"What are you staring at?" Tyler snapped.

Faber shrugged.  "You tell me."

The belligerent expression lingered for a moment before Tyler backed down.  "It's nothing."

"How bad was it?"

"What?"

"The fight."

The mercenary regarded the bigger man's earnest, but unjudging, face; at times it still surprised him how easily Chris could come to the root of a problem.

"Bad enough."

"You'll work it out," asserted Chris confidently.

"I know.  It's just going to be pretty rough until we do."

Chris slapped his friend on the back, propelling him forward a step or two.  "Never mind.  If you get tired of sleeping on the couch at home, you can always come to my place."

Tyler wrinkled his nose in distaste.  "Not with everything that's probably growing in the couch at your place."

"I don't have a little lady to clean up after me," was his excuse.  Tyler snorted derisively.

"Neither do I."

Their conversation was interrupted by a startled cry of recognition, and Tyler looked up to see the most blatant emotionalism he had ever seen Petersen display.  A tall, dark-haired man was walking to her across the filed, and Petersen herself was smiling broadly, the unfamiliar expression softening the normally hard lines of her young face.  Laughing, they threw their arms about one another in a comradely hug, and stood back to take note of the changes of the past year.  Tyler waited a decent moment before he and Chris interrupted the reunion.

"You're Ham Tyler, I take it," greeted the tall man, turning to shake hands.  "David Minowa," he introduced himself.  Minowa was a tall man in his early thirties.  He was lean and stringy, like Tash, and his smile shone whitely from the dark face that plainly showed his Indian heritage.

"What's the situation?" Tyler got straight down to business.

"We've got the renegades holed up in Bonner Dam, and they're not about to surrender.  There's a small force at the dam, keeping the Visitors exactly where they are, but so far it's a stalemate."

"You've got a layout of the area?"

"In my quarters."

"Petersen, get organized and make sure everyone's got enough ammunition.  I don't want anyone being caught short up there."

"Sir."

Minowa gave a brief smile to Tash, who returned it cheerfully, then set off for his tent, he, Tyler and Faber already discussing strategies.
 
 

Tash, leaning against a tree with her eyes closed, blinked up at the dark face above her and laughed.  "I couldn't find a mattress."

"That's no reason to use a tree for a pillow."  David's white teeth gleamed as he crouched down beside her.  "So what have you been doing since I last saw you?"

Tash shrugged, shifting forward.  "A bit of everything."

"Very enlightening," David observed sarcastically, and she grinned.

"Fruit-picking, driving taxis, waitressing..."

"I'll bet you just loved that."

"Got fired after two days.  I poured spaghetti bolognaise onto some bastard's crotch."

"Figures."

Tash lifted an eyebrow at him, but her former commander left his opinion at that.

"Well," she prompted after a moment, "What have you been up to?"

"Mostly what you see -- I started work with Oregon Securities and am what they call a Field Executive."  His expression revealed that he didn't think much of that title.  "I end up commanding a desk more often than I'd like, but I get enough action in to keep me from vegetating."

Her gaze raked over him, making a critical approval.  David glared at her with mock affront.  "What's your problem?"

Tash was studiously solemn, though her blue eyes sparkled with humour.  "You look a bit..."

"A bit what?"

"Oh, nothing. It must be all that time you spend behind a desk."

"Damn cheeky tenderfoot!"

Tash only grinned slyly, suppressing a chuckle.

"Ha!"  David clambered to his feet, wrapping a hand around Tash's wrist and dragging her up after him.  He found a supply box that someone had been using earlier as a cards table and sat her down on one side of it before circling to the other side, sitting and planting his elbow on the wooden top, hand stuck in the air in the preparatory gesture to an arm wrestle.  Tash eyed him sardonically, then placed her elbow on the crate and clasped his hand.

"Count of three," he said.  "One... two... three."

Their gazes locked as arm muscles strained.  Their clasped hands wavered, but neither gained an advantage for some time until, finally, David's arm was forced back, just a little.

"You know," he began through gritted teeth, in a not entirely fair attempt to distract her, "I found out that you used to call me 'The Chief' behind my back."

The ploy was successful and he made back the lost ground as she regarded him guiltily.

"Nothing... personal," she assured him, trying to win back her advantage.

"Oh... no?"

"Well... you were the boss."

"The chief", he corrected.

"Right."  As she said it, Tash made a last-ditch effort and pushed with all her strength.  David's arm bent back and his knuckles scraped the crate.  Tash grinned at him, waving her arm gingerly while the feeling came back to it.  David massaged his hand, glaring at her.

"Doesn't prove a thing," he asserted.  Tash knew it didn't, but she couldn't resist a sceptical quirk of the eyebrow.

"Sure David."  She rose from the small box on which she sat and stepped aside.  "You better get some rest," she said solicitously.  "You might need it."

"Why you..."  David launched himself at her, tackling her to the ground and then the arm wrestling match degenerated into a one-on-one brawl.  They were about equally matched in strength and agility, but David had several more years experience under his belt and he used it.  The tussle ceased with Tash lying sprawled in the dirt and David sitting on her middle, pinning her wrists with his knees.  He leered triumphantly.

"Okay... Chief," she gasped, trying to stop laughing long enough to breathe, "I take it back.  You're as good as ever."

"You betcha."  And with that, he rolled his eyes and collapsed back spread-eagled on the ground beside her, panting.

For a few moments, they stayed there, side by side, catching their breath, until Tash finally spoke.

"I don't know about you," she said, "but I need some rest."

"You're supposed to be the young, fit one."

"Vicious rumour.  I'm a hundred years old."

"You've kept your age well."

"Clean living."

David laughed.  "And I'm an Eskimo."

"You're Navajo."

"I'm exhausted."  He pushed himself to his feet, glancing down at Tash as she sat up.  "You going to sleep there all night?"

"It's softer than the tree."

He chuckled, reaching down to tousle her ash-blonde hair.  She grimaced at him, but tolerated the gesture.

"See you in the morning," he promised.

She smiled warmly.  "Good night, David."

"Night."  He tousled her hair again and waved briefly as he headed back to his quarters.
 
 

The strike was held off for almost fourteen hours until the sun rose.  Under other circumstances it would have been a foolish delay, but Visitor physiology meant that the aliens' eyesight was less sharp during the day, and they would therefore be more vulnerable.  So it was that at 0800 hours, three units of human troops moved into Bonner Dam.

The Visitors were stationed on the eastern side of the dam, held in check by Minowa's advance force.  Crowley led his unit over the rise, checking below and around him.  Minowa was ready, blocking off the southern escape route, whilst to the north Tyler had his people ranged amongst the trees.  Dead ahead were the renegades, the body of the dam behind them, cutting of any chance for escape in that direction.  They were aware of the impending attack only by virtue of the fact that they knew of the advance group's presence; at the moment they seemed to have no idea how close the engagement actually was.

