Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.
Heart's Desires – Chapter 1
Pain seared her body, her fight or flight instinct in full throttle as she fell back against the wall – her attacker's wild eyes all she could remember – wild and angry, driven by rage and also this, his tone frenetic, low … sinister, foreboding, life-ending: "Sic semper tyrannis." And then the restless barrel of this tyrant's gun and his shaky hand in the milliseconds before the pain came … …
… before every plan she made was unhinged and her world went black and was suddenly beautiful and deep and dark and fluid … infused with a sublime, amaranthine, never-ending sensation of … love.
For thereafter there was only this: "Find me," his tone, steady, even, methodical, a pitch, somehow belonging solely to her. "Find me," he said, more with his eyes than with his softer, kinder voice … those gorgeous, endless eyes …
Where she would come to reside … safe and secure, held captive within the depths of those gateways that always said so much more than words ever could. For everything was circular and always came back to him and that was something she held onto with tenacity during her most tenuous moments – his tone, his words – and the wholesome honesty in his eyes …
… this small flicker of recognition within them that only she could see, the flicker that said, "Wait for me … wait for me to be ready, I won't be long now."
And so she did … wait.
She held on to the fabric of his subtle being (his soul-filled eyes that told her everything she needed to know) that bound them together with divine gossamer stitching, which became the foundation of their life together.
"Find me," he said … and he meant it. "Find me," he entreated quietly … and eventually, she did.
###
Rachel woke up with a start. Her hand flew instinctively to her right shoulder where a dull ache resonated, pinching her … a vestige of her dream, the humid air sticking to her skin, residual heat pricking at her neck now. Her heart pumped and her wary eyes swept the room – she was safe – safe and sound inside their cottage along the coast of Flora Island. Familiar. Protected. Private. Theirs. Exhaling, she closed her eyes for a beat and listened to the dulcet sound of the ocean rolling against the shore, her soundtrack for the moment as she collected herself – she was safe, remembering now that Tom went out for a run to avoid the prime heat of a Philippines day – and that Ashley and Sam set off to go sailing with Danny and Kara and –
"Ba, ba … ma-ma … dad-dee … ba, ba …," came her baby's melodic babble.
And just like that, her world stopped spinning and her qualms evaporated … and everything was quiet and serene and peaceful, her cherub's tenors floating and swirling through the air now, along with his high-pitched crescendo that kept in perfect time with the waves along the shore and the palm fronds rustling overhead.
Smiling now, Rachel swiftly got up and shimmied out of her panties and shirt, slipped on a bathing suit and a sundress and exited the confines of their sanctuary only to stand in the doorway of another. Tossing her hair into a messy ponytail, she doted privately for a moment, watching her magnificent boy relax inside his enclave – his sentimental prattle sweet and sincere – his tiny feet in the air as he stared up at the ceiling and sang and sang without care … until he turned his head and spotted her there, his bright blue eyes grabbing ahold of hers with tenacity, crinkles of pure happiness spotted within.
"Mama!" he squealed with delight matched by no other on earth.
"Hi, my boy," she whispered, tears of happiness pricking at her eyes as she gathered his warm body in her arms, cradling him, her nose pressed into his plentiful blond locks, inhaling his essence, soap and sea – just like his father's – plus the added bonus of 'baby sleep' … she sighed wistfully. Cradling her special package, she held him in her arms, more than savoring this private moment.
Wrangling himself free, he pulled back and stared at her – his rosy cheeks and bright eyes just inches from hers – his chubby hands flanking her face. "Mama, where's Shlee … Sam-mee?" he asked with intensity, cocking his head with wonderment.
"Ashley and Sam?" she smiled broadly. "They're with Kara and –"
"Sail for burtdays!" he cackled happily into their shared space, his sweet breath fanning her face. "And Dan-nee!" he whispered with an intense fervor he saved just for Danny.
"Yes, that's right!" she answered, a smile reaching her own eyes, his happiness beyond infectious, his giggle floating through the air now. "Such a big boy you are, almost three!" she exclaimed softly, entirely lost within his aura.
