A noise behind him broke his contemplation of the countryside and he smiled to see his younger brother Patrick running out to see him.

"Hey, Chris -- Ma's got breakfast hot on the table.  C'mon afore it gets cold!"  His voice was exuberant, but then, Patrick was exuberant about everything.  At 42 he was the oldest teenager in the district.  Ma had borne him late in life and he had come into the world mildly retarded.  It never bothered him, though.  He was cheerful and robust, helping Pa with all the chores, including woodchopping.  He'd had girlfriends too, in his younger days, though they had all outgrown him eventually.  The family doted on him, took care of him and also, most importantly, let him take care of himself.  Chris wondered whether it would be nice to be perpetually eighteen.  Patrick sure looked like he thought it was.

Chris let Patrick drag him into the house and set him at his place on the huge table, and he laughed when Patrick gave him an unbidden hug, as was his wont with all his family, especially his 'littlest big brother'.  They had always been close.

The table was a bustle of people and activity.  Ma and elder sister Lucy were dashing about piling up platefuls of food on the table, aided by Jean-Pierre's wife Lola and their son's fiancé Mary.  Jean himself was engaging Pa in some earnest conversation which looked to be making Pa annoyed.  Jean's and Lola's five kids were seated around helping themselves to pancakes, eggs, bacon and anything else in sight.  Scott, the eldest at 28, smiled at his fiancé before Michael got him back on their discussion with Patrick about the vidcast on the Saurian base on Ganymede which was being refurbished as a joint-planetary scientific research station.  Sharon and Kerry dissected the news of the latest efforts to terraform Mars and how the human 'Martians' were becoming a law unto their own not to mention those Saurians!, while Little Frank (named for one of the two eldest Faber boys who had died in Vietnam) pulled faces at CT Tyler, across from him at the table.  Chris had thought to give Ham and Alex a break while the kids were on school vacation by taking them along with him for a week in the Idaho countryside for his Pa's 80th birthday.  This may not have been such a good idea, he realized, since CT and fifteen year old Frankie had struck up an instant rivalry and David, siding naturally with his sister, tried in his way to mediate.

Tash Petersen sat beside him at the table, quiet and reserved, closing herself off from the mayhem around her.  Chris sighed, his earlier peace draining away from him.

Tash had matured nicely, really.  Almost fourty, she was still lean and fit for her age.  In many ways she had hit her prime.  Although still edgy at times, she had recovered reasonably well from her breakdown of a few years previously.  She helped to test and train new recruits, and had even gone out on the field once or twice in the last year.  She was still good.  He, on the other hand, had passed his peak fifteen years ago.  His body was as slow and creaking as any other man of fifty and more and more he was left to do paperwork.  He felt he was being left behind, was getting too old for the game.  He just couldn't keep up with her.  He couldn't even keep up with Ham, who was two years older than him, for Christ's sake.

Chris sighed inaudibly.  No one was more surprised than he that his relationship with Tash had lasted this long.  They had shared a lot of good times, but just as many bad.  Only five years ago, before her breakdown, they had separated, amiably enough, but it had still hurt.  Tash had even been involved with someone else for some months before they were finally drawn back together.  For all their differences, they were very well matched.  It was still difficult, however, to dispel the doubts that in the end the differences would be too much to cope with.

"Are y'gonna get some o' this chow in yerself, boy, or am I gonna have to feed it to the dog?"  Chris glanced up at Lucy, standing imperiously over him, and smiled.

"I'm eatin' already!  I'm eatin'!"  He built a miniature Everest on his plate an demolished its peak in a single bite.  Lucy's serious mouth curved slightly in satisfaction and she went on to see that others were feeding up big.  She and her late husband had been unable to have children, much to Lucy's everlasting regret, and at these family gatherings she took out her thwarted maternal tendencies on her hapless clan.  Chris noticed a harsh look pass between his sister and Tash, and guessed that so far they were not getting on at all well.  Lucy could be quite prudish, really, though maybe that could be excused in a fifty-three year old widow, and Tash fell outside all of her criteria for a 'decent lady'.  It didn't occur to her that that was exactly the reason she and Chris were together.

