I wrote this after being inspired by a post on tumblr. I know the whole Tom/Rachel fandom's a little down at the moment, but I'm firmly of the belief that Rachel is alive and well somewhere and that I wouldn't be surprised if there was a scene similar to this in the near future.
And if the worst has happened and Rachel doesn't come back, well, we'll always have fic right?
I hope you all enjoy; don't hesitate to let me know what you think!
By the time he gets back from Singapore, Mike and the rest of the POW survivors in tow for a debrief and some much needed R&R, he's exhausted, weighed down by the losses they've suffered and the knowledge that the war against Peng and the mutated virus is only just beginning. Tom begins to wonder whether he should have just retired his commission after Rachel's death and spent more time concentrating on being a full time single parent.
Still, he's as entwined in the fate of the world and the creation of a new cure and vaccine more than most, so it's with a sigh that he leaves Mike and the others at the military hospital to be checked over again, and heads into the bowels of the Courthouse to locate Michener for his own debrief. His cheek aches from the sutures binding a cut together and his face feels beaten and sore. He had to fight, and fight hard, in Singapore and it's only now, hours later, that the effects on his body are starting to take their toll now that the adrenaline has finally worn off.
The President had been vague on discussing anything with Tom over the phone on the plane back from Singapore, but he had merely put it down to a new wariness of just how far Peng's communication network spread throughout Asia.
He pulls slightly on his uniform as he walks through the quiet hallways, the khaki feeling uncomfortable in the balmy evening air of St. Louis. They have air conditioning in the building, but it's a drain on the newly powered electrical grid so as soon as the sun sets the staff are forced to rely on old battered fans and their own stubbornness to ignore the rising heat.
There's no sign of Kara as he arrives in the operations room, but Tom remembers that Frankie still needs regular bottles to keep up his strength; Kara's shift usually ends at 7 and that hour has long since passed.
Michener's door is closed, which isn't unusual, so Tom knocks and waits for the President to call him in. He glances around the operations rooms while he waits, spots a few new boards with information and photos of Mike and the other former POWs scattered across the surfaces; the operation had been planned quickly but thoroughly and Tom is thankful that the office staff can take down this evidence come morning.
He hears muffled voices through the door and Tom suspects that Michener isn't alone in the office. He doesn't have time to really contemplate this before the President's shout of 'enter' encourages him to move. Tom twists the handle and opens the thick wooden door, walking through with all the false enthusiasm of a man who'd rather be asleep in his own bed than debriefing the President of the United States after a brutal 48 hour mission.
Tom stops short when he spots Tex slumped in one of the smaller arm chairs, and Milowsky writing something on an old white-board in front of the large ornate desk.
He moves to speak, looks upon the scene, catches Tex's eye then Michener's, a question on his lips.
"Sir…"
He freezes again when he spots a familiar ponytail across the room, its owner peering out through the window towards the famous arch.
Rachel.
"Sir…I… what?"
He knows its an undignified response and he can see Tex chuckling to himself out of the corner of his eye. Still, despite that, Tom's gaze never falters, doesn't shift from the figure who still hasn't turned to face him.
He wonders if her heart is beating as rapidly as his, the disbelief and astonishment overruling the urge to yell and curse and question.
After all, it was Michener himself who'd told him that Rachel had died in that quiet hallway while Tom, Green and Burk had chased her killer through the corridors of the hotel.
Michener steps forward, a frown upon his face, and a hand out slightly, as if wary that Tom could lash out at the sight of a woman five months dead.
"Commander," he states, and it's rare that Michener calls him that now, even in public; they've become friendly over the last six months after all. "There is an explanation for all this, and I can understand your anger and confusion at this revelation, but I need you to listen first."
"But…" Tom mutters, eyes trained on Rachel's back. She still won't turn and face him and that fact alone is enough to push Tom past his joy at seeing her alive to fighting the urge to send himself hurtling towards her and demanding answers. He senses Tex and Milowsky leave the room behind him; the President's slight wave of a hand enough to encourage their departure. He can't think of the words to say in the situation, so he stops. Nods. Waits.