Crowley checked his watch: 0815, time to move.  He signalled his unit forward, and they started down the incline.  The instructions were to get as close as possible to the alien camp, which would hopefully give them a better chance of taking prisoners.

They were still several hundred yards from the dam when the first Visitor spotted them, and raised the alarm, and in moments there was pandemonium.  These aliens had no laser cannons, as had their counterparts in the Mount St. Helens raid, but the savage little Visitor-issue grenades they carried were almost as effective, spraying their deadly charge in a ten-yard radius.

For a time the aliens held their ground, unable to retreat, but the humans had the advantage of cover, and were coming in on three sides; they would have to make a break or be wiped out where they stood.

Their leader organized the troops and signalled for a retreat south.  A concentrated volley of grenades was spewed into the forest there, its purpose to clear a path through the advancing humans, and the Visitors moved forward.

Tyler and Crowley saw what was happening even before the grenade attack occurred, and had radioed a warning through to Minowa before converging on the point of penetration.  As they approached from the rear, Minowa's unit tried to hold the aliens at bay.  Tyler motioned for Chris to cover him and ducked in low under the trees, searching for the red uniforms that were impossible to miss in the surrounding greenery.  He found one, took careful aim, and fired. The alien fell, green blood streaming from the wounds in his legs, and crying out in pain.  Tyler had no sympathy for the injured being, however, as she scuttled forward through the trees searching for more targets.  He wanted to take as many prisoners as possible; just one of them might not have all the information he wanted.  They had proven in the past that none had any intention to surrender, so it became necessary to wound them to gain a live captive.  The prospect did not bother Tyler at all.

He spied Petersen through the undergrowth, uncharacteristically distracted from the battle.  She was crouched in the shadows, her face pale under the grime but lacking in emotion; not even the mixture of grim determination and pleasure in action that often dominated her features when on the field.

"Petersen!"

She looked up, as though startled out of a reverie.  Tyler pointed forward towards the raging firefight, indicating that he wanted her to follow him.  She nodded, glancing to the ground beside her for a moment before assuming a coldly angry expression and making her way into the battlefield.

Between them, Tyler and Petersen took down five more potential prisoners, carrying out the task with detached professionalism.  Further ahead, Chris, leading the Seattle group, and Crowley with his team swarmed tot he aid of the left flank, strafing the rapidly diminishing Visitor group.  The gunfire continued at an intense rate for a time, punctuated by the ominous flashes of the Visitor grenades.

"We got enough prisoners?" Petersen asked Tyler, crossing paths with him as they moved ahead to rejoin their unit.  He nodded.  "Good," the girl snarled, and darted forward before Tyler could counter the action.  With a scowl, he followed her, and had to throw himself aside as a volley of laser fire spurted in his direction.  He looked up, sighted the enemy and broke cover to take him.  To one side of him, Petersen had braced herself against a tree and was pouring a concentrated arc of fire into the aliens' rear defence.  As the clip emptied, she swung behind the sheltering wood, ejected the clip and reloaded.  A sudden sound brought the weapon to her hip, but her reactions were at peak and she didn't fire as Tyler closed in on her.

"Dumb move," he snapped gruffly, angry with her lapse, "Keep to cover."

"Sir."  But she was barely listening to him.  As soon as she stood back she whirled, emptying another round into the enemy position.  Tyler slung his gun over his shoulder and, grasping a bough, swung up to a vantage point in the tree.  Looking out from that height he could see a little more clearly.  He shrugged the weapon into his hands again and covered Petersen's fire.

It was over in an hour, and as the smoke died down Tyler discovered, to his disgust, that even those he and Petersen had winged in their prisoner-collecting foray had chosen to die by their own guns rather than be taken captive, leaving them with nothing but a forest full of dead bodies.  Human casualties had been considerable, though exactly who and how many was not yet clear.  Crowley radioed for choppers and trucks to come in for dust-off, and the injured human survivors were airlifted to a medical base in Portland.

As the remainder regrouped by the shores of the dam, ready to climb into the waiting trucks, they started taking note of those missing.

"Where's David?" asked Crowley, looking around at those assembled, "I didn't see him load up on the chopper."

Chris glanced across at Petersen, leaning sullenly against the truck, and knew, as instinctively as he knew with Tyler, that something was wrong.  Tyler came up to his partner, following Chris' line of vision.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," Chris admitted.  Petersen disengaged herself from the truck and walked slowly towards the gathering, schooling her expression to one of studied indifference.

"David's dead," she informed Crowley emotionlessly, "I found him during the fight.  Grenade."  With that, she turned, holding her gun to her shoulder with a thumb tucked through the strap, and strolled off along the edge of the dam.

Chris watched her leave, and felt a stirring of regret.  He had witnessed the reunion with Minowa, and she had shown more feeling in that one meeting than in the three months since they started working together -- even when her family had been found.  He himself was familiar with the reaction Minowa's death provoked -- complete denial of involvement with the event, the absolute absence of emotion.  Ham Tyler had reacted identically scores of times in the past, with only Chris there to witness the private pain of it.  Chris felt for the girl -- at twenty three years old, Tash Petersen was as old and as severed from humanity as Ham had become after four years spent in the jungles of the VietCong.  At least back then he had been there to anchor Ham to reality.  Tash's anchor had been David Minowa, and she had lost even that.

Chris looked away, disturbed by his own thoughts.

"You okay, Chris?"

Faber smiled ruefully, rubbing his neck. "Just feeling tired, I guess."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

Chris looked sharply at his friend, but Tyler's gaze was cast out after Petersen's retreating back, and he was suddenly aware that Ham's thoughts had mirrored his own.

"We're gettin' too old for this sort of thing," muttered Faber.  For once, his partner didn't disagree with him, but he said nothing as he climbed into the back of the truck.

Chris didn't move to follow; he was still looking along the dam, where a slim figure was sitting on its banks.

"Don't go without us," he said, and ambled off towards Tash.

"Mind if I sit down?" Chris plonked himself beside her before she could answer.

"Go ahead," she said, but she did not turn to look at him.

Silent for a moment, Chris studied her -- her knees drawn up and arms loosely around them, she gazed out to the horizon dispassionately -- a classic Tyler pose he remembered well from 'Nam.

"We'll be movin' out in a little while," he began.  Tash made no reply, and Chris didn't know where to go from there.  He and Ham had never bothered much with words, and he was at something of a loss.  In the end, he simply raised a hand and let it rest on her shoulder, giving it a companionable squeeze.

