Disclaimer: The Last Ship and its characters aren't mine; I just borrowed them for short while and now I'm placing them back where they belong.
Lasagna Wednesdays
It had been a Thursday morning when Tom Chandler had walked off of the Nathan James and out of the United States Navy. The following Monday, under a sunny, cerulean Fall sky, Tom had stood around a closed casket with his children and countless friends who were really more like family to say a final goodbye to his father and lay Jed Chandler to rest. The fact that the elder Chandler's final resting place was located steps away from that of Dr. Rachel Scott's was not lost on a single one of the mourners. Had anyone felt the need to inquire after such a placement, Tom would have explained it in exactly the way the idea had first come to him. Tom had failed, in the end, to protect both Rachel and his father so he chose to give them to one another in whatever life may come after this one. He still held out hope from his childhood days of Sunday School in the Methodist Church back home that the life after this one was a better place; better than what troubles clouded the present world at any rate. But no one questioned Tom Chandler.
Two days later, he found himself amongst the same group of mourners, this time standing alongside Kathleen Nolan to bid farewell to her own father. The young girl had requested that her father be buried next to Rachel. "He loved her, you know," she'd said to Tom when he'd finally found the courage to talk to her and tell her of her father's resolute bravery and unwavering devotion. "He died loving her."
"He was one of the best men I've ever known, Kathleen," Tom had told her, squeezing her shoulder to offer what small comfort he could to his friend's grieving daughter. "He loved you, too, remember that, always." It wasn't much, Tom knew, but it was something, and he'd vowed then and there, in memory of his friend, Tex, to always look after Kathleen. She'd since found a home with Garnett and Bertrise, and Tom just knew that the three of them would be good for one another.
But life, as it always does, goes on, and Tom found himself going right along with it, this time in the role of a civilian, single father. As the days turned into weeks, Tom had done all of the things that a parent was supposed to do for their children – he'd done the shopping, washed their clothes, cooked their meals (though he'd be the first to admit that he'd failed tremendously in that particular area), and helped them with their homework. At night, he'd held them when one or both of them had been awakened with nightmares – hellish scenarios plagued the dreamscapes of both his children. If it wasn't reliving their mother's sickness and subsequent death at the unseen hands of the Red Flu, then it was the godawful sight of their beloved grandfather being executed in front of them by one of Allison Shaw's henchmen while the other held them in place and forced them to watch. Last night, though, had been the worst.
Tom had awakened to the feeling of someone watching him, and when his eyes had flown open, Ashley had been standing there, her face pale and her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She'd had asthma as a toddler, and Tom was immediately reminded of those terrible bouts when he and Darien would cradle Ashley between them, holding the masked inhaler to her face, praying that they'd not be forced to take her to the emergency room once again. He'd reached up from the bed and traced her face with his fingers, softly inquiring if she was all right.
She'd nodded jerkily before asking him, "Daddy, can I get in bed with you, just for a little while?"
Tom had thrown back the covers and patted the empty space beside him in answer. Ashley hadn't wasted a second, crawling hurriedly over him and plopping down next to him. She'd buried her face in his chest and had asked in a small, quavering voice, "Daddy, what will happen to Sam and me if you die?"
Initially struck dumb by her question, Tom had shifted into a sitting position, pulling Ashley with him and into his lap, just as he'd held her when she'd been a baby. "Why do you ask that, sweetheart?" He stroked her hair, feeling his child's entire body shaking.
"I dreamt you died, Daddy," Ashley had whispered in the dark. "You were gone, and Sam and I were all alone. It was so real, in my dream, I mean, Daddy." She'd lifted her head then, peered earnestly into his eyes. "I just had to come make sure you were still here." Then she had dissolved into tears until she'd cried herself to sleep. Tom had spent the remainder of the night, wide awake, watching over his daughter.
The days passed in equal succession – wake up, get ready, wake the kids and get them breakfast before walking them to school, back home to tend the house and wait on the kids to come home from school, when he'd help with homework and they'd eat whatever manner of food he'd managed to neither undercook nor set on fire. His dad had brought Tom's mother's recipe collection with him from Virginia, but even following Eleanor Chandler's carefully written instructions could not make a chef out of Tom.