###
The early morning sun was hot, but pleasant as Rachel perched herself on a woven mat near the shoreline, pushing her feet into the pristine damp sand. She hunkered under her large sun hat and smiled contentedly, observing her boy as he "worked", having learned how to make drip-sand castles this trip. Dunk. Squeeze. Drip. Bending down, he armed himself with fistfuls of sand, replenishing his supply of the castle-making substance in the bucket, just like Sam taught him to do. Then he resumed: Dunk. Squeeze. Drip.
Beyond the scene in front of her, Rachel scanned the horizon now – it was a gorgeous day for sailing, she decided then – the water was a brilliant blue and the tide low with a light to moderate nautical breeze skimming the beach, the palm trees danced high above them. Dunk. Squeeze. Drip.
Bending her left elbow down, residual pain radiating slowly from her opposite shoulder as she did – she favored the old wound – wincing as she lowered herself, almost eye level with the ocean now. And it was here that she once again looked beyond her boy and toward the horizon – her heart pinching– a familiar jarring of sorts claiming her now, an old memory resurfacing as they often did, especially with tomorrow's anniversary on the forefront of her mind.
Focusing her attention again, she followed the line of the coast as it blended into the jetty of the mountain to the far right – and while not an island – it looked exactly like Seranna Bank from her vantage point. And then suddenly without recourse – all Rachel could think about was the Nathan James, stalled in the middle of the ocean, while they all sat idle – waiting on their collective prayers for the miracle of a nautical wind … along with her own vigilant prayer for the safety of her most cherished possession at the time – the primordial strain – as it languished and then free floated at the bottom of the ocean.
Her reflective mind deluge with memories now, she thought of Lieutenant Chung and his bold move to sink the strain (and of his untimely death to the Ramsey's later) – her heedful prayers of that day, her mantras funneling to the surface again – 'forty degrees, come on, come on, forty, forty, forty' – and then the insurmountable liberation … the fleeting moment of happiness, that all would not be lost … and that they still had a chance!
Of course, stock images of Tom came too (realizing now how invested she was in him, even then). Her mind reeling with a fragment of Russ' words to her beloved Captain as they had remained in her mind, deep in her recesses – 'our journey does not end here' – his baritone, firm and strong and convincing … and then, of course … the arrival of that cherished wind and the switching of the gears (literally) and of their luck … which ultimately lead them to Seranna Bank … to land … and water … and survival for another day.
Feeling as though it were only yesterday, Rachel raised herself up again, back and away from the vantage point of the reminder – her eyes misty with tears now – her precious boy blurred, meshing with the coastline. She looked at the mountain jetty longingly for a moment … before letting those serious memories float up and away and into the ocean breeze.
"Mama … see?" her boy prompted with glee, pulling her back to the present.
She smiled, training her eyes on his … perpetually blue and endless. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "Mama will help you, okay?" she added softly.
"Yay!" he squealed, his unruly locks whipping up in the wind, his cheeks rosy with health, happiness and an island suntan.
Smiling still, she reached forward, her old wound no more than a dull ache now – mitigated by her boy's energy – and by the soothing sound of the waves as they rolled against the shore, calming her from the inside out. Working in tandem now, she felt the sun beat down along her shoulders and focused on the task at hand – Dunk. Squeeze. Drip. – she and her boy laughed, adding more and more and even more of the petrified drips of sand to a large mound of a castle – Dunk. Squeeze. Drip. – they went again and again and again until she was lost within the moment where everything was suddenly ideal … and perfect … and meant to be.
Inhaling deeply, she allowed the calming essence of the island to consume her entirely – the innate sunshine, the ocean, the salty sea air – all mixed together with suntan lotion and aloe vera gel, her heart trembling with joy as her thoughts circled back to Tom and how absolutely mad she was for him.
And maybe it was tomorrow's date or maybe she was just feeling sentimental, but suddenly all she could think about was the beginning of their second chance together – which made her smile – even now, after all these years.
###
Exiting the main lecture hall at the college, Rachel shifted her messenger bag onto her left shoulder and shook hands with the new Dean of Admissions, accepting his invitation to guest lecture again on the topic of modern virology when time permitted … for after the pandemic – it was no secret that a great many more students were interested in the field – having lived through the crisis that forever changed their world, this new generation was keen to arm themselves with knowledge.
