Sam was almost afraid to go into the little A-frame. He had purchased it with a future in mind, had purchased so much with a future in mind, and now that future was canceled. He had sold off his Texas holdings without so much as a backward glance but this little place was different. He couldn’t bring himself to give it up. It stood for too much that he wasn’t ready to face quite yet, and a great deal that he would never face if he had his way, and he usually did about such things.

Sam stopped cold. It sounded like Strannix. What the goddamn hell would Strannix be doing here all by his lonesome?

Sam slowly cocked his head in a thinking/listening posture. It was a good thing that he had no idea just how much he resembled his nemesis, Hewey. Things might have been worse.

Sam marched inside, to find Strannix perched on his couch trying to get something to come in on the television. Beer cans were lined up on the end table, a motorcycle jacket lay in a heap in a chair and Strannix’ boots were all over the coffee table.

Sam growled. He had forgotten why he'd been apprehensive about entering the house. His entire attention was focused on Strannix. He flexed his fingers, from fist to open hand, over and over. His face was beginning to turn red. Bill merely stared at him serenely, an impish grin beginning to form at the edges of his mouth.

The fight lasted for twenty minutes. It started in the living room, then progressed outside when Bill nearly (and accidentally) threw Sam headfirst into the television. They ended up in a stalemate, sitting on the ground, both of them with their hair full of dirt and clothes marred by large grass stains and spots of blood where they'd dealt each other cuts or scrapes. It was a short time afterwards that they'd dragged themselves back into the cabin, silent, both of them eventually crashing in the bathroom and hitting the first-aid stash.

Bill and Sam, adversaries forever, found themselves parked across from one another over a cooler loaded with Moosehead. There was a refrigerator twelve feet away, but they were both too intent to bother to get up. Both Bill and Sam's knuckles sported bright white bandages. Big hands were fisted around beer bottles, and they glared into the middle distance.

Silence. Bottles were drained, caps were popped. Somebody burped.

Sam drank deeply.

Bill pondered the table for a moment.

Long swallows. Bill dumped his second dead soldier into the cooler.

Strannix leaned forward, a spasm crossing his craggy features.

Sam considered this gravely, remembering how he had persuaded Strannix to let the system do its job, and how the very system he'd convinced Bill to defer to, the one Sam had worked to protect and preserve throughout his entire professional life, had failed them both so catastrophically.

Another long silence.

Sam struggled for words. He knew Strannix went out on these missions for the government. Whoever the man worked for, what he did, or where he went was something no one really knew. That he worked through Casey Ryback was something that Sam had recently learned from Deb. He'd laughed his ass off for an hour after hearing it.

Good enough, Sam thought.

Bill sighed.

Sam grimaced, finished his beer, contemplated another. He picked one out of the cooler but did not open it. He stared at the label.

They both looked up at the same time, recognized the looks on each others faces.

Sam dropped his eyes to his beer again, busied himself with opening the bottle.

Bill sighed again.

Bill shook his head.

Bill discarded his empty, thrust his hand into the cooler and came up with another empty.

Before Bill could retrieve more beer, the telltale chirp of a cellphone broke the near-silence. Both men grabbed their phones. Sam tossed his over his shoulder when he realized it was for Bill. There was the sound of Ma Bell hitting the sink behind him.

A long silence. Sam raised his eyebrow. This wasn't Deb, nor anyone else in the house. His… boss? Sam smirked slightly at the thought of Strannix taking orders. He'd pay a lot of money to see Bill saying 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' to anyone.

Bill hung up the phone without another word, thank you, sayonara, goodbye, or kiss my ass. He rose.

Sam made no move to ask. He simply nodded and watched as the man gathered up his jacket and took off. He shook his head, took a slow look around, to a life that was not his anymore, nor, he predicted silently, ever would be again.

Another shitty night in paradise and, as what seemed usual lately…I didn't have the slightest idea where Bill was.

Jade grumbled.

Ryan took off, and Jade sighed.