After four weeks, he'd managed pancakes, mashed potatoes and chicken soup – not exactly a thrilling repertoire of recipes, as far as his children were concerned. Ashley could prepare several dishes herself, having already learned some things from her mother, but Tom felt like it was his responsibility to provide for Sam and Ashley, and he was determined to succeed, hell or high water. His children, bless their hearts, just fell in line like the good sailors they felt their father needed them to be, and tried to eat each meal without complaint.
So it was on one particular Wednesday evening, when faced with yet another batch of burned chicken and clumpy mashed potatoes, both children went racing towards the living room and away from the dinner table to answer the unexpected knocking at the front door. It was early, barely dusk, but Tom still couldn't figure out for the life of him who would be on his front porch. If he'd been a betting man, he'd have put his money on Mike or possibly Russ, but he'd have lost on either of those hands. For when his kids, practically tripping over one another's feet in their haste to be first to greet their unknown guest, flung open the front door, it revealed the absolute last person in the free world he expected to see. Sasha Cooper was standing on his front porch, holding two large pans, one stacked on top of the other, in her hands. He'd honestly never been so glad, yet terrified, to see someone in his entire life. After all, he'd kissed Sasha until they'd both been breathless, and then he'd walk away from her. In his experience with women, that generally wasn't behavior conducive to staying on a woman's good side.
Ashley, proving to be somewhat more socially capable than her father, smiled sunnily at Sasha to welcome her. "Captain Cooper, hi!" The kids had met Sasha at their grandfather's funeral, and Tom distinctly remembered Ashley had spent a good deal of time during the wake sticking close to Sasha. Sasha, for her part, had taken it all in stride. Sam echoed his sister's words when Tom finally recovered enough to offer his own. He laid a hand on Ashley's shoulder to indicate that she, and by extension Sam, should step back.
"Sasha, please, come on in," he indicated with a sweeping gesture of his free arm all the while wondering what had brought Sasha to his door, with food no less, if the incredibly delicious odors wafting his way were any indication. Stepping past the Chandler clan, Sasha entered the house properly and headed straight for the kitchen, knowing her hosts would follow her. Setting her cargo on the counter, she turned back to Tom and his children.
"I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I thought I'd invite myself over for dinner tonight," she said, a tiny smirk turning up the corner of her, Tom admitted to himself, very pretty mouth. At Tom's gobsmacked expression, Sasha continued on. "Knowing you can't boil water to save your own life, Tom, I brought dinner along with my self-extended invitation. I really hope you all like lasagna."
`Sam's eyes lit up in a manner normally only displayed on his birthday or Christmas morning. "We love lasagna!" he exclaimed, and Tom could only stand, shell shocked as his kids whirled about the kitchen like tiny tornadoes, Ashley clearing away their original dinner and Sam grabbing clean plates. Sasha had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the sight. While the kids scurried around them, she sidled closer to Tom, pleased when he took a step in an effort to get closer to her.
"I hope you don't mind too much," she said simply, and Tom shook his head.
"I don't mind," he answered quickly and looked like he wanted to say more but the kids had finished their tasks and were waiting not so patiently for the adults to get on with the business of eating dinner. Swallowing whatever he'd been about to say to her, Tom just slid out one of the chairs and tilted his head for Sasha to sit down. Then he brought over the two pans to the table. When Sasha uncovered first what he could tell was homemade lasagna and then a pan of hot, buttery garlic bread, Tom thought he might actually drool. He watched the scene unfold before him, Sasha dishing out the pasta first to Ashley, then Sam and finally Tom before placing a serving on her own plate. Tom passed around the bread, and soon the family and their guest-chef settled down to eat.
When Tom tasted his first bite, he was positive he'd be drooling. It was good. Beyond good, it was great. He was about to share his sentiments with Sasha when Sam beat him to the punch.
"Captain Cooper, this is the best lasagna I've ever had!"
"It really is," Ashley agreed, moaning around her fork. "I'm so glad you came over tonight!"
"Me, too," Sam echoed enthusiastically. "You can come over any time you want to, Captain Cooper. Dad is a really bad cook!"