After breakfast, CT, David, and Frankie ran outside, apparently to further compete in whatever Frankie had challenged over the pancakes.  Most of the women stayed in the house to tidy up and Tash joined the menfolk in the eastern paddock to move the cattle.  Patrick was walking alongside her, talking about last year's calving amongst the small herd -- once he'd learned that she was Chris's girlfriend he took an instant shine to her -- but the other men seemed to be ignoring her.  Even Chris hadn't acknowledged her presence, though to be fair he was getting involved in a serious discussion with Jean and Pa.

Chris glared at his older brother in shock and reproach.  "You can't be serious Gene!"

Jean-Pierre flinched.  (He had been named Jean-Pierre by Pa, who was an avid reader and thought the name looked good in print, but without knowing how to pronounce it, everyone had called the boy Gene-Peer.  It was habit now, so they stuck with Gene).

"I'm thinking of his welfare."

"Welfare nothin' boy," growled Pa darkly, refusing to look at his son, "Ain't no one gonna put my boy in a mental home."

"Damn, Gene, it'd kill him," Chris protested, sharing his father's anger, "I've seen those places, an' it wouldn't do him any good."

"So what's gonna happen when Ma and Pa are dead?" snapped Jean.  He shrugged as Pa glared at him.  "It ain't nice, Pa, but we gotta face facts.  You're eighty now, and Ma's seventy-six.  You ain't gonna be 'round forever.  Patrick can do a whole heap for himself, but he can't look after this place alone."

"That's enough boy!!"  Jean stopped in his tracks and Chris stood back a little.  Pa was old and wizened, but he still commanded respect in this family.  "I ain't listenin' to no more o' this.  When yo' mother an' I ha' passed on, the Lord'll provide fo' his own."

Jean chose to let the subject drop for the time being as they walked into the paddock.  The farm supported only 20 head of dairy cattle, sufficient for the family's immediate needs and for bartering for neighbours' goods.  Pa and Patrick usually walked the cows through to new pastures alone, but the aid this morning was not unwelcome.

"Here, Tash, you just stand back out o' the way there," suggested Jean with a smile, kind but patronizing nonetheless, "We'll take care o' the hard work."

She opened her mouth to point out that she was entirely capable of hard work, but caught Chris' eye.

"You can hold on to the gate for us," he suggested, looking a little... embarrassed?  Tash glared icily at him but, to avoid arguments in front of his family, stayed at the gate.

Patrick and Jean's two eldest boys had already circled behind the herd and were heading them toward the open gate.  Chris, Jean, and Pa flanked them on either side to ward off a break.  It wasn't long in coming.  One of the herd, either spooked by something in the grass or just plain uncooperative, shied and bolted away from the group.

"I'll get it," Chris called, and took off after the beast.  The heifer was moving pretty fast and he ran to head it off before it got behind the herd.  He wasn't going quite fast enough, and gave an extra burst of speed.

Pain exploded suddenly through his chest, tearing the breath from his lungs and wrenching his heart into a tight, twisted knot.  He clutched at his chest, thinking he'd been shot, but there was no wound.  After long moments of trying he sucked in air and the vice-grip around his torso relaxed a little.  He glanced around hazily -- Tash had jumped off the gate and darted around to intercept the heifer and she and Jean between them were getting it through the gate to the lower pasture.  He breathed deeply and stood straight.  It still hurt some, but it was fading.  Tash looked over to him from where she was closing the gate.

"You okay?"  There was a hint of concern in her voice.  He smiled, covering up his pain.

"Too soon after breakfast," he explained.

When they got back to the house, there was chaos.  CT was shouting at Frankie, tears streaming down her face as she held a small bundle close to her chest.  Her T-shirt and jeans were spattered with blood and David was trying, without success, to calm her down.  He was agitated himself, and looked mightily relieved when Chris and Tash came through the door.

The sight of the normally self-sufficient, independent CT crumbling tearfully in the kitchen startled Chris immensely, and he stepped forward, worried.

The girl looked at him beseechingly.  "I didn't mean..." she caught a sob and lifted the bloody bundle in her arms.  "I wasn't thinking, and... can you help it?"  The badly injured rabbit twitched slightly, still alive but only barely.