Tash sighed, her gaze lowering, and the stiffness in her bearing relaxed just a little.  Chris let his hand drop, and both of them sat, close but untouching, watching the horizon.

"You know what I think?" asked Chris at last, not shifting his gaze.

"No.  What?"

"We should all go out tonight and get drunk."

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  "Sounds good."  A pause.

"We better get back to the truck, or they'll go without us."

"Yeah."

They climbed to their feet and walked back to the others in a comfortable silence.
 
 

"Alex?"

"Yes Ham?"  Her tone was clipped and non-committal.

"Job's finished."

"So?"

"I'll be home in a day or two... I thought..." The line went dead before he had a chance to tell her exactly what it was he was thinking, and he slammed the receiver back down.  Chris lifted an eyebrow at him as he was passing through.

"Still not talkin' to you, huh?"

Tyler scowled.

"Look," said Chris, "Tash's waiting in the bar.  Why don't you join her."  He handed Tyler a couple of bills.  "First round's on me."

Ham gave a half smile, and disappeared in the direction of the bar.

"I'll have a beer!" Chris yelled after him, then contemplated the telephone.  By rights, he really shouldn't interfere -- Ham wouldn't appreciate it and neither would Alex.  But Ham was subdued, more so than usual, and Chris thought that maybe Alex was being a bit rough on him.  Ham had been working hard, after all, and things had gone badly today -- no prisoners taken, fourteen humans dead and Tash Petersen reenacting Tyler's youth.

Chris fed some coins into the telephone and dialled.

"Alex?  Chris here... no, he didn't, it's my idea... that's not fair Alex... come on, he's had a lot on his mind... now you know that's not true.  You know how he feels about you... No.  All I'm saying is that maybe you should ease off a bit, that's... Alex... Alex?"

He sighed in disgust.  The damned woman had hung up on him.  Frowning, Chris set off for the bar, intent on having that beer, and then a whole lot more of them.
 
 

It was reported that Ham Tyler had taken a leading part in the attack, and was also responsible for the abortive attempt to take prisoners -- a development which lowered Lawrence's estimation of Tyler's worth a good deal.  He could understand Tyler's need for prisoners, but his barbaric method of taking them was one Lawrence had never condoned, even among his own people.  The indication was that Mr. Tyler had at the very least a good idea of what was going on, and was trying to collect evidence -- in this case witnesses -- to prove his theory.

The problem here was the question of how much Tyler actually did know, and who else was privy to the information.  His partner, Chris Faber, almost certainly, but any number of others could be involved in an investigation.  It would be a simple enough matter to have Tyler and Faber assassinated, but that action would alert anyone else who shared their suspicions.  The logical step here was to find out exactly what was known, and by whom, and to take action from there.  The risk of revelation was still great, but at least he would know where the situation stood, and perhaps forearmed with the knowledge of who was aware of the conspiracy he could balk the investigations.  He could, of course, just let things continue as they had been, but that would leave him none the wiser, and perhaps Tyler-Faber Enterprises that much closer to the truth of the matter.

Slapping down the reports with a sigh, Lawrence called for his assistant.

"Colin, I want you to do some research.  Find out where Ham Tyler and his partner Faber work, and where they live."

"Anything else, sir?" Colin's voice held a suggestion that some other, more conclusive action, might also be taken.

"For now, yes.  That will be all."

Nodding curtly, the assistant turned on his heel and left to make the arrangements.
 
 

Chris cast a baleful glance at Petersen.  He really should have known that, as a young, female version of Ham Tyler, she would be an equally sullen drinking partner.

"Did I tell you the one about the priest and the Mercedes?" he asked hopefully.  Tash polished off a dram of scotch and promptly poured another.  Tyler was sitting forward in his chair, contemplating the bottom of his glass, seemingly sober to the casual observer, but they didn't see the unfocussed glaze of his eyes.

"Hmm?  What?" Tyler glanced up distractedly, decided it was not important and transferred his fixed stare to a bowl of pretzels.

Chris sighed.  "There's this priest, see..."

"Do you know," said Tash suddenly, lurching forward in her chair to regard him sternly, "That I'm a catholic?"  At his look of surprise she nodded vigorously, an action that nearly toppled her.  "Really," she elaborated, "But I haven't bin t' mass in... oh..." she waved an arm expansively, "Years.  Well, I did, once, during the war.  But somebody bombed the church..." she paused to reflect on that, then regarded Chris soulfully.  "D'you think God was trying t' tell me something?"

"Nah," said Chris confidently, "'S prob'ly just bad timin'."

"Yeah," agreed Tyler, and Chris was surprised that Ham'd been listening.

"Ham?"

"Hmm... what?" Tyler asked, proving he hadn't been listening at all.

"Nuthin'," said Chris sullenly, and regarded his beer with a sulking frown.

"I know a really good song," he suggested after a long silence, "Heard it in Vietnam."

Tyler at last came to life.  "Yeah... about... uh... Ho Chi Min, an'..."

"His horse," ended Chris, grinning.

"Right!" they concluded in unison, and even Tyler smiled.

"How's it go... ah..." Chris thought about it, cleared his throat and started on an old jungle favourite.

To Tash's considerable surprise, Tyler joined in, with less gusto but as much feeling as his partner.  The other patrons of the hotel bar eyed them with distaste, especially as Tash got the rhythm and started beating time on the table top with a swizzle stick.  It didn't take long to learn the rousing chorus, either, and by the third time around she was accompanying them in full voice.  Chris was finally enjoying himself, and launched himself into the fourth -- and definitely most obscene -- verse.  As he did so he caught sight of the barmaid's horrified expression, and he dissolved into hysteria.  It was not a wise thing to have done, as he promptly slid off his chair.  Tyler and Petersen both grabbed for him, but neither was particularly stable themselves, and the songfest disintegrated into an ungainly mound of bodies.

"Jesus Chris," muttered Tyler feelingly as he tried to shove Chris off his legs.  Tash, in an attempt to rescue her beleaguered commander, grasped the still chortling Faber by the arms and hauled backwards -- another mistake, as Chris had started to get up, and they both catapulted backwards into the wall.

Tyler picked himself up with exaggerated dignity and dusted himself down, eyeing Tash and Chris who were arranged rather neatly against the wall.  Tash sat leaning against it, shaking her head dazedly, Chris sprawled across her lap and not looking as though he cared to move.

"Damn good thing you were never in the opera," Tyler told him, "Would've killed the poor bastards in the orchestra pit."

With that, he carefully reclaimed his seat and resumed the serious appraisal of the pretzel bowl.