Michener appears to breathe a small sigh of relief, and Tom finally focuses on the Commander in Chief rather than the woman at the window. He sees her head turn slightly, but there's not enough time for him to catch more than her profile in the moonlight.
"After Doctor Scott was shot," Michener starts, leaning back against the desk, ankles crossed over in an attempt at casualness, "it became apparent that there was a leak somewhere within the foundations of the government we were trying to set up here. Very few people were aware of the pardons and the fact that Doctor Scott no longer had any guards, and yet an immune managed to sneak into a hotel full of military personnel and attempted to murder the foremost expert on the Red Flu.
We all know how important Doctor Scott is to the world, how much she's achieved. But I suspected we would need her again, and I couldn't risk her whereabouts being leaked to the remaining factions of immunes if they discovered she were still alive. Therefore, I made the decision to send Doctor Scott into hiding, and ordered Mr. Nolan to keep a close eye on her safety and Doctor Milowsky to work as a go between if any changes in the virus occurred."
Michener pauses and glances at Rachel standing at the window, then looks back at Tom, a sterner look in his eye now.
"It wasn't about not trusting you Tom," he states, working to pacify Tom's sudden doubts that the President deems him unworthy of this kind of information. "It's just that I knew about the bond that you and Doctor Scott have. I thought it better that you could mourn and grieve and focus on helping the worldwide efforts to spread the cure rather than concern yourself with her safety. She was in good hands," he states quickly, realizing how dismissive of their friendship he must sound. "My reasons may seem misplaced," Michener comments then, looking, for the first time, like the broken man Tom had confronted in the hanger bay all those months ago, "but they really were paved with good intentions."
Tom bites back a sarcastic remark, instantly overwhelmed with anger that Michener, that Tex, that Rachel herself, could have kept this from him for so long. He takes a breath and stares Michener down for a second before continuing.
"I understand Sir."
It's a dismissal and an acknowledgement all at once, and Michener seemingly ignores the fury behind the statement and nods, but says nothing else.
There's an awkward pause in the room, and Tom's attention is again drawn to the still silent woman at the far side of the room.
The tension holds for a moment longer before Michener coughs and stands upright, brushing a hand through his hair and motioning towards the doors of the office.
"I'm going to contact the hospital and get a sit-rep on Captain Slattery and the others," he says, although Tom thinks it's more of an excuse than anything. "I'll leave you two alone."
He slips out of the room then, grasping Tom's shoulder briefly as he passes. He suddenly feels like a high school student then, all nerves and panic while he waits for his prom date to acknowledge him. Rachel still doesn't turn around, and if it wasn't for the fact that Tom can see her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes he'd think she were cast in stone, an immortalized figure for the world to admire and adore.
The seconds drag out. One. Two. Three. It's an eternity and a split second all at once, and Tom has a million questions running through his mind (Why? How could you? How are you? Did you miss me…)
He still can't find the words to say, instead stands flat footed and confused in the office of the President while his dead friend, the woman he cares so much about, stands in front of him alive and seemingly well.
"Rachel…"
The word breaks the silence, two syllables filled with so much emotion that Tom has to suck in a hasty breath as soon as it leaves his lips.
It's then, and only then, that Rachel finally turns around to face him.
Tom can tell there are unshed tears in her eyes, but he doesn't comment on them. He's still too shocked to speak properly; he just has so many damn questions.
She takes a hesitant couple of steps forward, like a lioness approaching its prey, and Tom takes the opportunity to look her up and down as she moves. He notes her thin russet t-shirt and the familiar jeans, the dark circles under her eyes, the look of utter regret on her face.
He wonders how much warning she'd had of this meeting. Probably more than he had at least, but there's something in her look that makes him think that she's just as surprised to see him as he is her.
She's within a couple of feet of him now, but she's still hesitant, still unsure of how he'll react. He's just thankful she's alive.
"Tom," Rachel whispers quietly, reaching out to take his hand gently, as if afraid that he'll disappear. He's tempted to say he's never letting her out of his sight again. "I'm sorry."
