mourn."

The words surprise you. You reach over to him, and gently squeeze his shoulder. For a brief moment, you want to kiss him, but also you're still mad at him and you don't want him to think otherwise.

"Yes. We will. Now, it really is time to go."