She smiled graciously, though she'd be lying if these public, 'proof-is-in-the-pudding-moral-boosting-lectures' of Michener's didn't wear her down and tire her out. Her feet felt clumsy in her boots and her lower back needed some serious stretching after standing tall at the podium for so long. Not to mention, she suddenly regretted wearing her more form-fitting brown cashmere sweater … her skin was itchy, pricking with heat.
Her right shoulder began to ache in earnest too, the single Motrin she allowed herself to take hours earlier, wearing off now, scar tissue nettling at her as she followed the dean down the steps and into the courtyard – the sun almost setting now in the late December sky – her eyes moving along the naturally lit landscape until she found Tom's steady eyes where he stood off and to the side with Mike, both handsome in Service Dress Blue uniforms. She slipped her coat on and replaced her bag on her shoulder.
She smiled weakly and Tom nodded in assent – his eyes softening around the edges now – something she noticed every so often, especially when he thought no one was looking. He smiled a small smile with his eyes and continued watching her with interest as she was seamlessly deposited into a casual question and answer session with a small throng of students – two ensigns flanking her at close range for protection – an order set forth by the Chief of Naval Operations, a role Tom was still getting used to and one that fit him well. Though, she knew as well as he did that when the Nathan James would push off again and leave the port of St. Louis under Captain Slattery's capable charge, that Tom would look after both of them with longing.
Things between she and Tom had eased into a comfortable plateau during the last ten months, their stalemate over Neils' death having been somewhat dispelled with Michener's pardon the day they landed in St. Louis (and she was subsequently shot) – the tension between them almost immediately resolved thereafter – as Tom spent many evenings at the hospital with her during the early time of her recovery, his father and children having not yet arrived from Norfolk.
And it was from this new beginning that they seemed to evolve, to graduate to 'Rachel and Tom' or 'Tom and Rachel' … two friends carefully navigating around their more intense feelings for one another as they moved on and rebuilt their lives. And during that time, Tom truly had become her steadfast, loyal friend and confidant and Rachel believed that their bond of trust was not only mended, but perhaps healthier now than it had ever been.
When the crowd became more manageable and the last questions were dealt with, the senior officers left their post and approached her and she watched with interest as Mike dismissed the ensigns and nodded in her direction. Smiling, she tilted her head quizzically and only then did Mike betray his old friend, making a sidelong glance at Tom as he too, departed. She smiled in return and shook the hand of the last student and turned to find Tom, still hanging back, letting her do her thing. She shrugged and held his gaze as he moved toward her, that same small smile etched along his handsome face.
"Nice crowd," he said to her then, his white cap nestled in the crook of his forearm.
"Yes …," she agreed, shifting her bag again, arching her back slightly as she did.
"Can I take that for you?" he intuited, his eyes still pinned to hers.
She smiled. "I'm all right," she answered softly, looking around the courtyard. "You dismissed my detail …," she stated evenly, raising her brow as she regarded him.
"Yes, I did …," he answered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "If you're not too wiped out … I was wondering … if we could talk …," he uncharacteristically hesitated.
Rachel sighed and smiled. "Want to sit?" she inquired, pointing to a bench along one of the pathways.
"I'd like that," he answered, extending his arm out so that she could walk and sit first.
The pair sat down and Rachel slipped her bag off of her shoulder, her lower back on fire as she pushed herself back and into the frame of the bench, her nerve-endings strained, as she set her bag down next to her and glanced at Tom sitting more formally in his uniform, his cap on his knee now wherein she noticed with shock that his left hand was naked … devoid of his wedding band.
Looking up, she found his eyes, hoping she had concealed her surprise before she dared herself to speak. "So … you wanted to talk …," she said, her voice catching. She cleared her throat.
Tom turned into her, draping his free hand along the back of the bench. "I do ...," he sighed, his eyes sweeping the courtyard now. "Before I say what I planned to say though … may I admire you, Dr. Scott?" he asked of her, his blue eyes sparkling against the whiskey-colored sky as he turned to find her again.
