He knew he should never have let you go off on that mission alone. It was suicide, and now you're gone, he can still see those three letters on the report: MIA. Once again, happiness slipped out of his hands, you were his blessing, his light. He didn't even have time to take you on a date of your own, to tell you everything he felt, everything he was hiding deep inside. He loves you .... You and your sarcastic remarks, the way you flex your muscles pretending to be more muscular than he him, your laugh, your whistle. That tune you created on your first mission together, a hymn of hope, a bond, a promise to always find each other. He is a fool. Regrets accumulated more and more as the months went by, if only he'd been able to ....

He sighs as he lights his umpteenth cigarette of the day while sitting against a tree in the green space of the base, offering himself a rare moment of rest. A bitter smile on his lips as he thinks back to all the times you've lectured him on his smoking habits, the way your nose twitches slightly as soon as you smell smoke. He takes another puff, god, he misses you. He sighs as he closes his eyes and begins to whistle, that tune, your tune as he closes his eyes, knowing full well he won't get an answer.

He opens his eyes abruptly, his senses on alert, as he hears someone whistling, whistling to him that tune he knows, your tune. An ounce of hope in his heart, as he straightens up looking for where the sound is coming from