Pa came forward.  "Nice plump rabbit there girl, but you cain't let it suffer -- spoils the taste.  If you gonna shoot critters, make it quick and clean.  Here...."

"NO!"  CT glared ferociously and backed away from him.  It turned out, as David rapidly explained, that CT and Frankie had been having a shooting competition, and having proven equal on static targets decided to go for a moving one.  He'd tried to stop them, but they wanted to find out who was best.  Frankie had missed his target but CT was a better shot.  It had simply never occurred to her before that her marksmanship could cause so much suffering.  Until now her only targets had been boards at firing ranges.  Even in her not uncommon fist-fights, she had never attacked the helpless or those weaker than herself, moral lessons learned well from her parents.  She'd allowed herself to be carried away by her natural competitiveness and at 16 she had, for the first time in her life, caused an animal to needlessly suffer.  It shocked her, as it might not have done had the rabbit died instantly.

CT stood close to Chris and the onus seemed to fall naturally to him to deal with it.  He didn't feel up to it particularly, but the kids were his responsibility, and he had never seen CT like this before.  He couldn't just ignore her.

"CT..."

"They want to make pie out of it," she muttered, glaring accusingly at Lucy and Ma, "I didn't mean to hurt it.  I just wasn't thinking.  Can you help it?"

"CT, it's too badly hurt.  Poor little thing's suffering.  Let me put it out of all that pain..."

The child, for she suddenly looked very young and vulnerable, held the rabbit close to her, gently.  "Mom could help it."  She fell silent.  Her mother was going to kill her for this.

"Your mom's not here, and she wouldn't want it to keep hurting, would she?"

CT shook her head dumbly.  She felt David standing beside her, offering support, and looked down at the terrified, dying rabbit.  Tears fell on its soft fur, and she wanted to run away, she felt so ashamed.  She held the creature up to Chris.

"Will it be quick?"

Chris nodded,  took the bundle and turned away from her so she couldn't see him break its neck in one sharp movement.

"Is... is it...?"

"It's okay, CT," he passed the dead animal quietly to Tash and turned to the girl.  "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."  CT followed him meekly outside.

"Wimp," scorned Frankie quietly from where he stood by his mother.  Not quietly enough, for David turned a hard angry glare on him.  Alex would have been amazed at how he looked like his father then.

"It's your fault," David spoke softly, but with strength, "You just leave my sister alone."  He turned and followed Chris and CT out, missing the face Frankie pulled behind his back.
 
 

Chris joined in the cheerful mood, but it was an act.  CT, he noticed, was still sitting quietly aside from everyone, reticent and withdrawn from yesterday's incident with the rabbit.  David was close by her but he and Frankie looked to be sizing each other up for an all-out brawl.  Tash was being very cool and distant -- probably feeling uncomfortable amongst the somewhat old fashioned menfolk of his family (it was, after all, 2004 and they all retained their early 20th century mentality).  Gene and Pa were still at loggerheads about Patrick's ultimate fate and the question was causing Chris a lot of worry as well.  As the two youngest they'd been very close in their childhood.  Chris had helped to take care of Patrick when he was little, had taught him how to fish and skin rabbits and aim a slingshot, and about girls.  Ma and Pa were getting old and, like it or not, they wouldn't be here forever.  What would happen to Patrick then?  A home was out of the question, but...

"What's got into you boy?" Pa's gruff voice broke Chris out of his solemn reverie, and he looked up.  Pa was frowning.  "You bin sittin' there with a face longer 'an a wet week.  This is s'posed to be a party!"

Chris smiled wanly.  "Sorry Pa.  Jes' got a lot on my mind lately."

"Well, cheer up.  You make me feel like ah'm at a wake."

As per instructed, Chris put his thoughts aside and grabbed a beer.  "So, what's ol' Murph been up to?" he launched belatedly into the conversation.

Tash glanced across the room at him.  Somehow the people in the room had managed to drift unobtrusively into two distinct groups -- the Men and the Women.  Chris was drinking beer and talking modern, accelerated farming, latest model hover-transports, tall stories ("Men Talk"), whilst the ladies were sipping sherry and comparing notes on that handsome Captain of the Ganymede exploratory mission, poor old Mrs. so-and-so who's son had run off with a Saurian and how helpless men really were and wouldn't admit it ("Girls' Talk").  Having only now noticed the polarization Tash suddenly felt extremely bored with the situation, and ill-tempered with Chris for not only getting her into it but playing along with it as well.