Rachel laughed. "If you must, Captain," she answered more formally.
Tom nodded, holding her gaze. "I must …," he declared easily.
"Then I won't stop you …," she whispered, somehow already lost within the depths of his eyes.
He smiled. "You know just now, being here with you again reminded me of that day when we made landfall here …," he sighed, his eyes fixed on hers now. "We stood here, right here with all of those survivors – and I just remembered how in awe of you I really was …," he smiled genuinely, his eyes reflective. She exhaled on his sentiment and fought the urge to look away. "And … I'm telling you now because, we both know I was distant and angry then – but really – all I could think was: 'she's amazing … she did it' …," he smiled, tilting his head.
Rachel shook her head. "We all did it …," she sighed, instinctively stepping down from the pedestal he set her upon.
Tom sighed. "No … I'm just talking about you here … only you and that great, scientific mind of yours – would be ingenious enough to dream up a virus-cure that also required compassion and caring as prime ingredients – especially when derived from such a foul source …," he sighed heavily, shaking his head now. "You're something else, Rachel … I should have told you that a long time ago …," he stated evenly. "You're still the genuine missionary to the surviving populace of the world …," he breathed, his glassy eyes still pinned to hers as he shifted, moving closer to her.
She shook her head in an attempt to negate him but tiny tears popped free, betraying her as they slipped down her face. "Oh … I don't know about that … weren't we all missionaries in our own ways?" she smiled weakly, squirming slightly to ward off his scrutiny, her throat constricted, her emotional reaction funneling to the surface as she thought about that glorious pinnacle of a day that seemed like a lifetime ago already. "It truly was the most gratifying moment of my life though …," she suspired then, her heart trembling akin to a leaf on a vine as she stared back at him, another set of tears gathering now.
Tom looked away and out and over the courtyard. "Well then – I'm glad I was a part of the journey that brought you to that moment – even after everything … even if it seemed like a cruel twist of fate, at the time …," he whispered, swallowing hard, his trembling voice trailing off now.
"Me too," she exhaled on the truth, because it was … one of the only truths she felt sure of now.
The pair sat in silence for a long moment, privately reflecting, and while Rachel enjoyed Tom's company – she felt that he was on a precipice somewhere far away tonight – his mind likely reeling over the past and present, much like hers. For whether Tom intuited this or not, they navigated quite similarly in the way they hesitated around their feelings about things … regrets … upsets … losses … and of course what to do about their steadfast connection … this idea of 'them' that was written somewhere in the stars.
"Last week …," Tom muttered then. Rachel turned to him. "It was a year since Baltimore … a year …," he exhaled sharply turning to her, his eyes searching hers for answers.
"I know …," she sighed, inching closer, she set her hand on top of his. Tom looked away. "I wasn't sure … I thought to call you when I was away … but –"
"A year, Rachel," he interrupted, turning back to her. "And … look at us … we're still here," he incited softly with a small smile. "A year later and now I know … that it wasn't – that this, us sitting here tonight – isn't because of some cruel twist of fate … because maybe … it was meant to be …," he whispered thickly, his voice gruff.
"Tom …," she whispered his name, but she was at a loss for words – for his sentiments were so endearing now that Rachel attempted to look away – to cower and hide from the intensity of the moment while her tears continued to pop free.
But Tom quickly intervened, brushing his thumb along her damp cheeks. "Hmm … I didn't mean to make you cry," he smiled, screwing his mouth up, eliciting a smirk from her.
"I'll be all right now …," she said softly, her mind reeling over his resolute belief – that they were somehow meant to be – to end up here … together. "We'll be all right …," she exhaled into the fresh night sky.
They sighed together then, each unleashing a burden or two or fifty into the night sky. Rachel sat back, her tired eyes moving over the landscape in front of them once again, basking in the peaceful energy she felt now wherein she suddenly thought of her father and mother all at once and wondered what they would have made of her that day – vaccinating people with compassion alone – the girl she once was, just wondering about them now … as she did from time to time.
