As he drove, he passed by Seattle University and an image of an eighteen year old young woman clad in blue jeans and sloppy joe, carrying a load of books, and laughing easily with a crowd of friends popped unbidden into his mind.  He smiled to himself.  Christine Tyler.  Yeah...

Yet... there was a nagging thought at the back of his mind, a persistent echo of a former life, and even as he veered away from the subject, he thought: Fern would be almost eighteen today -- had she survived Vietnam, if she was somehow still alive...  As it always did when he thought about his 'other' family, Mike Donovan's leering face hung before him, taunting, laughing.  Tyler shook his head, annoyed with himself for letting old wounds resurface, especially at a time when he should be the happiest man alive.  He spent the next few minutes analysing his feelings on the subject, then rejected that as being needlessly masochistic and filed it in his mental wastepaper basket.  He was happy.  Disgustingly happy.  In fact, he couldn't remember ever being so content with his lot.

He was so busy congratulating himself on this that it was a few minutes before he realized he'd completely missed the turn off home.  He cursed mildly but without much conviction, then took a sharp left onto a road that would take him to the outskirts of urban Seattle, and to the building of Tyler-Faber Enterprises.  What the hell -- it was only 4pm, and there was the inevitable paperwork to do.  Get it out of the way before... and Ham began to smile again... before his wife and daughter came home.  Chris had probably been right:  it'd take days to get rid of this smile.
 
 

"Come."

Framed in the doorway, with the light from his solitary lamp silhouetting her against the night stood Julie Parrish, and suddenly, Tyler was five years in the past...
 
 

"It's a dream... just a dream..." he told himself.  He grabbed a handful of the already damp sheets and wiped the perspiration from his face and chest.

"Damn."  He looked at his hands.  They were shaking.  Closing his eyes, he pressed into the two walls where his bed was tucked into the corner of the room.  The plaster was a cool, solid presence, anchoring him somewhat to the real world, assuring him that the dream was over.  He had been dreaming almost constantly since the conversion (the thought of that made him shudder) and he could not remember having had a complete night's rest.  If anything, he was trying to avoid sleep as much as possible.  He was finding little rest in it anyway.  It had been better when Chris was still here -- he'd wake up sweating and sometimes screaming and Chris would be there beside him, sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the bed.  They wouldn't talk much, but Chris would stay awake with him, playing chess, or cards, and his presence was reassuring.  Chris, however, had gone back to rebuild his desert unit, albeit reluctantly.  Tyler had told him: "I'll be all right"; but he wasn't.  The dreams were not always the same, but they were always bad, and they were frequent.  If anything, they were getting worse, and Tyler thought he might be going insane.

Suddenly angry, Tyler threw back the covers and got out of bed, stalking the room in darkness for a few moments before finding the light switch and snapping it on.  The light was harsh and unflattering, and revealed his quarters as some kind of glorified cell.  He was reminded unwontedly of the house he and Sandy had planned to live in one day, with paintings on the walls, and soft carpets, and a fresh green lawn where Fern could play, free of danger.

He shook his head angrily, dismissing the thought, and took his gun -- a .44 Magnum -- from the low side table to clean it.  Anything to avoid sleeping again.  And dreaming.
 
 

"Good morning," she greeted cheerfully.

Tyler nodded at her, an acknowledgement and reciprocation in one action, and took his coffee to the table.

"How are you?" she asked.  Tyler looked sharply at her.

"Fine."

Julie nodded as though he'd said something entirely different.  "It can be hard, I know."

"I said I'm fine."  His voice sounded strained.  Julie didn't argue with him.

"Mike wants to go over some things with you today..."

Tyler nodded.  "I'll be in the common room."  Then he left.

The petite resistance fighter watched him leave with a certain amount of compassion to seemed displaced when applied to Tyler, but of all of them at resistance HQ, only she had any real idea of what was happening to him.  To the others, Ham had appeared little different, except that he was more aggressive and even less approachable than usual.  Julie sensed there was a lot more going on than just a little bad-temperedness, because despite popular opinion, Ham Tyler was only human after all.  Then again, perhaps not.  She had been particularly sensitive herself since the whole farce in the sports stadium -- her own dreams had come back to a degree, and she was restless, finding it difficult to sleep.   It would pass, she was certain, but it wasn't pleasant while it lasted.