"What do you do for a living, Tash?" asked Ma, drawing her attention back to the Ladies Circle.  Tash looked at her and spared a small smile.  Mrs. Faber was at least of good intentions and kind enough.  So far she had only tried to make her welcome, although obviously she was having trouble understanding what made her tick.

"I work with Chris," she said.  Chris had briefed her that although his family had not always known the full details of his profession, now that he was legit it was okay to talk about it.

Lucy smiled her tight, sour little smile.  "Oh, you're his secretary."

"No, I'm on the field.  We don't actually work together that much anymore.  I'm out training operatives most of the time, and he's in the office a bit more.  Doing paperwork."  Tash got a modicum of malicious pleasure out of making that point.  It stymied the others for conversation for a moment, then Kelly and Sharon brought it back to the upcoming dance in the city.  A cool breeze drifted through and Tash glanced around to see CT and David escaping stealthily to the front porch.  In a few moments she followed.

"Mind if I join you?"

David looked up from where he sat with his sister on the bench outside.  The evening was cool, and getting colder, but the sky was clear and the stars were bright.  Almost directly overhead, the faint blue twinkle of the joint Earth/Saurian space station could be seen making its way swiftly around the planet.

"Sure."  He moved over to give her room and the three of them sat in contemplative silence for most of the evening.
 
 

"Hey, Chris, what's wrong?"  Patrick, cheerful as usual (alcohol never seemed to affect him much) crouched down beside his brother.  Chris didn't even think to lie and say there was nothing wrong.  Patrick had always been quick on picking up his moods.

"Got some problems, Pat, but they'll work 'emselves out.  Always do in the end."

"Is it about Gene wanting to put me in a home?"

Chris cast a startled glance towards his little brother.  Patrick's normal friendly, open expression was solemn and guarded, and Chris berated himself for underestimating his perception.  Of course Patrick would have realized something was up -- he wasn't stupid.

"Aww, Pat, I'm really sorry about all that.  You know Gene's just trying to do what's best.  He wouldn't be mean to you, not deliberately."

Patrick nodded slowly.  "Do ye think Pa and Ma will die soon?"

"Hell, no," Chris spoke quickly.  "They both got a lot o' years in 'em yet.  But the bettin's good that they'll die before you do.  We want you to be okay, Pat.  We're worried the farm'll be too much for you by yerself."

"I figure I could handle it."

"Yeah, well maybe you could.  But you ain't as young as you were either.  Look at me!"  Chris stabbed a finger into his own paunch, "I couldn't look after this place.  Just ain't fit enough anymore."

Patrick fell silent to consider this for a moment, then smiled suddenly, and his still-young face lit up.  "Don' worry about it, Chris.  Pa always says the Lord'll look after us.  Always has done, han't he?  He took Colin and Frank in the war, but he brought you back.  He'll fin' somethin' for me."  Content to let the matter rest with higher and kinder forces, Patrick gave Chris a huge hug and went off to help Pa with the late-morning chores.

Chris couldn't help smiling.  Perhaps Patrick could handle the farm at that.  It wasn't such a big concern anymore now that the towns were closing in more and more.  Hell, it was only ten minutes to the nearest township by hover-transport, especially if you took it high and fast over the trees, and the farmhouse had vid-phone, dial-a-dinner, indoor plumbing, all the mod-cons.  Pa wasn't as energetic as he had been 20 years ago either, which meant Patrick was doing more than half the work already.  Pa did all the accounting but accountants could be hired.  Ma kept the house and cooked, but housekeepers weren't a problem either, and anyone could punch up an edible menu on the dial-a-dinner units.  A live-in companion would probably cost a bit, of course, but...  Chris' mind raced along... he earned a superlative wage as co-director of TFE.  It wouldn't take much to help Patrick continue on at the farm in a self-supporting manner.  If and when it did get too much, then Patrick could just come to Seattle and live with him.  There was no need at all to put Patrick into any kind of home, or indeed take him away from the environment in which he'd grown up.  He'd have to speak to Pa and Jean, and Patrick of course, since it was his life after all, but things would work out.