Reflexively, she glanced at Tom then and followed his gaze up and out over the gorgeous skyline, to the naked trees in the courtyard and the last of the fall leaves on the ground, his stance more relaxed now.
"Tom …," she queried softly then, gently pulling him from his reverie. "What was it you really wanted to speak with me about?" she dared herself to ask him.
He turned to her and inched closer, draping his arm along her shoulders. "You and me …," he answered without missing a beat, his tone low and intimate ('Find me', he'd said once a long time ago in that very same tone).
"What about us?" she prompted, peering up to him.
"Us … just … us," he whispered, a broad smile forming on his face. "Rachel … would you like to go on a date with me?" he asked of her then, his words, slow and steady and deliberate.
Rachel felt a reflexive wave of heat pulse across her face. Turning into him now, she allowed him draw her near, holding her captive with his stunning, honest eyes, more gorgeous and endless than ever, where she could only answer, "I'd love to."
###
"Dad-dee!" came the baby's high-pitched exaltation.
And with that, Rachel was jarred out of her daydream wherein she turned to find her lover coming down the beach, his swim trunks sitting low on his hips – he smiled radiantly, close enough already for her to fix her eyes upon his – wherein she found herself somewhat startled now by his confident stride and relaxed stance … his bright and clean and clear eyes, full of unadulterated happiness … something that, she decided years ago, looked good on him and made him seem younger, a vision of the boy he once was.
Relief consumed her, though she had no idea why, he'd been happy and replete for years – but as her old memories surfaced, as they often did for her – she would admit that sometimes she would search for that more innate happiness that embodied him now, somehow half expecting his more guarded, terse 'Captain persona' to overpower the man he had evolved to be … with her. Breathless now, she swallowed hard, her heart beating in tandem with his every step as she stood to greet him.
"Hi …," she said softly, her voice catching, suddenly overcome with emotion as he enveloped her in his arms without a word, his nose pressed into her neck, his mouth latched to her shoulder where he pulsed his lips – lingering there, breathing her in – the familiar heat of his body once again solidifying their connectivity.
"Hi …," he whispered into her flesh as she pinned her hands to his hips, grounding herself, his supple lips peppering her neck and cheeks with tiny kisses before tilting her chin up and descending his mouth upon hers.
Where she became pliant in his open embrace, truly swept away by everything he did to her, even now, even after everything, his kisses unabashed and sticky … he tasted of coconut and pineapple and sunscreen and coffee and she couldn't get enough – her heart trumpeting, a rolling mantra of love and adoration coursing through her veins as she kissed and kissed and kissed him back, matching his fervor for her, tenfold. Her soul ignited with desire for him as he pulled her closer, heat pooling at her core … her nerve-endings snapping now while simultaneously, falling into place … she was whole … healed … complete … sated … and madly in love.
Pulling back, Tom's smile widened, marveling at her for a long beat, his arm slung low around her hip now, his nimble fingers holding her in place along the tie of her bikini bottom as he turned his attention to their love-baby. "Hi buddy," he smiled, reaching down, he scooped the bundle up with one arm.
"Dad-dee!" the baby squealed with delight as Tom peppered his chubby neck with kisses.
###
From beneath her sunhat, Rachel watched her boys in the glittering water from the shoreline – Tom's muscular shoulders and the baby's dwarfed body visible from her vantage point – the mountain-island vista that incited her earlier memory off and to her right still as she stood ankle deep in the warm ocean, lulled by it's circular motion as the tiny waves pummeled her feet. Tom smiled as he made his way toward her, the sea parting around him as he moved. A radiant smile settled on her face, drawn to his hold upon her akin to a magnet as he came to stand before her, setting the baby down where he promptly toddled away and began to chase the waves.
Tom sat down in the sand and pulled on Rachel's hand wherein she joined him. The couple sat inside an easy silence for several beats, each lost in their own thoughts, eyes trained on their son as he dared his consummate playmate – the ocean – to come and get him.
Tom draped his arm around Rachel's shoulders and drew her near. "He's something else …," he whispered, his voice catching, betraying him as it did from time to time.
"He is …," she agreed, relaxing into the arc of his arm. Hesitating, her eyes swept the mountain-island vista again. And then she prompted, "Can I show you something I never noticed in all the time we've been coming here?"
