Three Missed Sundays

The next morning, Michael woke up early, as always, the clock on his nightstand flashing 5:00 AM. His body was still accustomed to the discipline he had honed over years of being a Ranger. Rising at this hour felt second nature, a part of him that hadn't changed despite everything else feeling so different. He expected to be out of the house and into his workout routine within minutes.

But as he made his way to the kitchen, something made him linger. His mother was already awake, moving through her morning rituals with a nervous energy he hadn't seen before. She was at the counter, hands fidgeting as she adjusted the kettle, her gaze drifting repeatedly to the front door.

Michael hesitated, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his usual drive to begin his exercises faltering. He stood there, feeling the weight of the unease that had settled in the house, and made a decision that surprised even him. He set his bag down, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the tense silence. "I was about to head out," he admitted, "but... maybe I can wait a bit." He paused, then added with a small, self-deprecating grin, "Besides, I guess it wouldn't kill me to take a cheat day."

His father, who had just walked into the kitchen, raised an eyebrow before letting out a laugh—a sound that seemed to lighten the air, if only briefly. "A cheat day?" he echoed, shaking his head with a smile. "Well, I guess you haven't had one in ten years."

Michael's mother shot his father a disapproving look, her lips pressing together as she tried to suppress a smile. "Really?" she said, her tone half-chiding, half-amused. But her eyes softened, and the warmth behind her gaze betrayed her fondness. It was a fleeting moment of humor, a thin crack of light in the otherwise heavy morning.

The laughter faded, and with it, the tension crept back in. His mother's hands tightened around the edge of the counter, her smile fading as her eyes once again drifted toward the door. "Yesterday was Sunday," she said softly, her voice cracking ever so slightly. "When we heard you were back from the military, we thought Blue was probably busy. Busy in an important way, something that would have justified no contact. But now... three Sundays, Michael. It's not like him to miss."

His father's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He sat down at the table, cradling his coffee mug as if for comfort. "Nova would have kept him on track," he added, his voice low but steady. "Those visits were a ritual, something we relied on. And now... nothing."

He paused, his hands clenching into fists before he finally sighed and looked at his parents, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. "I need to tell you something," he began, his voice heavy with dread. "The night Blue came to see me in interrogation, they pulled him into a tribunal right afterward." He took a breath, watching his parents' faces grow tense. "Yellow accused him of treason. She claims he's been siding with the Elvanurus, that he sabotaged Ceres."

His mother's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. His father's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his mug.

Michael swallowed hard. "He's in interrogation now," he continued. "They've been questioning him ever since. And Nova... Nova's with Alpha, undergoing some kind of computer check. They're trying to make sure there isn't anything compromised."

The room fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the faint ticking of the kitchen clock. Michael's mother lowered her hand, her expression a mixture of disbelief and fear. "Treason?" she whispered, the word tasting foreign and bitter. "How could anyone think that of Blue?"

His father shook his head slowly, the anger simmering beneath the surface. "That's madness," he said, his voice rough. "Blue's been nothing but loyal. We've seen what he's done, how he's fought for this world. To accuse him of something like that..."

Michael hesitated before asking, "Did you ever notice anything... off about him? Anything that might have seemed unusual?"

His father leaned back, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Off about Blue?" he echoed. "Besides him sneaking into the kitchen to steal my apple cobbler and white chocolate macadamia cookies?" He managed a chuckle, though it was strained. "No, nothing that seemed wrong."

Michael's mother gave his father a gentle but reproachful look. "Really?" she said softly. "I made more than enough cookies for everyone, and you know you should be watching your blood sugar."

Her attempt at humor faded as she turned to Michael, her expression growing serious. "Blue's had his share of shadows, but he's always done his best to do what's right. We could see the weight he carried—the sacrifices he made for Earth and the alliance, the way he put the bigger picture first. But that kind of burden... it leaves a mark on a person."

His father nodded, worry furrowing his brow. "We watched him struggle, Michael. Darkness and grief followed him, and there were times it looked like he was fighting a battle none of us could understand. But even so, he never wavered from his duty. It scares us to think how much he's given and what it's cost him."

Michael's mother reached for his hand, her touch gentle and full of love. "You, though," she said, her voice softening. "You've always had a light in you, Michael. We believe in the goodness God put in your heart. No matter how hard things get, we know you'll hold on to that. And now that you're back... maybe that light can guide him.

Michael's mother looked at him with a hint of concern, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "Tell me, Michael," she asked, leaning in slightly, "how long does an interrogation usually take? We saw the conference on TV, you know. And when normal people see that—when it's clear the politicians are hiding things—folks start to get real uncomfortable."

Before Michael could respond, a soft, familiar hum emanated from his morpher. Bastion's voice filled the room, steady and thoughtful. "Given the seriousness of the tribunal's accusations," he began, "it's possible that everything happening now is just standard procedure. Investigations like these tend to be drawn out, especially when politicians are involved."

Bastion paused, then added with a touch of caution, "Still, perhaps it's time we checked on him ourselves. Your current martyr status might grant you some leeway, and they're more likely to allow you a visit. Would you like me to send word to expect your arrival in Cincarion? It might give us a chance to learn more about what's truly going on."

Michael's parents exchanged a glance, their worry tempered by the possibility that this could all be routine. Yet the uncertainty still loomed, making Bastion's suggestion feel both necessary and urgent.

Michael clenched his fists, feeling a surge of determination flood through him. The worry in his parents' eyes, the weight of Bastion's words, and the thought of Blue facing this ordeal alone all combined to push him into action. "Blue snuck in to see me while I was locked up," he said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of emotion. "The least I can do is return the favor."

He paused, looking down at his morpher, the familiar weight of it a reminder of the responsibilities he carried. His jaw tightened, but a hint of a wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "If Bastion can't get me in," he added, "then Mrs. Aisha should know a way or two inside. She's resourceful, and I have a feeling she has connections in places most people wouldn't even think to look."

Michael's father, who had been listening intently, leaned forward with a small smile. "And if they're going to keep him," he said, his voice carrying a hint of humor, "see if you can't get me access to Nova. I haven't had a good game of chess in three weeks. The old codgers at the park are getting prickly, and Bastion here was no challenge." He paused, glancing at Bastion. "Err, sorry, Bastion. Maybe we can try a different game later."

Bastion's holographic form flickered, and his digital face lit up with a semblance of excitement. "I quite like bumper cars," he offered, his tone cheerful.

Michael's father let out a hearty laugh. "I'll pass on the bumper cars," he said, shaking his head. "But we'll figure something out, I promise."

Michael grinned and shrugged. "I might be up for it," he teased. "I'll take your place, Dad. It's been a while since I've done something fun that doesn't involve saving the world."

The lighthearted exchange brought a moment of levity to the room, easing some of the tension that had settled over them. Michael felt a small smile break through the seriousness of the moment, grateful for the way his family could still find humor even in the heaviest times.

"Alright, Bastion," Michael said, a hint of playfulness creeping into his voice. "Set up the visit. Let's make sure they know I'm coming, and maybe see if we can't arrange for a game of chess with Nova while we're at it.