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful, the jovial mood that had developed gradually waning.  Tash had eventually managed to extricate herself from the compromising position the songfest's finale had gotten her into, but had found it very difficult to get back into her chair, and was sitting on the floor instead, one arm draped over Chris' knee to steady her as she helped herself to his beer.  Conversation turned to an earnest discussion on battle tactics, and from there to a number of anecdotes collected over the years.  Tash, to Chris' delight, showed that she really did have a sense of humour, and her wry tales of a guerilla unit on the warfront brought the occasional smile even to Tyler's lips.  He was more and more introspective as the night wore on, however, and sometime after midnight he excused himself and made unsteadily for the door.

Petersen seemed to have recovered from Minowa's death in a hurry, Tyler thought as he weaved down the corridor towards the lift, using the walls for support.  For a moment he wished he was as resilient, then he brushed the thought aside.  Resilient nothing.  Maybe she just didn't care.  Maybe she... he remembered Coote, in a bar in Da Nang, telling him the same thing when the VC had taken their captain and half their unit in an ambush.  "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!"  That had started one hell of a brawl, and both of them had spent a few days in holding for it -- because it HAD mattered.  Peter Kramer was the best goddamned captain he'd ever known, and until he'd met Chris, had been his best friend.  Bawling about it wasn't going to help him, though, or suddenly bring him back.  In the war zone, you just got on with the job and said your goodbyes to your friends in advance, so when they dropped it was no surprise.

Tyler shook his head, knowing it was the alcohol taking him along these seldom-reflected paths of thought.  He paused by the telephones to steady himself after the inadvisable action, and on an impulse he deposited a coin into the slot and dialled.

"Hello?" Alex's sleepy voice answered.

"Alex?"  His voice was quiet and controlled, giving little indication as to how drunk he actually was.

"Ham?  Chris, it's one o'clock in the morning!"

"I know... I just..." he trailed off, wondering what it was he had wanted to say.  It was all sentimental slosh, he knew, but all the words just... went away.  It was easier with Chris, he reflected, who, without a single word, could tell what was wrong.

"Ham?"

"I just... wanted..."  The ability to express himself deserted him entirely, and he hung up, resuming his trip to the elevator.  The doors slid open and he almost fell inside.  With a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the elevator wall, and closed his eyes.

Damn! but life was a bitch.
 
 

She went to phone him, only to realize she didn't know where he was staying.  She'd have to trust to Chris to see he was all right.

Alex went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, stopping to pet the dogs as they trotted in to see what was happening.

"I just hate being on the outside of things," she explained to them defensively, "If he'd told me what was going on earlier, I wouldn't have got mad..."  She sighed and slumped back into a chair.

"Damn," she muttered.
 
 

As usual, she called out for dinner -- takeway from the local Chinese place -- rightly assuming that Ham wouldn't be in the mood to eat out.

He arrived in the late evening, looked tired and preoccupied.  He dumped his gear on the bed in passing, greeted his wife cursorily and went into the bathroom to wash up.

Alex heated the meal in the microwave -- invented for the frozen food and takeaway conscious, she was sure -- and set everything out on the good china in the dining room.  Tyler didn't appear to notice as he sat down.

"Want some chow mein?" offered Alex, stalling while she tried to think of some way to approach him.

"No thanks."

"Oh."

The silence stretched awkwardly with Tyler deep in thought, staring into space as Alex watched him.

"Look, Ham, about our fight.  I..." she began.

"Don't worry about it."  He did not look at her and finally the tension got to her.

"Damn it, Ham!  What the hell's the matter with you?  And don't tell me 'Nuthin' -- I know you better than that."

Tyler sighed heavily, slumping back in his chair.  He started to speak, but gave up before any words came out.  Instead, he put a hand to his forehead, rubbing slowly as though trying to erase a pain there, and tried again.  "It's just..." he let the sentence hang, unable to finish it.  He was full of thoughts and emotions he did not feel capable of expressing.  Chris would understand, but Chris had been there when Tash Petersen had walked away, seemingly unmoved by the death of her closest friend, and spent the night in drunken abandon as though nothing mattered at all.  He was feeling old, and tired, and regretful that anyone so young could have become so empty of feeling.  So much like himself all those years ago when he had lost his wife and daughter to a holocaust of 'friendly fire'.  But at least he'd had Chris, and now Alex.  He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have absolutely nowhere to turn.

A hand gently touched his face, and he looked up, surprised since he had not seen Alex leave her seat to come to him.  He took her hand in his and held it, softly stroking her fingers with his own.

"Have I ever told you..." he began, faltered, then ploughed on with the confession, "That it's good... to have you to come home to."

Alex did not know the cause, but she did know that something had shaken Ham, badly, and she stepped closer to hold him.  Her fingers brushed his face, and she bent slightly to kiss him.  His arms encircled her, drawing her nearer, but his kisses were slow and gentle, and she shifted slightly to sit in his lap.

One arm supported her, held her near, while the other caressed her, lightly, until her skin tingled with the touch of him.  Alex traced a sensuous line down his throat with her mouth, and he sighed.

"Come on," she whispered at last, getting to her feet and taking his hand.  Without a work, he followed her to the bedroom.  He drew her into his arms again, for a moment simply delighting in the nearness of her, then he kissed her again, ever so slowly.  Alex abandoned her eyepatch and Ham held her face in his hands, studying the sightless eye for a moment before pressing his lips to the soft skin of her cheek and temple.  He stood back a little then, to unbutton her blouse with the same gentle care, interspersing the task with brief touches -- forehead against cheek, lips to closed eyes.  In her turn, Alex removed his shirt, running fingers over the battle-scarred body she knew so well.  They took their time, undressing one another deliberately, and all the time touching.

They slid into the bed, the coolness of the sheets not for one moment distracting them.  Ham kissed her again, his hands exploring her body at a leisurely pace, savouring every warm curve and hollow, and every sensation as she touched and explored him in return.

Their lovemaking was slow, and sensuous, each revelling in the simple wonder of the other's presence.  Ham treated her as though she were some precious, fragile thing, and Alex might never have realized that, to him, she was.

Afterwards, Ham lay on his side, holding her against him still.  Alex, eyes closed, her lips curved by a small smile, caressed his chest with one hand.  Sleepily, he nuzzled her forehead, feeling at peace.

"Alex..." he murmured.  She snuggled even closer to him in response, her hand reaching up to touch his face.

"I love you," he said, and he drifted off into sleep.
 
 
 

When she finally got home she was feeling tired, but relaxed and even cheerful.  Her mood was shattered, however, as she let herself into the apartment.

"You should have called!" protested her mother, picking herself up from the lounge where she had been tending to her husband's comfort, and bustling into the kitchen.  Henry glared at his daughter.

"You might have told us where you were going to begin with."

