He didn't know how long he had been sitting.  When he had first climbed the grassy hill leading to this place of sanctuary, the sun had perched high in the sky, shining its bright rays down on the grass and wildflowers, breathing life into everything it touched.  Ham hadn't noticed.  Now the sun was slowly setting behind the distant mountains.  And still he sat.

He had known that he had to come here, one day.  Elizabeth said that it was a place of power.   He scoffed.  Power came from within.  And from a fully loaded automatic.  But he heard the others talking.  Of picnics held in the clearing, on days when they actually had time for such things.  Of the beauty of the trees, the aromas of the flowers, the intoxicating view.  Again he scoffed.  What were those things to Ham Tyler?  He had no time for flowers or trees or pretty views.  But he remembered when he *did* have time for those things.  And so, he knew he had to come.

It was hard to remember a time when he was happy, truly happy.  A time when being strong and cheating death and fighting weren't all that mattered to him.  A time when he was whole.  But he did remember.  And so he came.

He looked down at the small leather packet he'd carried with him on the trek up the bluff.  Small enough to fit in his hand, it was a nondescript box; nothing special about it.  The risen inscription on its lid had long been worn away by time.  The leather straps holding it in place had been mended on too many occasions to count.  Its once vibrant brown had faded to a nondescript beige.  It had been with Ham through countless battles – from the jungles of Vietnam and El Salvador to the bowels of the Mothership.  He valued it more than his life.  And now he knew it was time to let it go.

It had been made by Mai Lei.  She'd made it long before she met Ham Tyler, of course; it was what she did.  Mai Lei was an artisan; renowned in her small village.  The things she made would have looked pitiful and sad to most Americans, raised as they were on the joys of plastics and vinyl.  But not to Ham.  Mai Lei was not the prettiest girl in her village, or the smartest… and she certainly wasn't the easiest to get along with.  But she was the girl that he fell in love with.  Hook, line, and sinker.  Game over.

She'd presented him with the case on their wedding night.  Taking his hand, she held it palm-up, and placed the shiny leather packet on it.  Looking into his eyes, she had said solemnly, “This is me.  As long as you have this, I am with you.  Always.”  And she had closed his hand over the case, locking his fingers tight around its ridges.  He had loved her more than he had ever known he could love another person.

Before he left on his next patrol, Mai Lei had placed a picture inside the case.  Ham and Mai Lei, at their wedding.  Taken by Chris, of course – Chris was always there, always.  As the years went by more items were added to the case… a picture of their daughter, Rose Mai.  A locket of Rose's hair, tied with a piece of green ribbon.  A small silver hair tie that Mai Lei wore on special occasions.  The war continued, but Ham was happy.  He loved Mai Lei more as each day passed, and he worshipped his daughter.

He didn't want to think about this.

When the word came that the church in which he had hidden his family had been destroyed by ‘friendly fire’, something inside Ham died.  He knew this; he recognized his condition.  For a time, he tried to pretend it didn't happen.  He continued to sneak into the country to search for his family.  When he was finally forced to admit his loss – it was Chris who did it, Chris was always there, always – he closed himself off from the rest of the world.  This was his choice, his decision.  Better to be closed and hard, than… what he would become if he *wasn’t* closed and hard.

Ham looked again at the small worn packet, and realized that his hands had worked of their own volition while he sat.  The tiny case was open, and his fingers caressed its meagre contents.  The ribbon tying the locket of hair was frayed and tattered.  The silver clasp no longer silver but tarnished to a dull black.  The picture… wrinkled and creased…   They were remnants of another life, and Ham knew – now he finally knew – that it was time to let that life go.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he replaced the items in their case, and drew the leather straps together for a final time.  In the last sputtering rays of sunlight, as day turned to dusk, he leaned forward and methodically dug a small hole in front of a spray of wildflowers.  The purple and yellow flowers bobbed delicately as he worked.  Placing the case inside the hollow, he gently covered it with the loose dirt.   His mouth was set in a grim line, and a passer-by (if there had been one) may have thought nothing of the stocky man, perhaps planting a seed.  They wouldn't have noticed his mouth twitch as he worked, or heard the single word he spoke:  “Always.”
 

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