I sighed. I usually did a fair job not thinking about what he did when he was out doing it unless someone brought it directly to my attention. Jade had inadvertently done just that and I sank into an instant funk. Cori stuck her head out of the kitchen.

Jade moved off purposefully into the crowd with the loaded plate. She passed the table which Lehman had, more or less, taken over for himself. It had reached a point where nobody else sat at it because one or the other of us kept it clear until he arrived to claim it. The man was the least of our worries most nights. All we really had to do was make sure he saw our little Cori hard at it and then he would drink himself stupid and all would be well

I turned to the back-bar to see what needed bringing up from the cellar. I made a short list of the brands which were running low. When I turned back, I was looking for Jade. She would help me with the pack-horse detail, once she was free.

I stopped, turned around. Bill was there, just sitting down with Lehman, and he looked like he couldn't have moved another step if he had wanted to. It was his eyes that bothered me most though. I couldn't describe the look in them. I had never seen it before, and I didn't like it.

Jade made her way through the crowd, stopped at Table Lehman, and placed the beer in front of Bill.

He grinned mindlessly up at Jade. He'd been there for a while and was pretty thoroughly anesthetized. Bill didn't look up once.

Bill had picked the perfect person to sit with. Travis Lehman had nothing to say that didn't amount to a liquor order. Bill could sit and drink his beer in dead silence and Lehman would think nothing of it. We watched them, but it was beginning to seem that watching grass grow had a greater possibility of excitement.

Bill drained the beer, set the bottle down with elaborate care, and looked at us. He made a beckoning motion with one long index finger.

The beer bottle flew between us. He hadn't lost any of his accuracy.

Jade studied the remains of the beer bottle that had disintegrated upon connecting with the back wall.

Jade dug around in the cooler and came up with the beer, gave it to me with slight trepidation. I poured it in a glass so he wouldn't kill me right away, gathered up Lehman's rotgut, and took it out to them.

I served him, and he gave me his usual look, the one that said he was grateful, but he expected I knew it. I went to Bill, and set the glass in front of him.

I did a quick examination, and I noticed a discolored area just creeping up over the collar of his shirt. There was probably more, but his clothes obscured it.

Bill grunted a thanks.

Time for a strategic retreat. Especially since he hadn't really tasted the beer yet. I scampered off to the bar. Jade appeared at my elbow.

Jade was muttering.

At that moment, a bottle sailed by my head.

I went out to ask what in hell his problem was.

He moved suddenly, but caught his breath and stifled a groan. I eyed him.

Bill turned and gave Lehman the Look of Death, which didn't affect the PO in the least. He just smiled blindly and took another drink. Bill then turned his attention back to me. A determined look settled on his face, and he stood up, started towards the bar. Halfway there, his knees buckled and he caught himself on a barstool before his face hit the floor. Jade took that moment to poke her head out of the kitchen.

Jade dropped to her knees beside him.

Jade looked up at me.

Elmore appeared at my elbow.

Bill sounded extremely frustrated.

Elmore held out his hand, and Bill took it, only to use it as leverage. He swung his fist into Elmore's jaw with an audible crack. Elmore caught his arm in his own free fist, held Bill easily. Too easily, by my estimation.

Bill finally stopped fighting, stood up as straight as he could. He was sober enough not to refuse help from the boy.

When I got home, he was asleep, lying uncovered in the bed, arms wrapped around one of the several pillows. I stared at him for a moment, and then realized what had surprised me. He was wearing a t-shirt with his flannel pants. I figured that Elmore probably helped him get dressed and he'd left the shirt on. Neverthless, I found it odd.

After taking a shower, I slipped into bed beside him. He hadn't moved an inch. I nestled close to him, taking comfort in his warmth, and he groaned in his sleep. I reached up to turn off the light when my eyes stopped at his neck again. The bruises were dark, and they trailed down underneath the shirt. I wanted to wake him up and make him tell me what happened to him, to skin the clothes off and let me examine him. But I wanted him to sleep off the amazing amount of alcohol he'd consumed. Maybe in the morning he'd listen to me, when he was clearheaded.

Then again, who was I kidding?