With a sigh, she rose from the table and headed out to attend to other duties.
 
 

Julie, woken herself by a shadow of past madness, came out to find him there, cursing as his shaking hands fumbled with the gun casing.

"Ham...?"

He glared up at her.

"I couldn't sleep," was all she said, "So I thought I'd grab a coffee.  Do you want one?"

He shook his head curtly, then let his hands drop from the table -- a defeatist motion.

"A bad one, huh?"

"I'm doin' okay," he contradicted, but he was unconvincing.  His face was drawn and pale, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"I used to think I was going crazy." Julie sat down opposite him.  "I'd have the weirdest dreams, and sometimes I'd wake up screaming and I couldn't remember why.  It's tough, Tyler -- but so are you.  If I made it, you will."

Tyler shoved the chair back, about to leave, but the action lost all its aggression when he discovered that his limbs still felt weak.  He leaned back instead, rubbing a hand over his face.

"If I'm so tough," he said wearily, "Why did I get converted?"

"They know all the buttons to push, Ham..."

The ex-mercenary made a derogatory sound.

"...But my button wasn't important enough to me.  Not like it was to you."

He glared sharply at her, anger rising.  "What do you know about that?"  Had Chris been talking to everyone about his personal life?

"Not too much.  Only what Mike told me.  But it's cut you up real bad.  It's sure as hell a lot more important than being afraid of the dark."   She grimaced wryly, considering how Diana had tried to convert her.

Tyler thought that he should be angry, or at least annoyed.  He should get up and leave before this went any further.  He should... but he did not have the energy, not physically, not emotionally.  He felt wrung out, and abandoned, and he was tired of waking up afraid and hurt.  He just didn't have it in him to maintain the distance between them.  He was too tired to be strong.

He sighed heavily and his head hung wearily down.  "I don't think it's ever going to stop," he admitted quietly.  "They keep getting worse.  I'm getting maybe two hours sleep a night, and most of that I'm... dreaming."

"It'll get better."

"I don't think so."

"It will.  But it needs time.  It isn't easy -- it's damned frightening -- but you have to hang in there.  You'll make it."

"Is that a guarantee?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll take your word for it."  Tyler climbed to his feet, reading to face the confines of his room once more, but hesitated for a moment.  "I'd... appreciate it... if this was... just between you and me."

Julie smiled briefly.  "Of course.  I won't talk."

Tyler nodded, satisfied that she would keep her word, and collected the pieces of his gun to reconstruct in privacy.
 
 

She tapped gently on the door with her foot.  No answer.  With some nimble manoeuvring, she managed to get both her cups in one hand and she opened the door.

"Ham..." she whispered.

Tyler shot her an angry, frightened, confused glare from where he sat, pressed against the wall, shivering.  Julie hurriedly closed the door, deposited the cups and sat beside him on the bed, obviously concerned.  He pulled away from her.

"What are you doing here?" he gritted.

"I thought you might be awake.  I... brought you a drink."

His gaze flickered to the coffee cups, then back to her face, then down to the bedclothes.  He took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain control, and finally slumped in exhaustion.  He glared accusingly at her.  How dare she be here to witness his weakness; to see just how far the mighty had fallen!  Tough, untouchable Ham Tyler, found naked and crying in bed from some nightmare, like a child needing his mother.  Damn...

"Here," she pressed the cup into his hands, noticed the shaking, but did not comment on it.  "I'm sorry Ham, I didn't mean to... disturb you.  I thought you might like coffee... and I needed the company.  I'll leave if you like."

She rose to do just that and Tyler found his hostility draining inexplicably from him.  The truth was he didn't want to be alone just now, and if Chris couldn't be here to be the buffer between his dreams and reality, well, Julie would have to do.  She could discover nothing about him than she already had done.

"No... it's all right."

Julie eyed him questioningly, but his expression was guarded and she could decipher nothing from it.  With a small shrug she sat down again.  There was silence for a long moment until Julie began to feel awkward.

"Ham... is there anything... you want to talk about?"

He looked at her, blinked, then shook his head.  "There's not a lot to say."

"No.  I guess not."  Another long pause, broken this time by Ham.