With those two words he breaks, stepping forward to close that final bit of distance between them. He pulls her into his arms, hugs her, holds her tightly. He's afraid that if he lets her go she'll slip away and he'll wake to discover this was all a dream.
He feels Rachel bury her head into his chest, senses the heat of her tears through the new damp patches on his uniform.
Tom finds he doesn't care; Rachel is alive…
"I thought you were dead," he whispers into her hair, his voice still low and thick with emotion.
"I was, for a while," she mutters back, her words muffled by his body. "Then I woke up in hospital with a video message from the President telling me what happened and my new orders and with Tex and Milowsky the only other people aware that I'd survived."
Tom hums and steps back slightly, although not far enough to lose his connection with her; his hands now rest lightly on her hips.
"I wanted to reach out so many times, but there were so many reports of immunes that were still convinced I was alive that I wasn't able to; it was too big a risk."
Rachel is the one to finally break away, taking a small step back and peering up at him, a look of concern on her face.
"Michener and I agreed that I would be able to come out of hiding once the threats had been eliminated. We were… we were never going to leave you in the dark forever Tom; I refused to keep it from you for any longer than necessary, it wouldn't have been right. But I would still be hidden away if it…"
"If it hadn't been for the reports of a mutation within the virus," Tom finishes and Rachel nods, relieved that he's no longer angry, that he seems to be in a more settled state of relief at her presence in the quiet office.
"Michener decided it was time for me to have full access to all of my equipment again. If the virus has mutated, or if Peng has found a way to alter it, I can't work on a solution if I'm confined to a small lab with no real resources."
"I'm assuming that's what you were discussing with the President tonight?"
Rachel nods, her fingers picking at the hem of her shirt as she does so.
"We were planning to start a more in depth investigation into the blood samples you managed to bring back from Japan and Singapore in the morning. The three of us weren't supposed to be here when you came for your debrief, but once Michener heard your arrival time he…we decided," she emphasizes, "that it was time to tell you the truth."
"Rachel, you don't need to justify yourself to me. Michener made a call, you followed orders and you survived. I'm honestly just glad you're back."
And it's true. Despite the latent anger he's feeling at the whole situation, the most important thing is that she didn't leave him alone to face this new challenge, she didn't bleed out in a corridor of an historical hotel, she didn't have her life cut short by forces he was unable to stop. She survived and that mere fact is enough to forgive every choice Michener, Tex and Rachel have made since that night.
Silence falls between them again, but this time it's not awkward, just peaceful.
"You look like you've been in the wars again," she says eventually, giving him the once over. He wonders if the cut across his cheek looks as bad as it feels. He suspects the bruising around his eye might be coming through as well.
"You could say that," Tom replies, shrugging slightly, and with that they are back to where they were before her 'death,' before circumstances had torn them apart when they'd seemed on the verge of something new and exciting and wonderful.
Her hand reaches up then to trace the line of sutures on his face, but her touch is light enough that he barely feels it.
"I thought you were supposed to have a desk job now?" She asks, all humor and smiles. It's a relief.
He shrugs again.
"It's a hard habit to break out of," is all he says, gesturing to his injuries. He knows that she recognizes the deeper meaning of the statement: "I wasn't leaving them behind, not again, never again…"
"I can imagine," is her simple reply, although it's laced with understanding.
There's so much to talk about, to discuss, to catch up on, but Tom struggles to figure out where to start. He decides, in the end, to begin with honesty and go from there.
"I'm glad you're back," he says again, smiling down at her, still in disbelief that this is real.
"Me too," Rachel replies and she laughs then, a happy, joyful sound erupting from her lips. Tom's sure he's never heard anything like it, at least not for months and months and months. "I dare say we've got a busy time ahead of us Captain Chandler."
Her laugh is infectious and Tom finds himself chuckling. If Michener returned now he might think the two of them have gone mad. The thought only causes him to laugh harder.
"You might be right there Doctor Scott."
"Still, I can only say that we'll approach this in the same manner as we did when saving the world the first time. Together?"
She raises an eyebrow at him in question. His answer is never in doubt.
"Together."