For the first time since coming home, Chris was starting to feel good about things.  Even his headache had cleared up.

"Chris-o-PHER!!" Lucy called out from the house, her shrill voice rising at the end.  "Time to eat!!"  Chris grimaced at the sound of her, comparing the noise with the fire alarm at the office, then berated himself for being uncharitable.  She wasn't such a bad old stick.

"Comin'!" he called back, and started back to the house.

By the time he'd arrived most of the crowd had seated themselves around the table.  Tash looked a bit grimy, as though she'd been chopping wood (which she had indeed been doing, as a release for her building tension) but there was no sign of CT, David or Frankie.

"Food'll be cold afore they get here," grouched Lucy, "Don't they like eatin'?  They'll never get healthy if they don't eat sometimes."  She seemed to have forgotten their ravenous behaviour at breakfast.

Chris grimaced himself at her obsession with feeding people.  "I'll see if I can find them.  Probably they're foolin' around somewhere and didn't hear you call."  Probably if they were in the next county, he added to himself.

"Just don't let your own get cold," she warned and he smiled at her.

"I promise," he swore, holding up his hand in the scout's salute, and for once she smiled and laughed a little.

"You rascal," she slapped him with a tea-towel, "Hurry on up."

Chris figured, as he stepped outside, that they'd probably gone down to the shallow valley just behind the lower pasture where there was a creek and a vegetable patch of some size.  He hoped they were being careful -- Pa had laid some rabbit traps around there recently, he'd said, keeping the pests out of the turnips.

Just then, as though triggered by his thoughts, he heard a scream.  Damn, he thought, can't those kids keep out of trouble, just once in their little lives?  He started forward at a jog, but paused as he saw Frankie tearing up towards the house at a flat-out run.

"It's... it's Da... David... "  Frankie panted breathlessly, "He's fallen... fallen in a trap...  's got him by... by th' neck..."

"Get your father," Chris snapped and adrenalin surged through him as he started to run.  Jesus Christ, damnit... no, don't think about it, just get there, oh Christ, not David, Ham'd kill him, damn, damn, run, God don't let him be too late, damn...

His mind whirled dizzily, a knot bunched suddenly and sickeningly in his chest.  God the pain...

Chris regained consciousness briefly, sensing hands touching, voices speaking.  Lucy, shrill with concern, Frankie pleading innocence, CT talking to... David?  His chest hurt, and he closed his eyes again.  During the brief ambulance ride he stirred once, saw a figure in the stretcher opposite his.  Too much effort.  He passed out again.
 
 

The Da Nang bar was smoky and ill-lit.  The wooden walls were rotting and the whole place stank of stale tobacco and whiskey.  It was cold, too, and it was raining (it seemed always to be raining in Vietnam, goddamned country).

In one corner of this cold, dark, stinking shack, a young soldier was brooding.  He had a good face for brooding: dark and serious, with a frowning mouth and intense brown eyes.  A smile could transform those features with startling brilliance, but few ever saw it, or expected it, particularly here in 'Nam.

Tyler had little enough reason to smile. The one person who had been more friend than acquaintance in this soaking wet rat hole of a country had been clown into small pieces on the last patrol  As commander, Pete Kramer had chosen to take point -- a thankless position for anyone at any time -- and had been the first to go in the whine and rattle of gunfire, and then Charlie had started yammering in that nonsensical language of theirs.  A moment later a volley of grenades came raining down, and the surviving Americans grabbed their guns and their wounded and fled, leaving half a unit of corpses -- good friends -- behind them.

"Whassa matter?  Our company ain't good enough for you?"

Tyler glanced up at the intrusion, his expression hard.  Then thin, wiry GI that stood drunkenly over him did not seem to notice; or at least, he was so used to seeing that expression he no longer paid any attention to it.

"C'mon Tyler -- why don't you have a drink with your buddies?"  The sarcasm was baiting.

"I'd rather not."  He had meant to sound angry, but somehow he just sounded tired.  He remembered the last R&R he and Pete had gone on, ages ago.  Tyler had wanted to go to a play.  "I'd rather not," Pete had said, and taken him to a classy bordello.  It had been fun.