"I've had these dreams before, or at least some of them.  A long time ago."  He couldn't meet her eyes.  "I thought I was rid of them."  He looked down at her small, white hand, placed gently over his fingers.  Her touch was cool and firm, but undemanding.

"If you need to talk," he heard her say, "I'm here.  Nothing goes any further."  She squeezed his hand briefly, "But only if you want to talk."

Finally, he managed to look at her.  "I'll keep it in mind."

"Please -- do."  She withdrew her hand then, unwilling to press the point, and Tyler looked away again.  He was silent for a moment longer, then a small and vaguely sheepish smile quirked his lips.

"I don't suppose you'd like to play chess?"

"If you like -- but I'm not much of a player," Julie grinned.  "Poker's my game."

"Oh?"  He raised his eyebrows in suitable disbelief.  "All right then..."  He reached into the top drawer and retrieved a worn pack of playing cards.  "Five card stud?"

"Great.  Stakes?"

Tyler managed a real smile this time.  "You play for money, huh?"

"If you can stand the pace," she challenged wickedly.

He raised a mock-indignant eyebrow, shuffled the deck and dealt the hand.

"I'll let you know when I've had enough," he told her with great solemnity.

"Just let me know when you're broke."

"I'll do that."

"Good."

Julie lost the first hand, then won the next three.  Tyler looked genuinely surprised.

"Didn't think I could cut it, huh?" she demanded.  Tyler held up his hands placatingly.

"Never said a word."

Some time passed as Julie and Ham indulged in one-on-one poker.  During the course of the game Julie had seated herself more comfortable on the end of Ham's bed, propping herself up against one wall while Ham (covers drawn modestly up to his waist) leaned against the other.  Weariness was plaguing them both, however, and 3am found Julie in a light doze while Ham sat staring at the cards as he shuffled them.  The action was more mesmerizing than stimulating, and when he started to nod off he slapped the deck down on the side table with a sharp movement and cast his eyes towards Julie.

She really was one hell of a pretty lady, he considered, and tough too.  There was a lot about that woman he admired -- strength, determination, brains, courage.  It occurred to him that Mike Donovan did not truly appreciate her.  Trust Gooder.  He may have been a 'knight in shining armour', but he had a lot of trouble seeing through his own glowing sainthood to other people's greatest qualities.

He had leaned back again, studying her and despite himself he fell asleep.
 
 

Ham was tossing restlessly, mumbling incoherently and struggling against some unknown enemy.  Julie started toward him, reaching out to shake him awake, but was caught by a wild, unthinking blow.  She cried out, more in surprise than pain, but worried no more about it as Tyler began to buck feverishly.

"No... please... damn.... no... SANDY!!"

She caught him by the shoulders as he bolted awake.

"Ham... it's okay... slow down, you're all right..." He was ashen, shaking, uncertain of his surroundings and his company.  "Shhh... it's all right," she spoke as though he were a child, and the incongruity of it struck her as absurd.  "It's over..."  Instinctively she drew him to her, and to her surprise he clung, shivering.

"Hush..." she rocked him gently.

"Sandy..."  He held her tightly against him, half sobbing, and it was that, more than the uncontrolled trembling or the fear in his eyes, that aroused her compassion.  Her embrace tightened.

"I'm here," she whispered to him, "Don't be afraid."

Tyler was conscious, but not truly awake, haunted as he was by his nightmares.  There seemed to be shadow over him, and he was drawn not to the present but to a need, an unhealed hurt from a long-distant past.  Sandy, his own dear Sandy... with her dark almond eyes that had always seen through him, her long, soft black hair, and gentle hands that had so often eased away the pain of war.  She had gone, but he had never let go of the hope that someday, maybe... "I'm here," she whispered, her accent lilting, chasing away the doubt of a war that wasn't his, "I'm here, don't be afraid."

"God... Sandy..."

Somehow, Julie was not surprised when Ham nuzzled her throat.  He was still shaking, and his eyes were closed.  She kissed the top of his head lightly, smoothing one hand down the back of his head, and across his bare shoulders.  In the past, she herself had woken, trembling, in the night, needing comfort and reassurance that only physical contact could supply; more recently she had laid awake in darkness once more, alone.  She and Mike had drifted apart... they were still close, still good friends, but the task of simply surviving had drained so much from them -- there was no time for romance.  No time to just be together.  Julie understood, too well, how it was to surface from these dreams, afraid and alone and needing, so much, not to be.

