Heather watched as the men in Beck's office crowded around the computer. There was much debate and pointing at the screen, but then a low voice interrupted her observations.

"You should go."

She turned to the speaker - a very calm Major Beck. In fact, she thought it was the most relaxed she'd ever seen him. Though that might have something to do with the glass in his hand; she could smell it from here.

"What?"

"You should go." he repeated. "If they decide I was wrong, they'll just re-arrest you along with me...and you don't want to go where they'll send us." He took another sip. "I have to stay. But you don't. You shouldn't."

"What if I want to stay?"

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"You stood up for me when you shouldn't have. I'll stay with you now."

"Ah, but if I hadn't, we wouldn't know the truth, now would we?"

"And when they learn the truth, they'll forgive you too."

He looked at her over his glass, a small smile crossing his face as he realized that she really believed that and that arguing was pointless.

"I hope you're right." he held up his glass. "Want some?"

"Sure."

She watched as he poured out a small quantity of the liquid into a conveniently located mug and handed it to her. She took a careful sip, sensing his amusement at her caution, but she was pretty sure that this stuff was stronger than what she was used to. Her suspicions were correct, and her reaction showed it.

"You normally drink stuff this strong?" she asked.

"Nah, been holding onto this bottle for a while now. Decided now was a good time to crack it open. You like it?"

"Um, gimme a minute to recover my taste buds."

They sat in silence for a time, working on their drinks. Heather watched the group in the office; Beck's gaze alternated between his men and Heather's oh-so-cautious sips as she got used to the burn. She was aware of glances, and felt her cheeks redden. She did her best to ignore him as she finished her drink and watched him pour another for himself.

"How long do you think they'll take?"

"I'd say not too long. Dunne's made up her mind, the others usually follow." He shrugged, glancing at the clock. Twenty-five minutes now. It only seemed like forever. Eventually the discussion in the office tapered off; they'd come to a decision. Beck downed the last of his drink and stood to receive the news. Heather slowly stood up next to him.

. . . . .

Major Beck watched as the others left the office, leaving behind a pile of patches. He felt a a sense of satisfaction as he turned to Heather, who at this point wore an all-out grin. He could see the glee bubbling up inside her. He knew that the situation was still very serious - he knew they weren't safe from Cheyenne, not really, not once they found out what Beck had done. But looking at Heather now, he couldn't help but smile as she stood there, giggles beginning to escape. Suddenly she squealed and threw her arms around him.

He froze, surprised. It took Heather a couple of seconds to notice, then she let him go. Her smile gave way to confusion as she looked askance at him. Once he regained his composure, he explained.

"I haven't hugged anyone in a really long time."

"Oh." she said. "I guess soldiers don't hug much, do they?"

"Not really." He replied, trying to remember the last time he'd hugged someone. Then he remembered. He felt the breath knocked out of him from a force he couldn't see. He was vaguely aware of two hands steadying his swaying form, and of a noise that seemed very far away. But the main sensation was an overwhelming sense of loss. He let himself be guided to a seat where he sat for a time.

"...ou okay?" the noise finally resolved into a question, and he looked towards the speaker. Heather. She seemed glad that he was starting to focus on her, and he wondered how long he'd been unresponsive.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"I..." He blinked, and swallowed hard, trying to get words out. "She's...gone."

"She's gone? Who's gone?"

"Ana... my wife...gone."

The words came out slowly, each sounding like it was pulled out from an unwilling heart with a pair of pliers.

"I'm sorry." she said, somewhat confused. The last she'd heard, his family was still missing. A question occurred to her, and she asked it without thinking. "What about your daughter?"

"No idea. I haven't heard anything specific."

"If you haven't heard, how do you know?"

"It's because I haven't heard. Every morning, I check all the lists. Every night."

"All the lists?" Heather repeated, confusion still evident.

"J&R, Red Cross West, Red Cross East, Texas, Mexico, UN... all the lists. They're not on any of them."

"Maybe she's..."

Beck cut her off.

"She's an army wife. She knows what she's supposed to do. If she were alive, she'd be on a list somewhere. I'd have gotten a letter, a call, something. I just kept hoping, kept pretending. I wanted to believe so much." He looked at her, defeated, letting the tears spill over. "After today, I can't pretend anymore."

Heather looked at him and her heart broke for him, wiping away her previous elation. She sat next to him, and it wasn't long before she found herself crying too - remembering the many that had died - and the country that had died with them.