"Why not?"  A voice reclaimed his attention, "You too good to drink with the rest of us?"

Tyler was silent, casting his gaze back to the bottle and glass on the table before him.  He poured another shot of whiskey.

"Are you listenin' to me?"  A hand flicked out and swept both bottle and glass to the floor.  They shattered.  Tyler's brown eyes lifted slowly, and they were dangerous.

"Come on, Coote, leave him alone.  It don't matter."  The faintly southern-accented voice came from the bar.

"Don't matter?"  Coote turned angrily to the tall, beefy soldier, new boy in the unit.  "Damnit, Faber, this bastard's jus' sittin' here like nothin' matters!  We just lost half the company three days ago and he acts like he ain't even noticed they're gone yet!  Son of a bitch," the thin, angry face turned back to Tyler, "You don't give a damn, do you?  Charlie could spread your own damned mother from one end of this toilet bowl to the other and you wouldn't give a shit!!"

If Coote was seeking a reaction, he was to be fully satisfied.  An arm snaked forward with incredible speed as the table overturned with Tyler's rapid ascent, and iron fingers were wrapped around Coote's throat.

"Don't say that," gritted Tyler, almost inaudibly.  Don't say that.  It matters.

Coote was momentarily startled, then delighted that he'd struck home and he punched Tyler in the gut.  The shorter, stockier man grunted in pain but would not relinquish his grip.  Instead, both hands were wrapped around the skinny neck and he shoved.  They both crashed to the floor.

Chris Faber lifted his feet out of the way, eying them both warily as they struggled on the floor.  Someone beside him tried to break it up.  Someone else interrupted the attempt with a fist.  Before long a free-for-all erupted, and the bar was gradually but violently dismantled.

The originators of the brawl seemed to have been forgotten, but Faber saw them, still locked together as Tyler, face twisted into a snarl, squeezed the throat under him tighter and tighter, making it take back those words.  Coote had given up on retaliation and was fighting simply for breath now.

"God damn," muttered Faber, ducking flying bodies and furniture as he hurried towards them.  That crazy bastard was going to kill Coote in a minute; not that he would blame him.  He reached them in a moment and grabbed Tyler by the shoulders.

"Come on, man, let him go.  He's had enough.  You're gonna kill him for God's sake!"

Tyler did not seem to hear, intent on ridding himself of this terrible pain somehow.

Faber looked around desperately for inspiration.  It came in the form of a chair, which he seized and smashed over Tyler's head.

Blood flowed freely, blinding him, and Tyler shook his head angrily.  The action sent his vision spinning and his grip relaxed for a moment. Coote twisted frantically away from him.

"You... bastard... you... goddamned... lunatic!!"  Coote kicked the dazed soldier in the face, sending Tyler into the floor with a grunt of pain.

Tyler shook his head, trying to clear his vision, and he almost passed out.  He felt a hand close on his shirt front, followed by a vicious blow to his already battered face and he collapsed onto the floor, incapable of further action.  He winced and tried to pull away from a kick to his ribs, which was repeated.  He vaguely heard voices.

"Jesus, Coote!"

"Son of a bitch tried to kill me!"

"You shoulda just let him be to start off with.  Jesus, Coote..."

The kicking stopped abruptly, and Tyler forced his eyes open.  He caught a glimpse of Coote crashing into, and then through, a thin wall out into the rain, and young Faber, turned inexplicably into an ally, returned to him.

"You okay?"

Tyler found no strength to answer, and passed out.

He regained consciousness in a place smelling sharply of antiseptic.  With considerable difficulty he opened his eyes and squinted against the brightness.  He lay still for a moment, and noticed his situation.

He was in a hospital (obvious enough by the smell) and there was an enormous wad of gauze over his left eye and temple, restricting his vision.  He was in a backless hospital robe (he wondered briefly how he'd gotten into it) and he had a mighty thumping in his skull that seemed to be getting worse.  His face was sore and stiff too, and he couldn't be sure but he thought his lower lip had been replaced by an entire baloney.

"How're you feelin'?"

Tyler glanced right, into the unexpected face of Chris Faber.