"Sure …," he answered, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple.
Rachel smiled, leaning further into his embrace, he smelled of the salt of the earth. She tilted her head and pointed now, down and to the right. "See that there … the way the mountain jetty moves out and into the water … the way it looks like an island in the middle of the ocean …," she breathed, lightheaded again as intense memories consumed her (No water. Monkeys. Chung. The strain.). She set her hand along Tom's forearm and he squinted against the sun, following her direction. "Doesn't it look like Seranna Bank?" she dared herself to ask of him.
She felt Tom exhale and retreat into her slightly. "It does …," he agreed softly, his eyes transfixed, surely lost within his own stock of memories now.
Rachel let him be with his thoughts for several long minutes, moving her hand up to the nape of his neck where she toyed with his soft, short hair. She felt him take another cleansing breath and watched his eyes close.
"Do you know what tomorrow is …," she whispered then.
"Yes … I do …," he smiled tightly, peering down at her now, his eyes soft and endearing. She melted. "The day we first met on the James …," he whispered, reaching up, he pushed some of her flyaway tendrils away from her face.
She smiled and looked down and away for a beat, unable to stop herself from feeling saddened by their catastrophic losses now. Blinking her tears away she trained her eyes on their boy, losing herself in his innate tranquil disposition, the sun shining high in the sky above them now.
Exhaling sharply, she let some of those more tumultuous memories drift out to sea: the exposure of her secret (damning their beginning) … Baltimore, losing Darien and Quincy (and Michael along the way) and Frankie and Cossetti … facing Ruskov and Ramsey and the Immunes … losing Chung and Ravit … and Dr. Hunter. The pressure mounted.
Her spiral continued: Niels and everything he stood for (everything she ever hated) … and then her unyielding stalemate with Tom and his distant, yet terse eyes thereafter. Her shoulder ached now, a trigger response to the stress.
"Rachel, please … don't … …," came Tom's voice.
She turned into him again, fat tears stung her eyes as she watched unearthed emotion riddle his handsome face. She smiled and sniffled, closing her eyes, she set her salty tears free. Reaching for her, Tom slipped her hat off and drew her near, his hands cradling her skull as he pressed salty kisses along her halo and then to her lips, effortlessly soothing her now.
"Why do I do that? Why can't I let it go?" she wondered, pulling back slightly, she searched the depths of his all-seeing gateways for answers.
"Maybe because you're still not ready …," he reasoned softly, leaning forward, he kissed her soundly again, tiny open mouthed kisses. "We'll get there …," he smiled against her lips before setting his forehead against hers for a beat where he engaged with her there, eye-to-eye. "Trust me," he whispered.
"Always," she answered, peering into his soulful eyes … as blue and tranquil as the sea in front of them.
Sighing, she moved further into his damp heat, her head spinning from her wild variant thoughts – focusing on the baby now – she saw he was growing tired, having positioned himself in the sand right in front of them now … busy again with his castle-making. Tom pressed his lips to her halo where he pulsed, once, twice.
Rachel leaned onto her hip and rolled into him, peering up. "Sometimes … it seems like it was only yesterday … the mission … the virus … … our fight …," she whispered into their confessional.
Tom turned into her. "It's an indelible part of who we are – and we can't forgive it – or how we ended up together ... you know that," he encouraged rationally. "And yes … it's a strange beginning, but it is our story of pure chance or … greater destiny … well … you know how I feel," he shrugged with a small reflective smile, his eyes moving to their boy.
Rachel followed his gaze. "I do … that not every moment we have together has to be marred by our beginning …," she acknowledged his stance on the subject (having had a version of this conversation many times over the years).
"Exactly – if everything we've gone through has taught us anything, it's that life is an unpredictable evolution – you know that, heck you taught me that!" he exclaimed with a grin. "I mean … what would have happened if we didn't evolve … or … make this happen?" he asserted softly, pointing to the baby, his eyes softening now as he turned to face her again. "What if … in the end –"
"I didn't make it after the shooting … didn't wake up … and find you?" she whispered quickly, trying her best to mollify his anxiety.
