[Dea] Coming Home

She made her way to her front door, pausing wearily as the retinal and fingerprint scans did their job.  The door made a faint 'click' and swung open slowly.  She nudged it open with the toe of one scuffed combat boot, sliding inside and kicking it shut behind her.  She heard the 'click' again, and the obnoxious British voice chime in, "Welcome Home!"

An involuntary groan escaped her lips as she let the duffle bag slide to the floor with a heavy thump.  She knew that her roommate would trip over it on his way in, and she knew he'd bitch at her for it...but it was hard to give a damn.

Rolling her shoulders, she slowly made her way into the tiny kitchen.  She didn't have to look into the refrigerator to know that it was still empty, aside from the beer Samuel always managed to bring home.  She'd been meaning to go shopping for weeks, but some things were just more important than a pleasant outing to the market.  Rummaging through empty pizza containers she let out a triumphant sound, pulling out one lone piece of pepperoni.  It had only been there a few nights.

The voice of her Oma echoed in her head as it always did on nights like this, 'Marcella...you can't eat that!  It's been out!  It will make you sick.'  She just laughed and pulled open the fridge, taking a healthy bite as she popped the top of her beer against the counter.  She took a long swig, muttering softly in her native tongue, "Don't worry, Oma.  If bad pizza kills me, at least I'll only suffer for a few days..."

She made her way into the run-down living room, flopping on the couch with a sigh.  It had been another long night and she had three more dog tags to make before she could sleep.  She finished the pizza in two bites, reaching beneath the couch to pull out a heavy metal box.  She unlocked it with the key that always hung around her neck, pulling out the top tray.

She picked out three of the small metal ovals and arranged her tools.  Looking out the window for a moment, she contemplated - as she always did - what her life would be like had she chosen differently.  She knew how they took care of their people...she'd practically living in a palace, compared to her dump of a home.  And then the smell of blood filled her nostrils and the memory of the screams of her dying family.

She smiled softly, whispering a prayer in Romani as she carefully hammered the names on the tags.  She kissed each one carefully, smiling softly as she tossed them into the bottom of the box, watching as they mixed with hundreds of others just like them.  She leaned her head back on the couch and sipped her beer, closing her eyes and trying to find a moment of elusive peace.