"Fine," he replied thickly after a moment's consideration.  He didn't sound it.

"I'm real sorry about your head," continued Faber, nodding at the bandage on Tyler's face, "I didn't mean to hit you so hard.  I just couldn't work out how else to make you let go."

Tyler scowled at the memory of the fight.  Faber seemed to follow his train of thought.

"Coote can be a real son of a bitch when he wants to be, can't he?  He's in holding now... so're you."  Faber nodded at a guard, previously unnoticed, at the foot of the bed.  Faber chuckled.  "I gave him a pack of cigarettes, and he suddenly lost sight of me."

Tyler frowned in puzzlement and looked at Faber questioningly.  "Why?"

"Guess I feel a bit... responsible, since I hit you to start with.  Coote wouldn't have beat you up so bad if I hadn't."

Tyler snorted, indicating what he thought of Coote.

"Anyway," Faber looked furtively about, "I better git, before that guard regains his vision.  See you on patrol, Tyler."

"My name's Ham."  The expression in the dark brown eyes was still guarded, but he appraised this new-found ally with curiosity, and some gratitude.

Faber grinned.  "I'm Chris."

"Right... Chris."

The smile widened.  "Be seein' ya in the J... Ham."  With a brief wave, he departed, and Tyler relaxed into the pillows, willing the headache to subside.

"Friend of yours?"

Tyler opened one eye to see the guard looking at him.  He turned his face away.

"No," he said.

At least, not yet.
 
 

"Hiya, Tank."

Chris shook his head slightly in wonder.  "Y'know, you only ever call me that when I'm in hospital these days.  Ferret."  He added the name as an afterthought.  It was, after all, the proper response.  Ham dragged a chair over beside the bed and sat astride it, arms resting on its back.

"You're looking a lot better."

Chris hurumphed.  Of course he did.  The drip and tracheotomy tube had been removed that morning and his sojourn in hospital was now only for observation over the ten day 'danger period' after the heart attack.

"I tried to bring you chocolates," continued Ham, "but Tash confiscated them."

Chris scowled.  He had also been put on a strict diet.

"Here, I brought you a tape to listen to."  He tossed the cassette to Chris, who didn't catch it and had to pick it up from the bedcovers.

"Gerry and the Pacemakers?!" Chris arched an eyebrow sourly.

"A little light entertainment from a bygone era," said Ham deadpan, all innocence.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

Ham grinned.  "Yep."

Putting the tape aside, Chris shifted the subject to more immediate things.  "How's David?"

"Oh, he's doing fine.  Tough little kid."

"Y'know, Frankie told me he'd caught his head in that trap.  Probably panicked after he pushed Dave into it.  They'd been gearing up for a scrap for days."

Ham's eyes widened a touch.  No wonder Chris had got a bit... upset.  "Nah.  Looks like his arm's going to be fine.  Probably won't even be much scarring.  Medicine's a lot more advanced than it was 35 years ago."  He raised a finger to the scar below his left eye, then smiled.  "He's taken quite an interest in the proceedings and says he's thinking about being a doctor."

"Hmph," Chris pulled a face, "Need one in your family.  First aid just ain't enough."

"Don't knock it.  Saved your life."

"That was Tash," Chris became serious, "Damn good thing she was there and knew what to do.  I coulda..." he snorted softly in a humourless laugh.  "I always figured I'd go down fightin', y'know...  with a bang."

Tyler moved restlessly on his chair, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.  "Yeah, well..."

"I'm getting old Ham.  Too old."

"Watch that -- you're younger'n me."

But Chris wouldn't listen to the bantering tone, and Ham noticed how old his friend really looked.  Pale and drawn after the trauma of the attack, the lines in his face were deeper and darker than before, the gingery beard streaked with grey, hair white around the temples.

"How do you cope with being old?" Chris asked, tiredly.   "I can't keep up with things any more.  You, Tash..." his voice trailed off.  Ham reached out to punch him lightly on the arm.

"Chris, let me let you in on a few secrets.  I can't keep up myself these days."

"You sure look like you do."

"That's the secret," he said conspiratorially, "To look like you do.  It's easy enough to maintain the image for short bursts.  You just gotta work on not being caught being old."