Tom nodded, drawing her near, he stared at her through his glassy eyes, a storm at sea now. "You know … I can't even imagine …," he exhaled, emotion covering him like a blanket wherein Rachel, lurched forward and into his space in an effort to calm him.
"And you don't have to …," she reminded him, pressing her lips to his where she kissed him softly, his mouth moving succinctly against hers – their connection so innate and gorgeous that it seamlessly consumed them – sealing their fate with another kiss. "I love you … I love you …," she husked against his open mouth.
"Hmm," he hummed, his baritone vibrating against her nerves now. "And I love you … so much …," he replied, pulling back slightly, he brushed his nose against hers. "We're all right …," he sighed heavily, staring at her, his eyes so faceted now they were almost too intense for her to look upon.
"Dad-dee … sad?" came the baby's sing-song voice as he stepped into their embrace, flanking his sandy hands on his father's face where he idolized him for a beat.
Tom smiled broadly. "No … Daddy's happy," he said and they all laughed.
"Cry … hap-pee?" the baby asked quizzically, passing a curious glance between his parents.
"Sometimes …," Tom laughed heartily. "So much going on in that brain of yours … so much like your mama where it counts … so smart," he doted affectionately, kissing the baby's crown.
"Oh … sil-lee … dad-dee," the toddler answered with a large yawn. "You oh-kay … now," he babbled and with that sentiment, he positioned himself onto his father's lap.
"Yes, I am, little man," Tom whispered, peering up at Rachel as he pressed his lips to the top of the baby's head before he quickly leaned in and kissed her. "And I promise you … our story, aside from what we've lost collectively – is not tragic – nor does it have to be … we honor those we lost … Darien's legacy is living … here, with us …," he insisted with a small reflective smile.
Rachel smiled too, her thoughts landing on Ashley and Sam and her bond with them, having been able to relate to so much of their pain given her own childhood. "Intellectually … spiritually, I know you're correct … I just, sometimes second-guess myself …," she confessed, her heart skipping a beat at the admission.
"Me too …," he also confessed. "But really, all we can do it own it … … and still love each other now … here, today… just like we have for years," he articulated, his voice low and deep. "You taught me that too … just by waiting for me to be ready – and I'll always love you for it – for this second chance …," he whispered, his intensity, raw and uncensored; he leaned into her heat.
Rachel reacted now, with fervent kisses, kissing it all better for him while he did the same for her – once again solidifying their relationship, tomorrow's looming date – not as foreboding now that she'd hashed her feelings out – for sometimes she just needed to do that, needed to ground herself and remember from whence they came to truly accept their unequivocal bond, her heart's desire, despite the unusual circumstances of their union.
Tom smiled against her lips. "Better?" he asked of her. Rachel nodded, she felt her cheeks heat. "He's asleep …," he whispered, shifting the baby into a cradle hold of his arms. "You know what that means," he smirked like a teenager.
"I do …," Rachel sassed and stood, sinking her feet into the warm sand. "Alone time … on vacation," she smiled wistfully, watching as Tom stood. "Careful …," she added softly, reaching out for the baby.
"I got him …," Tom said with a smile.
###
Having deposited the baby in his cot, Rachel stepped into the naturally lit bathroom and turned the shower on, slipping out of her bikini and into the gentle cascade of the water. Exhaling sharply – she peered up and into the skylight briefly – before closing her eyes, visualizing the last of those resonating anxieties as they were shed from her aura and circled the drain at her feet.
The curtain shifted and a waft of cooler air filtered into the small tiled space, though she was immediately warmed by the radiant heat of Tom's body as he moved flush against her from behind, his fingertips dancing over her neck and shoulders and down to cup her breasts gently, testing their weight, his thumbs caressing her puckered flesh. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and into him, unruly heat pooling at her core … for one simple touch from him was sometimes all it took.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered thickly into her ear, his mere proximity releasing another ping of energy that coursed through her being … hot … wild … his.