Tash shrugged slightly, slinging her backpack into her left hand and stalking through to her bedroom.

"I told you I was going to Oregon."

"That's not very specific," he insisted.

"It doesn't matter," she told him as she walked back to the living area.

"It does matter, Natasha!" The frail man threw the blanket from himself and stood to face her, "We're your parents.  We have a right to know what you're doing."  His voice softened a little.  "We worry about you."

Tash found his presence cloying, and moved further away from him.  "We were on a mission," she explained.  She did not add that the reason she hadn't told them before leaving was to avoid another confrontation about her 'dangerous work' followed by a stiflingly concerned farewell.

"You were in another battle?!" demanded Eileen in horror.  Tash did not answer, preparing for the argument.

"I really wish you'd get another job," scolded her father, "A young girl shouldn't be involved in that sort of work."

"What do you suggest I do?" asked Tash cynically.

"I don't know!  A secretary perhaps, or a shop assistant.  You could go back to university and study law again... anything as long as it was safe."

Tash sniffed disdainfully at the idea.  "I tried something 'safe' after the war.  I didn't like it.  I prefer what I'm doing now."

"Surely, dear," said her mother, "If you gave it a chance..."

"I gave it a chance," Tash informed them, her tone growing colder, "I didn't know what the hell I was doing.  I like being a soldier.  I like what I am; I'm good at it.  If you don't like it, that's your problem."

"Don't speak to your mother like that," warned Henry Petersen, his usually quiet voice gathering strength.

"You were never like this," her mother accused tearfully, "You used to be thoughtful and caring... now look at you!  You're a heartless, callous bitch!  You're just like that bastard boss of yours, Tyler, and his murdering cronies.  You're more civil to them than to your own family!!"

"My family," spat Tash, "is more interested in making themselves comfortable and content than they are in me.  I spent five years fighting a war for you, and all you can think of is what a bitch I am for not being what you want.  All you want is for the world to be as it was, and ignore that there ever was a war.  I buried one of my best friends two days ago, but you don't approve of my 'soldier friends', so why should you give a damn?  Let me tell you," and her voice dropped to a cold, measured tone that made them shiver, "Chris Faber and Ham Tyler are the most family I've had in five years.  And they still are."

She snatched up a set of keys and strode out the door before either of them could speak.  There was a moment's stunned silence, then Henry wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife, in a hopeless attempt to comfort her, aware at last that things could never be as they had been.

In the car park, Tash swung onto her motorbike and kicked it into action, heading off into the night.  Her feelings for her parents bordered on hatred -- she certainly viewed them with disgust and anger.  Not only did they not understand, they weren't even willing to try.  It wasn't so easy to forget how it was to be fighting every moment for life; to be constantly aware that in the day to come you or your companions might die.  She'd survived the ordeal, but survival had its price for everyone.  For herself, she had been unable to settle into normal life.  She was constantly restless, as though still expecting battleships to descend at any second to shatter the hard-won freedom.  She preferred to be active, with a gun in her hand.  She knew how to deal with that, at least.  In years of distancing herself from others as a matter of emotional self-preservation, she found most people difficult to talk to, and generally she wasn't interested in them anyway.

Very few understood the person she was now, fewer still knew how to handle her, but she was on her way to one person who did, and accepted her without qualification.

Chris' house was quiet when she arrived, which was unusual this early in the night -- he usually had the television going loudly; sometimes the radio or the record player.  Tash parked the bike and went to the front door, fishing for the key Chris had given her some weeks ago.  The door, however, was not locked.  Her skin prickled, and she paused.  There was still no sound, and with her sense of unease growing she went back to her bike for the pistol she kept in the saddlebag and returned to the house.

She pushed the door open carefully, nerves taut, and stepped quietly over the threshold.  The safety catch was off, and she held the gun upright in her hand, finger curled around the trigger.  The house was in its usual disarray, with clothes, old newspapers and occasional pieces of fuse wire and explosive casing scattered over the floor and furnishings.  She edged down the short entryway, and seeing the living room was empty continued on.  The hallway branched left at the end; the kitchen was to the right.  Another cursory inspection proved the tiled rom to be filled with unwashed dishes and empty packets, but nothing of interest, and Tash made her cautious way towards the other rooms.

The silence was pressing in, and Tash's nerves jangled with the wrongness of it.  The first room she checked yielded no clues, but the second -- Chris' 'study' -- brought the mystery to an end.

Bullet holes and burn marks scored the wall, which was also sprayed with a splattering of green blood.  The luckless alien was slumped, dead, against the wall, but he was not dressed in the Visitor uniform.  The room was practically demolished -- proof that Chris had not been taken easily.  Tash made a hurried inspection of the rest of the house.  No bodies -- Chris had been taken then; the Visitors would have no reason to remove his body from the house, especially when one of their own had been left behind.

Tash took one last look around, and raced for the motorbike.

She heard the gunshots several streets away, and opened the 750cc engine to full throttle.  In moments she was careening up the small hill towards the Tyler household, aware a kidnapping was in progress there.

The dogs were in the yard, snarling and snapping at the strangers violating their home.  Tyler himself was struggling violently in the grip of two aliens, but his attention was diverted by his concern for Alex who was standing on the front porch, shouting obscenities and firing a rifle at the assailants.

"For Christ's sake, Alex!  Get inside!"

Tash swung off the bike, whipping out the pistol and ducking behind the small chassis for shelter.

"ALEX!!"

The Visitor was approaching on Alex's blind side, distracting Tyler totally as he tried to warn her.  His lieutenant momentarily abandoned his defence, correctly deducing that if she let anything happen to Mrs. Tyler, he'd have her hid.  Accordingly, she turned and fired, felling the enemy even as the vet sought him out with her own sights.  By the time they returned their attention to Tyler, he had vanished into the back of a van and the vehicle was heading down the road at top speed.

"Damn," cursed Petersen, and she leapt back on the bike, kicking it into action.  "Call Cooper -- 555  3069," she called to Alex.   "I'll call and let you know where we are!"  Without waiting for acknowledgement, she tore off into the darkness after the van.

Alex swore, desperate to follow, but recognized the need for back-up.  Grasping the gun firmly, she dashed back inside, calling the bristling dogs in after her, and dialled the number.

It took some hairy riding, but Tash caught the van, and kept it just in range.  She wasn't sure if they knew of her presence, but there were no shots and no apparent attempts to lose her, so she assumed they did not.  Crouching low over the handles and keeping a keen eye ahead, she traced it to the edge of town, and pulled up as it disappeared, several blocks up the street, into a large warehouse of some kind.  She killed the engine and went for a phone.
 
 
 

"I was wonderin' when company was comin'," he said, "What took you?"

"A couple of lizards in a van."