"Gee, thanks, son, don't hold back," Tom mumbled wryly, but Sasha only laughed along with the kids. She reached over and squeezed Tom's hand briefly, and the swift contact left his fingers tingling.
For the rest of the evening, laughter echoed loudly throughout the Chandler residence, and Tom simply sat back in wonder at the magic unfolding at his dinner table. Not even an hour after arriving, Sasha had already made an indelible change in the demeanor of Tom's family. Ashley's eyes sparkled again as she laughed at one of Sam's silly jokes. Sam was talking a mile a minute about the basketball team his school was forming. Sasha kept the kids talking, asking questions about their classes, their hobbies and their friends, and before Tom knew it, nearly two hours had gone by. They'd stopped eating long ago, having finished off every bite of both the lasagna and the bread. As much as the thought of the evening coming to an end saddened Tom, he knew that the kids needed to get ready for bed. Predictably, Ashley and Sam saw things differently when Tom told them to head upstairs.
"Dad, do we have to?" Ashley pleaded, but a look from Tom shut down any further complaints.
"Now, why don't you two turkeys say goodnight to our guest?" he suggested, pleased when both of his kids ran over to hug Sasha. If she was overwhelmed by their gesture, she didn't let it show. Instead, she wrapped an arm around each child and returned their affectionate squeeze.
"Will you come back tomorrow night, Captain Cooper?" Sam asked as he and Ashley made their way to the stairs. Sasha shot a quick look at Tom who only grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
"I tell you what, Sam, I'm not sure if I can come back tomorrow night, but how about I promise to come back when I can if you drop this 'Captain Cooper' business. Just call me Sasha."
Sammy smiled a perfect imitation of his father's and said, "You've got a deal, Sasha."
"Sasha," Ashley began shyly. "When you do come again, will you bring lasagna?"
Tom laughed, then, and so did Sasha, but she agreed to Ashley's request. When the kids disappeared from sight, Tom and Sasha turned to one another, and for the first time since she'd arrived, an awkward silence permeated the air. "Well, I can't thank you enough," Tom said at last, but Sasha only waived him off.
"I should be thanking you," she told him. "I'm the one who gate-crashed your dinner."
Tom cast a baleful eye to the pitiful excuse of a meal he'd prepared and then turned back to Sasha. "Consider this a standing invitation to gate crash us any time." He met Sasha's gaze head on and they seemed to get lost in one another's eyes for a long moment. Shaking himself out of the stupor, Tom said at last, "I should probably let you get on back home."
"Oh, no, here," she protested. "Let me help you with the clean-up." Tom found that a large part of him really didn't want Sasha to leave, but part of him knew that the timing just wasn't quite right.
"Nah, I'll take care of it," he told her. "Turns out retirement leaves you with a lot of free time on your hands," he finished with a chuckle that trailed off when Sasha suddenly took a step forward, bringing her within touching distance of Tom. The last time they'd been that close, Tom had taken Sasha's mouth in a heated kiss onboard the James. Though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to give a repeat performance, he stoically, cowardly, remained still. His companion suffered from no such reservations. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, before flicking upward again to his sky blue eyes.
Leaning closer, her breath ghosted across his mouth as she whispered, "Relax, Cowboy, I don't bite; well, not too hard anyway." Then, she pressed her mouth to his in a gentle kiss, pulling away just as Tom was ready to deepen their connection. Slipping out of his arms, Sasha walked to the door and opened it before calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you next Wednesday, Tom." Then she was gone, and Tom was left alone in his dining room, wrecked and wanting. Sasha stopped just on the other side of the door, taking a deep breath and smiling at how the evening had gone. Once, long ago, she'd been fool enough to let Tom Chandler go. Now that fate had gifted them with a second chance to get things right, she'd not make the same mistake twice.