She found in him an echo of her own fear, her own loneliness, and she could not abandon him to either.

His mouth moved up to her throat, seeking hers, and she brushed her fingers against his cheek.  He kissed her, then buried his face in her neck, clinging once more.  Julie had a moment to wonder what on earth she thought she ws doing, but he was shivering again and seeking comfort in her embrace, and she abandoned her misgivings in a wave of unaccustomed compassion for this morally stone-like, inaccessible man.

His actions spoke more of desperate longing than of passion, but he was also gentle, a fact that at once surprised and relieved her.  She kissed his face (his eyes still closed) as he fumbled with her shift.  He had ceased calling Sandy's name but was only vaguely aware that the woman he held was not his wife.  Her essence was there, and he needed this comfort, badly.

Julie shifted, helping him with her clothes, then drew closer to him, stroking his back slowly as he held her, pressing into her soft shoulder.  She felt the dampness of his face and knew he was crying.  She cupped his chin in her hand and tilted his face towards her -- his eyes were half-open now, beseeching her, but still did not seem to know her -- and she kissed him softly.

His lovemaking was alternately lingering then urgent with pent-up emotions, as though recognizing in part that it was only a fantasy.  It seemed he felt he could keep her there -- his Sandy, with her healing hands and deep brown eyes, who understood and loved him as no-one ever had -- with the power of his need.  Finally, he lay still, half crying into her neck, the hand she held captured in hers shaking once more.  With her free hand she brushed the moisture from his eyes.

"It's all right," she promised.

Ham opened his eyes, suddenly and at last realizing where he was and with whom.  He blinked and drew back, not certain what to think, or say.

He was saved the necessity for either.  Julie read his expression and gently pushed him onto his side.

"Don't worry," she told him and snuggled into him.

He was drained, physically and emotionally, and through his confusion he could only think that if Julie didn't mind it must be all right.  Wrapping both arms around her, he held her close and fell asleep.
 
 

She looked at him for a moment, sleeping peacefully for perhaps the fist time since everything had exploded with Nathan Bates at the sports arena, and with an oddly maternal smile she pulled the covers up over his chest, kissed his forehead, and left.

No-one, it seemed, had noticed her absence from her own quarters at all, but it was an event of some note when Tyler finally made an appearance close to midday.  Habitually an early riser, especially of late, this tardiness of his was the cause of some wonder.  His mood was more introspective than foul today, however, and most of the resistance group staying at the basement HQ simply assumed that for once he'd managed to get a good night's sleep.

He walked into the common room where Julie was deep in discussion with Robin and Elizabeth and paused at the doorway, regarding her with a mixture of perplexion and wariness.  After a moment he moved on.

Julie glanced at his retreating back, made a brief apology to her companions, and followed him.

"Ham."

He paused and slowly turned.  "Yes?" he asked, deadpan.

"I want to talk to you," and to circumvent any argument she took his hand and led him to a nearby workroom.

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Is that a serious question?" he responded.  She wasn't sure how to read that, so gestured for him to take a seat.

"I told you not to worry about last night."

"Who's worried?"  He spoke coolly enough, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort.  Julie frowned at him.

"This may come as a big surprise to you, Ham Tyler, but I happen to like you.  God knows why, but I do.  I care about you and I worry about you."

His expression did not change, but he did finally sit down, and her voice softened as she reached down to take his hand.

"You needed companionship; I needed to help you.  I've been having a little trouble myself lately.  There's nothing wrong with what happened."

Ham looked sceptical.  This annoyed Julie and she placed a hand against his cheek, making him face her.

"There's nothing wrong with helping a friend," she insisted, "That way, or any other way.  Not if you care enough."

He regarded her solemnly for a moment, then sighed and looked away.  His hand, however, was still in hers and she waited to see what he would do next.

"I think... I'd like to talk."

Julie nodded and perched herself on a work bench, releasing his hand.

"My dreams...  I dream about...  " he hesitated and was unable to look at her, "My wife.  And my daughter.  Other things too, but mostly... mostly them."