"Me too," Chris admitted ruefully, then brightened a little, "But I did get one of 'em."

"That's one more than I did.  Alex got a few of them, though."

"Alex?"

"Damn woman wouldn't go back in the house."

Chris chuckled, envisaging a furious Alex Tyler blasting shots at the Visitors and bellowing 'Bring back my man, RIGHT NOW!!'.  For sure, if he'd been a Visitor he wouldn't have argued with her.

"Petersen was there, too," Ham was saying, "If she could, she'll have followed us, and called for back-up."

"And if Alex is smart, she'll stay at home."  The two men exchanged an eloquent glance, both knowing it wasn't likely.

The door swung open again, this time to admit a dark-haired man in a business suit, and two of the armed guards who had taken part in Ham's abduction.

"We'll get straight down to business," said the man, Lawrence, without preamble.

"Doesn't know much about imprisonment psychology, does he?" Chris observed.

"What do you expect from a lizard?" responded Tyler snidely.  The lizard in question was unperturbed.

"You have both been involved in an investigation into the actions of the renegade groups.  I want to know what you've found out, and who else is aware of it."

"What makes you think we know anything about it?" Tyler asked.

"Trust to my sources, Mr. Tyler," responded Lawrence coolly.

The alien's tone held conviction, and Tyler chose to skip that part of the game.

"You expect us to just tell you what we know?"

"I am giving you that option, yes."

Tyler folded his arms and Chris tilted his chin to look down on the shorter alien, but neither spoke.

"I'll give you a moment to think about it," offered Lawrence, "Perhaps you would like to reflect on the alternatives."

He and his guards withdrew, leaving Tyler and Faber alone once more.

"They'll probably take you," said Chris.  "They always do.  Like that time in Cambodia.  And in Berlin.  And Iran..."

"I get the picture."

"Wonder what it is about you that everyone wants to interrogate you, and not me?" Chris put the question to him with a hint of bewilderment.

"I look more of a challenge."

"There you go.  If you looked a bit more harmless..."

"Like you."

"Yeah, like me -- you wouldn't get beaten up so often."

"I'll have to remember that."

"Too late," Chris nodded at the opening door, "You blew your chance."

The door swung open and as one they charged at those entering.  The guards backpeddled under the combined impact and crashed painfully into the opposite wall.  It took Tyler mere seconds to disarm his victim, and he started down the corridor, expecting Chris to follow.  Faber had wrested the weapon from the alien he had in his massive grip easily enough, but as he turned to join Tyler, two shots rang out.

The first, from Tyler's gun, clipped the suit-clad alien, but Faber himself had obstructed Tyler's view, and the laser merely seared the artificial skin.  The second shot, however, had been fired by the alien, and Chris went down with a grunt of surprise as the bolt caught him on his right side.

Before Tyler could fire again more guards appeared.  They trained their sights on the defiant mercenary, who was preparing to shoot the lot of them down to get Chris and himself out of there.

"Don't, Mr. Tyler," Lawrence warned him, "Neither of you would make it."

Grudgingly, Tyler had to admit to himself it was so, but he refused to drop the gun.

"Chris?"

The big man lay still on the floor, but his ragged breathing indicated he was still alive.  The eyelids opened slowly and Chris blinked up at his partner.

"Really dumb of me, huh?" he wheezed.

"Yup."

"Sorry... must be gettin' old..."

"No.  Just careless."

"Better get back into trainin' then..."  His voice petered out as Chris at last fell unconscious.  It was only then that Tyler relinquished the weapon, scowling.

"Put him," Lawrence nodded at Chris Faber's prostrate body, "Back in the cell; and bring Mr. Tyler for interrogation."

His lip curled in unadulterated hatred, Tyler was led down the corridor.
 
 

"What's taking Cooper so long?" hissed Alex, coming up behind her, "Christ know what they're doing in there."

Petersen looked askance at Tyler's wife.  She had come down the road not ten minutes after her phone call to alert Cooper of her position.  She had not expected Alex to leap into action so readily, but now she was here she had to be tolerated, and kept in check.  She was understandably anxious about Tyler's fate, but any unwise movement now could mean the end of the rescue mission.

"They'll be here soon," Tash promised, shifting her gaze back to the building where her employers were being held.

Alex fell silent.  She had not doubt that Cooper and his men would arrive soon, but her skin was crawling.  Ham and Chris had been taken alive, probably for interrogation, and she knew how answers were found by the Visitor army.  So did Ham.  She tried not to think about it, but the suspicion plagued her and she shivered.

Petersen sensed the reaction, and put it down to the cold night air.  Her eyes never left that building.  Less than a week ago the lizards had killed one of her very few friends; they were about to try it again, but they wouldn't succeed if she had anything at all to say in the matter -- and she had a hell of a lot to say about it.  All it required was for Cooper to move his arse and get here with the cavalry.

Fifteen minutes after the original phone call, Cooper's truck showed up, carrying a squad of men and an arsenal of equipment.  Alex was one of the first into the supply box, grabbing an Armalite and ammunition.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" snapped Petersen.

"If you think I'm going to just stand back and watch while you lot go off to rescue that pair, you're crazy."  Alex leapt off the truck determinedly, and Petersen decided time was too short to be arguing with the boss' wife.

"Just don't get shot," was her only instruction to the wilful Alex, and the attack unit set off for the warehouse.
 
 

As they entered the room, however, he caught sight of the interrogation chamber itself and a sudden and quite foreign wave of panic washed through him.  It was a conversion chamber -- from the glass panels, to the vid-screen, to the chair with the iron bands and electrode attachments.  Any normal method of questioning he could deal with -- he'd been beaten and tortured in worse places for less reason, and he'd taken that.  This was different.  He had no defence against this, and a crystal clear memory of what it had done to him -- what it had torn from him -- the last time.

Abruptly, he was fighting like a wildcat, and the suddenness of it almost freed him, but there were more than two musclemen, and any one of them had twice the strength, if only half the skill, of the man they were dragging towards the chamber.

Lawrence regarded the reaction with some puzzlement, but concluded correctly that Mr. Tyler had had some experience with these methods before.  Good.  It should make him all the easier to break, and perhaps later he might be of some use to them.  For now, however, all he wanted was a probe of Mr. Tyler's memory, which was relatively harmless in itself.

It took five of them to keep Tyler down as they fastened the restraints and inserted the electrode plug into this left ear.  Tyler had broken into a cold sweat, his eyes shut, and already he was chanting the litany to himself.

"This is not real.  I am not here.  This is not real..."

Lawrence nodded to Colin and the probe cycle began.  Inside the chamber Tyler stiffened, face contorted against the pain and the invasion he could feel in his mind.