"Yeah... but how?"

Tyler smiled.  "When you get out I'll give you some pointers."

There was a soft knock at the door and Tash let herself in.  She'd had some important work to catch up on, but she had come in every day without fail.  Ham excused himself, saying that it was David's turn for visit.  Chris realized in passing that Ham had been lying about the chocolates.

CT was sitting with her mother in the waiting area, quiet but certainly livelier than when they'd come to collect her a few days ago when the whole business had blown up.  Predictably Alex had been angry about the incident with the rabbit, addressing CT's folly and her vanity over her marksmanship which was the cause of it all.   CT had so obviously been consumed with deep and genuine remorse that it had been impossible for Alex to maintain her outrage.  They had talked about it and CT was recovering.  Ham gave her a small hug as they stood up to meet him, and putting an arm around Alex they walked on to see David.  Ham didn't know if his family was driving him to an early grave or keeping him young, but -- he looked at his daughter, regaining some of her cheek and eyeing off a young intern -- he loved it either way.

In Chris's room, Tash turned the abandoned chair around the right way and sat down.  Chris was gazing morosely at the wall, depressed still despite Ham's assurances.

"You okay?" Tash raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Chris was silent for a moment, then: "D'you think I'm too old, Tash?"

"Too old for what?"

"For... the business.  All this runnin' around."  A long pause.  "For you."

Tash snorted disgustedly.  "One heart attack and you're ready to keel over, is that it?"

Chris frowned.  "Come on, Tash, we ain't been getting on so well..."

"You idiot," her tone was harsh, "I've been uncomfortable about meeting your family for weeks, and just 'cos the only one I like is Pat, it doesn't mean a thing about us.  So I don't get on with your folds.  So I got mad at you for behaving like a jerk.  So what?"

"But... "

"But nothing.  We went through all of this years ago.  Jesus, I'm not exactly Miss Spring 2004.  We all get old, Chris.  I'm not as fast as I used to be wither, so I'm using my brains instead.  The only reason you had a heart attack is because of this," and she prodded the belly she'd been trying to get him to shed for the last five years.  He wriggled uncomfortably away from the finger.

Chris stared at her for a moment, taking her admonishment for an expression of affection.  Tash wasn't so good about the straight out soft emotion, but she could sure get her point across.  She did it now by prodding his gut once more, slapping him gently but firmly across the jowls and kissing him.

"Loose weight like the doctor ordered," she instructed briskly.  "Get onto an exercise program and quit whinging.  Any more crap about being too old and I'll wring your neck."

Chris smiled.  "Point taken, boss."  He made a grab for her from the bed, which she evaded easily.  She tweaked his nose in a rare gesture of playfulness.

"Behave yourself," she warned, "You're not 100% yet."

"Ah, but I will be..." the old sparkle was back in his eyes, and Tash smiled inwardly.  Now he was out of the dark funk that had made him a sullen misery the past few days she might just get him to get fit again.  The thought that he was 'too old' for her was pure nonsense -- she had had her doubts before, and she'd dealt with them.  But it wouldn't hurt if he was a little more fit.

The door opened without the customary knocking and a stream of people flooded in -- the Faber family had come to visit, Patrick first.  He gave a cheerful wave to Tash, who smiled, then dashed over to the bed.

"How ya doin' Chris?"  His energy was infectious and Tash wouldn't have minded staying to talk a while, but Lucy was following close behind and the rest of the clan would soon follow.  Love Chris as she might, his family were just not her kind of people.  She nodded a quick farewell to Chris, acknowledged the Fabers in passing and escaped.

Chris didn't mind so much about her going so soon.  She'd be back later, once the coast was clear.  He was the first to admit that his folks were kind of old fashioned, but they were his family after all, and they meant a lot to him.  He grinned at Patrick -- at least Tash liked him -- and on seeing that Pa was a bit surly with Jean (he guessed his brother had pointed out that if their second youngest boy could have a heart attack at 50, Pa had better make decisions about Patrick soon) he decided to talk to them before they went about his decision to support Patrick when the time came.

It might take a bit of effort but he figured he could grow old gracefully, with help from Tash and Ham.  He was even starting to look forward to it.
 

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