Julie was silent a moment, having expected that.  Mike had told her the same story Chris had told him: that Ham Tyler's family had been presumably killed in Vietnam and that Tyler himself had spent the last dozen or so years hoping they were still alive.

"You miss them," she observed gently.

"That was fifteen years ago," he scoffed, then his voice softened in defeat.  "Yes, I miss them."

"Do you think you'll ever find them?"

His mouth twitched and his dark eyes were suddenly haunted.  "I keep looking."

"It was a long time ago, Ham.  If they were still alive..."

"They're alive," he snapped coldly.

"Ham..."

"They might..."  He hesitated.

"It's been fifteen years, Ham."

He shook his head.  "They might have got out.  Sandy might have got out."

"You have to let go of them Ham.  It's hard, I know.  It hurts... but look what it's doing to you.  Look how they used them against you.  You have to let them go.  It was so long ago, and if they had survived, you would have found them."

"They were my family, Julie.  They were...  I have to believe they could still be alive, somewhere."  He looked up, feeling Julie take his hand again.  She had stepped down from the bench and stood close to him.

"Ham, I'm not trying to cause you any more pain; I wish your family could be here for you.  But they're not; they haven't been for fifteen years.  They are not all you have -- Ham, you have friends.  You have Chris, and no matter how much you fight there's Mike too.  And me."  She smiled a little and squeezed his hand.

Their gazes met, and for the first time in a very long time, Tyler considered that his wife and baby girl were not all that he had ever had.  Before, and after, there had always been Chris, and more recently there had been his strange, often tense relations with the resistance in Los Angeles.  He had never thought of these people as friends before, but once made to consider it, he supposed it was as good a term as any.  Maybe it was time to put Sandy and Fern to rest.  Not an easy thing -- Tyler was never half-hearted, in business or in personal devotion -- but fifteen years wearing his loos as a crucifix was enough.

Julie watched pensively as Tyler's head bowed and his shoulders sagged.  Then, almost imperceptibly, his bearing altered, suggesting some decision.  She let her fingertips brush against his arm.

"I'll have to be going," she said, "Or they'll wonder what we're up to."
 
 

"You okay?" she asked, tilting an eyebrow at him.  Ham found it hard to be defensive, and couldn't even work up a decent 'hard' expression.

"I was just... remembering," he said.  She seemed to know what he meant by a nod, a small smile, but pursued the matter no further.  "I thought you and Gooder had gone back to L.A.," he continued.

Julie shrugged petitely.  "Mike... had work to do.  We're no longer really an item, I guess."

Tyler nodded, thinking that this exceptional woman could do far better, when she added shyly, "I've met a man at the Science Liaison.  His name's Dan Lawton.  He's working towards a PhD in agricultural science."

Ham smiled, "I'm pleased for you, Julie.  You're working with the Lizards still, aren't you?"

She nodded.  "Yeah, Science Liaison is based in Washington, but I'm working out of Los Angeles.  Not a particularly... political move, considering my background, but I've had a lot of experience with their science.  Well, more than some, anyway, and my knowledge has some value."

"I think you're underrating yourself."

"Was that a compliment?" Julie's eyes sparkled as she feigned surprise.  Tyler eyed her appraisingly.

"I don't give 'em lightly."

At that she sobered a little.  "Actually, I came to see if you'd like to join me for dinner."

"Why not?"  He grabbed his coat as he rose and they headed out.  "I'm starving."
 
 

"What're you smiling at?" Ham questioned her across the table.  He was a little tipsy, enough to be mellow, rather than roaring drunk.  Not that there would have been much material difference in his behaviour, she mused, remembering when once, years back during the War, they'd gotten savagely drunk together over a bet.

Julie shook her head.  "Just a thought."  She changed the subject deftly.  "How about a toast?"

Ham nodded amiably at the idea, topping up both their glasses.

"To the future," Ham pronounced, raising the glass to his partner.  To his wife and daughter and his life ahead.  And the woman who had enabled him to overcome the crippling hold in which his past had gripped him.  He smiled, the warm, unguarded expression reserved for a select few.

Julie felt her insides melt at the expression, and for that moment she saw him as Alex did.  "And to friends," she added.

"Yeah," he said simply, and they drank the wine.
 

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