"He's resisting, sir."

"Never mind, Colin.  He'll break soon enough."

Tyler clenched his teeth, and struggled to break the restraining bonds.
 
 

Cooper kicked down a side door and the relative calm of the night was shattered as staccato gunfire spat into the building.

Petersen glanced into the gargantuan room.  "Cooper, check the upper levels; Walters, take this one.  I'll take the basement."  Loosing a covering barrage of fire in the direction of the stairwell Petersen ran across the room, Alex close behind, Simmons and Taylor after them.

The Visitors who rushed to the stairs to counter them were mown down in one simple volley, and Tash leapt the last three steps over their bodies.  A spurt of fire went over her head and she ducked, allowing Taylor to strafe the corridor ahead, thereby eliminating three more of the opposition.

"Cover the stairs, Simmons," she called and stalked down the hallway.  Taylor covered the read and Alex, sporting a scowl that might have come straight off Tyler's face, moved between them, the large weapon she held supported on her hip.

There were several rooms along the corridor, most of them empty, but there was a muffled moan as Petersen kicked one clear of its hinges.

"Chris!"

Faber managed a weak smile as Tash ran to his side, kneeling to inspect the severe wound along his ribcage.  There was little blood, the energy of the weapon cauterizing the rent in his side even as it had been made.  Almost unconsciously, Tash touched his face, feeling the clamminess and sheen of sweat there.  "We'll get you out," she promised, "Hang on."

"Not me I'm worried about," he briefly had the strength to say it, "Got Ham..."

Alex, watching from the doorway, wasted not a moment.  She grabbed the M-16 in both hands and set off.

"Jesus," Chris tried to get to his feet, but collapsed painfully in the attempt, "Ham'll kill me... if anything happens..."

Tash nodded, rising.   "You'll be okay."

He forced a wan smile, his ability to speak deserting him.  She placed a hand briefly to his face, then about-faced and took off after Alex.  Gunfire broke out further down, and she doubled her pace, Taylor rapidly catching up behind.
 
 

Alex glared hopelessly at the control board, not certain which of the innumerable switches would release him from the nightmare.  She glimpsed the shuddering which gripped him and made her decision, grasping the large circular knob and turning it anti-clockwise.

There was a cry of fear and pain from the chamber as Ham arced against the restraints, and on the edge of panic Alex hurriedly turned it the other way.  Ham slumped, panting.  As she brought the indicator to what she hoped was zero, he fell back in the chair, gasping for breath but apparently free of the probe.

The door wouldn't open, so she repeated Petersen's earlier action and kicked it in, hurrying to wrench the solid restraints from Tyler's arms and legs.

"Ham?.. oh Christ, come on... Ham?"  That task completed she disengaged the electrodes and cupped his face in her hands, "Ham, please..."

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and suddenly closed as he pulled away.

"No... you're not real... I am not here.. I...," he shivered.  Alex drew closer to him, her fear for him strong, and laid her fingers reassuringly against his cheek.

"Ham... it's Alex.  It's no dream... look around you."

Hesitantly, he obeyed, glancing through the glass at the shattered bodies of five aliens and briefly noting the belated arrival of two of his own people at the doorway.  Their presence did not wholly register, however, as his eyes closed again and he leaned into Alex's ready embrace.  For a time she said nothing, holding him until the trembling subsided, and he blinked his eyes open.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he drew back, but left one hand carefully in hers, reality and his release reassured by the contact, "They were just... asking questions."  His breathing was returning to normal but he didn't fully trust himself to stand yet.  Alex smiled shakily and put her arms around his neck and she leaned forward to press her lips gently to his forehead.  He relaxed into her hold again, aware it was not in keeping with his usual image, but at the moment not caring.
 
 

"She took care of it all by herself," Tash informed him, "She's one hell of a lady."

"Yeah," Chris wheezed, and closed his eyes.

"Ambulance is coming," she continued, studying his pale face with concern.  "So there's nothing to worry about."

"Who's worried?... I had... worse... in th' brawls... at the officer's club... in 'Nam..." he tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.

"Just shut up," she told him tetchily, but the hand she placed on his shoulder took any harshness out of the words.

Taylor stuck his head round the door jamb.

"Cooper cleared 'em upstairs, and we've got some prisoners.  The ambulance is on its way."

Petersen nodded her thanks, and she hunkered down to keep an eye on Faber until the medics arrived.
 
 

Kahlil's patriotic bid for victory had failed, absolutely and irrevocably.  His family, he knew, would denounce him, unwilling to taint their name with his disgrace.  The most he could do know was to face his certain death with dignity and the conviction that he had done only what he thought was right.  That, too, was the only comfort he could offer his supporters as they too were plucked from their positions on the motherships and thrown into holding cells.

None of them had long to wait or to worry about their manner of execution.  Within a day of Lawrence's death the alien justice was administered, amidst widespread publicity, and on Planet Earth all but the most isolated of the Visitor renegades knew it was over.
 
 

Tyler was somewhat annoyed at Alex and Petersen for allowing Tyler-Faber Enterprises to be shoved out of the deal, once he'd convinced the nursing sister he didn't need to stay in hospital for observation.  (It was a point with which she disagreed, but was not about to argue.)  Chris Faber was still in his own private ward, recovering nicely from the operation but not in much of a condition to argue with anyone about anything, let alone an unwanted stay in a hospital bed.

It took fourty-eight hours for Tash to finally get home again, and she paused on the way up the stairs, not at all sure she wanted to confront her parents yet again.  She did, however, have to wash up and change before she went to the hospital to visit Chris.  Finally, with a sigh, she climbed to the fourth floor, expecting an argument as soon as she went inside.

"Oh.  You're back."  Eileen's voice was timid, and she turned abruptly back to the task of closing the small suitcase that was laid out on the bench.

Tash took in the scene in one searching glance.  Her parents were dressed for travel, carrying what few possessions they had left to them.  She looked back to her mother.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

Eileen nodded, unable to speak, and Henry put an arm about his wife's shoulder.   "Uncle Thomas, in Florida, says we can stay there..."

Tash nodded mutely, moving past them and into the living room.

"We were hoping you'd get back before the taxi came... we wanted to say goodbye."

There was an awkward silence, in which Tash momentarily lost her expressionless mask.  Her family was leaving -- after all the fighting she had done; after the long months of searching.  They'd hardly had the chance to learn to know each other again.  It hadn't been working out at all, she knew -- mom and dad wanted their innocent nineteen year old daughter back, and she wanted them to accept her as the war had changed her; and the differences between the two were too radical for compromise.

Henry cleared his throat and picked up a suitcase.  "Don't want to miss the taxi," he said.