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True to her word, Sasha had dutifully turned up on Tom Chandler's door step the following Wednesday evening, lasagna in tow. She'd repeated the pattern the next week and the one after that, each time getting to know his children better and better and always stealing a goodnight kiss from Tom before she left. After nearly two months of sharing Wednesday night meals, Sasha was practically a staple in the Chandler home. They'd finished this week's meal, and the kids had turned in, but not until Ashley had extracted a promise from Sasha to help her pick out a dress for her first junior high dance that was to take place in three weeks' time. Sasha had been an active participant in the campaign to convince Tom to even allow Ashley to attend the dance, and he'd only relented when Sasha had suggested that she and Tom volunteer their time as chaperones. Sasha had also read two chapters of The Jungle Book to Sam. She'd discovered early on that the little boy adored reading, and reading together had become something just for the two of them.
Now, the kids having long since gone to bed, Sasha lingered in the living room, not wanting to leave at all. Even better, she was willing to bet that Tom wasn't exactly in a hurry to see her go, either. Proving her right, Tom offered her a beer and then quickly retrieved two from the fridge when she told him she'd love nothing more. They sat facing one another on the sofa, and Tom touched his bottle to hers in a toast. Sasha took a healthy swig from her bottle and then sat it on the coffee table. This night, she was determined to lay all her cards on the table. Spreading her hands on her thighs, she took a deep breath and inched closer to Tom.
Tom, for his part, matched her gaze with his own as she crept slowly forward. When she got within reach, he did so, catching her waist and hauling her against him. She settled over him in all the right places, and he grunted low at the breathy, little squeaking sound she made. There'd been a time in his life when he'd spent hours drawing that same sound from her. He nuzzled her nose with his, breathing her in, the scent of jasmine clinging to her skin as it had all those years ago. That scent had haunted his dreams for months after he'd left her, but now it thrilled him. His hands roamed across her back before settling on her hips, fingers digging into the denim in such a way that Sasha wished it were her bare flesh he was touching so intimately. Like a moth to a flame, she grazed his lips with hers and when his instantly parted, she wasted no time, slipping her tongue inside to dual with his. The first time she'd kissed Tom Chandler, she'd been 21 years old, and it had been a damn near religious experience. In fact, it had been the first time that Sasha had truly understood what the nuns at her top notch, boarding school in Bordeaux had meant when they'd warned her and her fellow schoolmates about the "lusts of the flesh." So rather than push him away and scoot off to confession like the Sisters had encouraged all the girls to do in such a case, she'd simply wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust her hands down the front of his pants.
This time, kissing him was like coming home, though Sasha still felt it a good idea to grind down on the sudden hardness pressing up between her legs. Just as she was contemplating taking that hardness in her hands once more, Tom tore his mouth from hers, breathing ragged and wild against the soft skin of her neck.
"Sasha, we can't," he gasped, and dread washed over her like a bucket of cold water, sure that he was going to push her away. The relief she felt at his next words nearly made her weep. "We can't do this here. Come on, sweetheart, let's go to bed." Before Sasha could even blink, Tom was standing with her in his arms. He gripped her under her thighs as he walked her slowly down the hall, past the laundry room and into the master bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door, pressing her back against it as he turned the lock. He pinned her there, kissing her deeply and rutting against her, growing impossibly harder against the heated seam of her jeans. She cried out against his mouth, feeling as though she could come just from the rocking motion her created between her legs. One of his hands rose to cup her breast, tugging roughly on her nipple, just the way she liked it. But, of course, he would know that. Her fingernails found purchase at the edge of his Henley, grasping the fabric and tugging it upwards until he had no choice but to let her slide down his body so that she could remove the shirt from him. She scratched lightly across his pectoral muscles, causing him to growl into her mouth, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth in a gesture that shot straight to her molten core.
Her shirt joined his on the floor, her bra adding to the mounting pile of clothing. When his hands at last touched her bare breasts, they both moaned at the way her nipples hardened into pointed peaks that simply begged for his mouth. He kissed his way down the graceful column of her throat until at last he reached her left breast, biting her nipple before sucking it hard into his mouth. Wetness gushed in answer between her thighs, and her hips sought his of their own volition. Tom, ever thorough, would not be deterred, treating her right breast to the same attention as its twin, before sinking to his knees and pulling roughly at her jeans, taking them down her legs and discarding them over his shoulder. Clad before him in only her black, cotton panties, Sasha shivered as Tom stared at her, his breath coming ragged from his parted lips. Then he leaned against her, his open mouth against her cloth covered center. He could feel the heat of her, almost taste the slickness, and in his need to do just that, he tugged her panties to the side and thrust his tongue inside her.
