Sam didn't know when he had fallen asleep, or when he had slept so well, but he knew what had woke him up. Carly was curled up on the ground, her head resting comfortably in his lap. A twig snapped and his attention was drawn away from the deep even breathing of the sleeping woman to thirty feet from them, on his right. His ears perked like a skunk searching for grubs beneath the soil. Leaves rustled overhead, but there was no breeze. He had removed his goggles earlier, so he put them back on. Night vision showed nothing. He switched them to thermal vision and gently extracted himself as Carly's pillow and double-checked his Five-seveN. A thermal pattern was visible through the dense foliage. He kept his pistol trained on the intruder, switched back to night vision, but it turned out to be nothing more than a deer. He turned his scope on and scanned the trees above, but the only thing he saw was an owl chasing a bat through the treetops.

Sam left their temporary camp to walk the perimeter once more, before settling down. He got up and stretched wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. His bones cracked like a grandparent hefting a husky grandchild. This past week had dragged on his mind and spirit, yet his body had taken the brunt of it. The metal cot had been the worst part of this whole experience. Dr. Zither's attempts at breaking him had been almost comical. She hadn't been wholeheartedly into the project and he could tell that from the beginning. He had guessed the strain of her job had finely cracked her glossy exterior. She had proclaimed her love to him and he hadn't shunned her, but he had shunned the thought of her possibly actually loving him.

Sam Fisher was not a man to be loved. His wife had shown him that. Regan Burns had even told him that on the few times he had actually been home long enough for them to have any sort of discussion past the niceties of stranger on a bus. Their last argument had gone on for two weeks, until Regan had finely exploded.

Regan sat in her chair, doing a crossword and watching Jeopardy at the same time. It was her favorite pastime. She would guess the answers to the crossword and fill in the blanks, while answering Alex Trebec in the form of a question. That night she had been holding the remote in one hand and an open book, filled with crossword puzzles, was propped open on her knees. She was silent though. She didn't blurt out answers and her pen was still sitting on the coffee table beside her. Sam came home, not even realizing the lateness of his arrival, or that Regan had been stewing in her own angry malcontent since he had said something about her quitting the NSA two weeks earlier. According to her, as her husband, Sam should be supportive of her decision to work and not put her in an apron in front of a hot stove. Sam had just suggested that, since she had looked so peeked the last few weeks, that she might want to take some time off from the NSA and go on a long leave. To Regan, that meant just being a good little wife and mother and she wouldn't be content with just being anything. She wanted a career of her own and the ability to follow through with any options she might want to take up.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." Regan glanced at him sideways. "I know that's an awful cliché, but its as good as I could come up with at this time of night."

"I'm sorry honey, I'll try to be more considerate of the time, while I'm out saving the world. Should I call up Lambert and tell him to tell the terrorists, that my wife only wants me to work between the hours of nine and five?" Sam tossed his Osprey on the bed and came back into the kitchen to riffle through the refrigerator. It was empty. "You could have at least bought some milk, dear." He had a little anger stored up himself and was letting it show through his, usually, unruffled surface.

"Oh? Are we out of milk, Pooky?" When had pet names become so volatile? "Maybe the big strong NSA spy should have picked some up on the way home from work and saved his dear wife a trip to town, since he took the only car to work again and she didn't have any change for the bus."

"I have to work Regan. What's wrong with your car?" Sam mumbled past a mouthful of cheese and stale crackers he was trying to choke down, that he had found in the cupboard. "It works, doesn't it?" He flopped down on the couch.

"No and you would have known that, had you paid any attention to me in the last two weeks, when I told you that the fuel gasket had to be replaced and the timing belt was shot. I have to work too you know and I have other obligations. I have Sara to raise, practically by myself. I have PTA meetings, clarinet lessons, shopping to do, and doctor appointments to go to. Do you even know that Sara needs braces on her teeth, or that she was picked to be the angle in the school's Christmas Pageant?"

Sam looked genuinely shocked and dismayed at missing so much of his daughter's life. Sara barely knew who he was and he would be surprised if she knew she even had a father. Most of his time was spent at work and when he was home, which wasn't that often, Sara was either at school or asleep. He was ashamed, until Regan started harping on him again. At the time he had been feeling abused by Regan's harsh words, but had he known she why she was really upset, he would have forgiven her.

"I doubt you even know her birthday. You're so caught up in yourself and your work, that you don't have time for a family. I'm beginning to think that you don't even know what a family is for and I'm tired of trying to love someone who doesn't love me back."

"I'm just a piece of cardboard, is that it? I have no feelings?" Sam stood up and strode towards the door. The cheese sat in his gut like a lump.

Regan stayed seated. Her lips were drawn and her eyes were pitiless. "Oh, I think you have feelings, but just not for me. Not anymore. The honeymoon is over and our marriage is well past the expiration date."