Tash nodded again and looked up to meet his eyes.  As though for the first time she noticed how frail he was -- how both of them were.  She swallowed and glanced away again, feeling that she had been just as selfish as they had been.

"Goodbye Natasha."

"Bye Dad."  She said it dry-eyed.  The ability to cry had abandoned her long ago.

"Goodbye... dear..."  Eileen closed her eyes against the tears and tried to take command of her emotions.  "Will you... write... sometimes?"

An unfamiliar look of gentleness softened Tash's features for a moment.  "Yeah, mom, I'll write.  Give my regards to Uncle Tom... take care of yourselves."  She paused, looking down to her feet, knowing something else had to be said.  "I'm... sorry," she said after a long moment, "I just... I can't be what you want."  She shrugged slightly, glancing back up to them.  "I just..."  She didn't know what else to say; how to express her regret, to tell them not to worry, that she had friends and wasn't alone.  She could only watch them as they walked to the door.

"Call me," she finally managed, "Let me know you got there okay."

"Yeah..." Henry nodded, taking some comfort in the request.

Tash watched from the window as her parents climbed into the cab, and disappeared towards the airport.  Taking a deep breath, she turned away and went off to shower and change.

Her spirits lifted a little on the way to the hospital and on an impulse she bought a bunch of flowers from a roadside florist.  It turned out to be a mistake as there was not way to protect the delicate petals on a motorbike, and by the time she made her way up to Chris' room the flowers were so wind torn as to be unsalvageable.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, stepping quietly into the room.

Chris grimaced at her.  "I'd feel better if I wasn't in here."  He waved an arm to indicate the hospital in general, then noticed the bunch of mangled flowers she held.  Tash shrugged, searched for a reasonably intact bloom, and handed it over with a wry smile.

"Took it here on the bike.  Should've known better."

Chris inspected the bedraggled specimen and laughed, causing a sharp twinge of pain and a wince.  Tash sat beside him on the bed.

"Remind me not to tell you any good jokes."

"Yeah," he replied, brow furrowed as he breathed deeply, waiting for the pain to subside.  "I'll do that."

Tash was suddenly concerned.  "You okay?  You want me to get a nurse or something...?"

"Christ no.  Nurse's uglier 'n sin."

Tash laughed sceptically, patting his ample cheek in mock sympathy.  "Poor thing."

"I thought so.."  He trailed off in surprise as Tash suddenly leaned forward to give that same cheek a quick peck.   Tash drew back a little, and the uncharacteristic impulsiveness afflicting her today took them bow unawares as she kissed him, very quickly and hesitantly, on the lips.

Chris stared at her in complete amazement as, feeling a right fool, her expression closed up and she started to stand.  Her escape was cut short, however, as a large hand closed over hers.

Furiously embarrassed, she turned sharply to glare at him, only to find his smile was not one of mockery after all.  If anything, he was looking rather sheepish, but pleased.  Unable to move far himself, he exerted a gentle pressure on her hand, encouraging her to move closer.  She obliged uncertainly, and for a moment the two hard-bitten soldiers shared a coy first kiss.

The door swung open and Ham and Alex Tyler took one step into the room, took in the situation at a glance, and stepped out again, closing the door behind them.

Tyler paused, checking his watch.  "We'll give them a few moments to compose themselves," he told Alex magnanimously.  Alex was grinning from ear to ear, overcome with the sheer unlikelihood of the scene they had just witnessed.

"Aren't they so... cute!" she declared in a whisper, "But who'd have thought...?"

"That's what they said about us," he reminded her, but he was shaking his own head in wonder.  Still, Petersen and Chris had been working closely together for quite some time now, so it wasn't entirely startling.

After a decent period of time, Ham knocked gently on the door -- an action which nearly had Alex in fits of laughter -- and walked in.

Tash was still on the edge of the bed, her face composed and an eyebrow arched in a 'you-want-to-make-something-of-it?' challenge.  Tyler declined, but had to deliver a warning glance to Alex, who was dying to comment.

Chris soon gave up being embarrassed about it and was smiling openly, actually inviting comment which Tyler, in deference to Petersen, did not succumb to.

"How you feeling, Tank?" he asked, noting the tattered bunch of flowers on the bed, and reminding himself that he was not to comment on the previous scene.

Even through the bantering, Chris could sense a lingering tension in Ham, and accurately guessed that his brief imprisonment in the conversion chamber was still plaguing him -- very probably giving him nightmares, like the last time, as Alex too looked a little tired, and had probably stayed up with him all night.  They both needed to relax a bit more.

"I'm fine thanks, Ferret," Chris replied with a grin, and quickly held up a placating hand as Ham frowned.  "Come on, I'm a sick man..." he pleaded.

"You will be if you call me Ferret again."

"Ferret??" asked Alex, dumbfounded, before dissolving into laughter, "Your nickname's Ferret??!!"

"Only in 'Nam," Chris assured her as Ham eyed him blackly, "'Cos of the way he could wriggle down those tunnels after Charlie.  Ferret and Tank.  What a team, eh?"

His broad grin finally got to Tyler, who shook his head and smiled.

"Alex brought something for you," he said, and his smile became malicious.  Alex proudly handed over a tine, which he pried open.

"Fresh baked cookies!" Chris was delighted.

"I baked them myself," the vet announced triumphantly.  The admission received a mixed reaction -- Chris' face fell as he sniffed suspiciously at the tin; Tash inspected the contents critically, having heard all about Mrs. Tyler's ability to burn things; and Ham bared his teeth wickedly.

"See what happens when you call me Ferret."

Alex was most put out.  "Hey!  I worked hard on that recipe!  I followed every instruction to the last detail!  It's just like mixing a formula really," she mused, "You just have to be careful."

Chris wasn't entirely convinced, and he picked up one of the cookies gingerly, inspecting it for visible faults.  None were apparent, but he was still filled with trepidation.  Tash sighed and took it from him.

"I'm already everything from messenger girl to body guard," she said, "I might as well be 'chief food taster' as well," and she took a careful bite.  Chris and Ham craned forward to watch her reaction, much to Alex's irritation.

Tash's eyebrows shot up.

"Good thing we're in a hospital," observed Chris.

"Good thing she's tough," added Tyler.  Alex thumped him, and glared at Tash, who swallowed and frowned at both her employers.

"These are good!" She admitted in some surprise, having expected them to be anything but.  To prove her point, she proceeded to eat the rest of the cookie.  Alex folded her arms, triumphantly glaring at the two men.

"What can I say?" Chris picked up a small sample and bit into it.

"We misjudged you," apologized Ham, all solemnity, "How can we make amends?"

Alex thumped him again, but they were both smiling.

Life could be pretty good sometimes.
 

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