"Tom!" Sasha exclaimed, unable to do more than cry out his name and dig her fingers into his shoulders. One of his hands rose to drag her right leg over his shoulder while with the other hand, he thrust one, two, then three fingers into her, curling them expertly against her front walls. His efforts were rewarded with a flood of moisture that he lovingly lapped up as she cried out his name again, quivering her release around his still thrusting fingers. He held her as she rode out her orgasm, his face pressed against her belly and his thumb just ghosting over her clit every few seconds to prolong the effect. Only when she began clawing at his shoulders in an upward motion did he slowly rise to his feet, sweeping her off of hers and dropping her gently to the bed behind them. She was on her knees faster than he could blink, helping him remove his own jeans and boxers. When he stood naked before her at last, the expression of pure hunger on her face went straight to his cock. Her hand wrapped slowly around his impressive width, stroking him slowly, reacquainting herself with him after all these years. Her hand made a tight ring around the head, just the way she knew he liked it. Her mouth opened wide, and she took him in all the way, pulling off him inch by inch before repeating the motion. He rocked into her mouth, once, twice, three times, before pulling away, knowing if he didn't, this whole night would end before it really even began.
As if she could read his mind, Sasha simply leaned back on the bed and spread her legs. He followed her like a compass to true north, stopping short only when it occurred to him that he was lacking one singular, very important element. "Shit," he moaned and buried his face embarrassingly in the crook of her neck. "I don't have a condom."
Laughter bubbled up inside Sasha, which caused Tom to deflate a bit where he was pressed against her. Unwilling to accept defeat, she wriggled her right hand into his and drug it to her left bicep which she tapped twice. "Birth control implant, Cowboy. I had it replaced just before I got assigned to China so it's good for another year. Now, where were we?" she asked coyly, titling her hips just enough to drag her slickness across him. Her motion certainly had the desired effect, but Tom surprised her again by kissing her softly, reverently before he looked deeply into her crystal blue eyes.
"Sasha, if we do this, I need you to know, it isn't just a one-time thing for me. I'm in this for the long haul. So if you aren't, I need you to tell me now. Because once I'm inside you, there's no going back, not for me."
"Oh, Tom," she whispered sweetly, pulling his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. "I love you. I'm in love with you, and I'm yours, if you want me, if you want us." In answer, Tom moved against her, thrusting home inside her soaking heat.
"I love you, Sasha, now and as long as you'll have me." His words pierced her heart as surely as his cock pierced her body and she came again, hard, clenching around him until he let go her name in a guttural moan, spurting his seed inside her over and over. He rolled to his back at the end, pulling her with him, unwilling to let her go even as the sweat cooled on their bodies. When she shivered against him, he pulled the covers over them, ecstatic when she refused to move from his embrace.
"You'll stay the night?" he asked in the quiet and almost felt her smile in the darkness.
"I'll stay as long you let me, Cowboy. Does forever work for you?"
He chuckled lightly, clutching her body even closer. "Forever sounds like a damn good start, honey."
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Two years later…
"Sammy, come on, the bus is here!" Fifteen year-old Ashley called up the stairs to her kid brother.
"I'm coming, sis, just a minute, for crying out loud," the twelve year-old mumbled, still pulling on his shirt even as he came down the stairs.
"Sam, do you have your basketball uniform?" Tom asked as he came from the laundry room, clutching Sam's sports bag in his hand.
Sam had the grace to look sheepish before taking the bag and mumbling, "Thanks," to his father.
He'd just reached the front door when Sasha came bounding up the front steps, fresh from her morning five-mile run. Sam paused lone enough to allow her to kiss his cheek in passing. "See ya, Ma!" he called as he reached the bus, then he turned quickly to inquire, "What's for dinner tonight?" At twelve and in the throes of his latest growth spurt, Sam was always, always worried about his next meal.
Sasha took a quick drag from the steaming mug of black coffee that Tom had met her with on the porch before beaming broadly at her son. "It's Wednesday, Sammy. We're having lasagna."