Lt. Nathan McGee combed the rain out of his speckled grey hair as he walked into the small bar. He was a proud man; an obvious fact if anyone was to take one look at his military stance and the fire in his hazel eyes. He was a man who lived many hard years and stood tall against every single one of them.

At a table against the window, under the haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes, was a sight Nathan never expected to see.

"I would have never figured you as the bourbon type, son."

His son, one more prone to diving into computers with absolute glee than anything alcoholic, only snorted into the glass in front of him. "There are a lot of things about me that may surprise you, Dad."

Nathan took that as an invitation and signaled the bartender for a glass to share with his son's bottle before he took a seat at the table. "My memory may be getting a bit dimmer with my old age, but I could have sworn you were still under aged."

"I'll be twenty one in seven months. I'm just getting a head start."

Nathan kept silent. The bartender came by with the ordered glass and Nathan watched Tim carefully between sips. His son's glazed eyes watched the rain fall outside the window. He didn't say anything but Nathan expected that much from him. He poured himself a drink instead.

He knew his son. He would talk when he's ready.

Finally, Tim directed his gaze back to his father and he put the glass back on the table.

"I'll be fine," Tim reassured.

It was Nathan's turn to snort into his glass. "Will you? I'm worried about you. We all are."

"Let me ask you, Dad. If a tree-?" Tim stopped and rethought his question. "If… a man dies in the desert and there's no one there to see him live, then did he really live?"

"Is this what you've been asking your therapist?"

Tim shrugged. "Something like that. I don't think therapy is working. Maybe I should stop going."

"Son-"

"It's just that…I'm still there, Dad. I'm still in the sand and very lost and I… I just don't know who I am or where I'm going anymore."

"Yes."

"Yes to what?"

"That's my answer. A man can't die unless he's lived. And you're a smart boy. You'll use that sharp mind to find a way home."

I promise you, McGee, I will get you out of here. You have my word on that.

His dad poured them both another drink and Tim didn't respond back. He was too distracted at the rain and the boy staring back at him in the glass. In time (if time ever moved again),Tim will find himself grieving like he should, wailing against the unfairness of losing what he never had in the first place.

Ten years. Ten odd years of a life that never happened.

There were worst things in life than death.

Tim raised his glass as if toasting the reflection in the glass and downed the rest of his drink.