Without another word, Tom reached for the shampoo and dispensed some onto his hands wherein he began to gently massage her scalp, natural antioxidant extracts floating up and into the humid particulates now as he rotated her inside his capable arms, smiling as she tilted her head back to rinse her hair, his hands pinned to her hips for a beat before he danced his fingertips along the apex of her thighs – his playful, penetrating eyes trained on her – though she spotted with ease, a more serious flicker there too.
She smiled and he smiled in return, his gaze still fixed on hers while his fingertips brushed along her scar tissue near her shoulder – still sensitive to the touch, even now – and she knew that sometimes those scars were invisible (his and hers) … and sometimes, on days like today … they weren't. And so she let her lover be – let him kiss it better – because really, only he could do that for her and she for him. She set her hand over his, resting it there for a long beat before she leaned up and kissed his sweet mouth.
"Scarred beauty," he whispered thickly, lost within his own memories now.
"I'm all right … I found my way back," she whispered against his lips.
"To me … yes … you did," he exhaled with a small smile.
"Your turn …," she smirked now, holding his gaze, wherein he planted his lips upon hers again, tenderly smoothing her wet hair back and away from her face … kiss, kiss, kiss … her heart went nuts.
She pulled back slightly and batted her lashes and poured some shampoo onto her hands, wasting no time before she leaned up and kissed her lover soundly while she attentively washed his gorgeous body. One hand moving to massage his lengthening shaft, the other pressed against his toned ass, keeping him right where she needed him and wanted him most: his lean body and beautiful cock pressed low against her stomach, her aroused nipples cutting across his hard chest muscles and his large hands palming her backside where he closed the miniscule distance between them while they kissed and caressed one another without a care in the world.
Releasing her hold on his cock, Rachel stepped even closer to her lover, rolling his bobbing muscle between their bodies as she slicked her hands through his hair and along his broad shoulders and back, his lips still pressed against hers where he moaned her name and moved her backward, situating her between the tiled wall and his body before he raised her thigh and teased her slick folds with the tip of his ready cock – testing her natural inclination for him, gently coaxing her open – though truth be told, there had never been a question as to her sexual readiness for him. Never.
"Please …," was all she said – it was all she ever had to say – for their lovemaking was intuitive … instinctual … fulfilling.
And so with the echo of her plea resonating between them, Tom bent his knees and entered her swiftly, palming her tush where he lifted her up and she crossed her feet behind his back, their brand of heat encapsulating them as they made steadfast love – the powerful essence of their sex, cloaking them now as they connected in mind, body and spirit – enjoying their 'alone time' … lost somewhere together on an island in the middle of the ocean … under the sun shining high in the afternoon sky … and the whimsical palm trees dancing in the perfect nautical breeze.
###
"I must be dreaming," she said a little while later, safe and sound and under the covers in their bedroom. Her eyes dipped shut.
"You say that … a lot …," came Tom's voice.
She opened her eyes to find him. "I do?" she wondered and looked to him, losing herself inside his gorgeous blue gateways … calm and clear and endless.
"You do …," he sighed, leaning up on his elbow, he pressed a chaste kiss to her halo and set his hand over her heart.
Rachel sighed and rolled into his heat, curling herself into the perfect fit of his body, he smelled of sex and shampoo. "Sometimes it feels like our first time together … remember that night?" she asked of him now, peering up and into his eyes.
"I do … a great, perfect … second chance of a beginning …," he smiled wistfully.
"But other times … I feel like I'm still waiting for our time … when I wanted … this … us … so badly …," she confessed hesitantly.
"I know … me too … but then you woke up … and you waited for me …," he replied, pulling her up where he kissed her mouth, slow and soft at first and then more urgently as they rolled, his solid body hovering over hers now.
"Hmmm … and I found you and waited for you …," she said from beneath him, her eyes pinned to his, she brushed her nose against his and he kissed her lips, coming to rest at her side.
"And then we found each other … see, anything's possible," he declared evenly, staring at her.
And that was their truth – that they found one another – that they were living their second chance … a life full of possibility. Rachel felt Tom's breathing become more steady and he shifted slightly, setting his head on the pillow next to hers and she smiled as she watched his face relax, doting on him for a brief moment before she closed her eyes and everything was … liquid black – like the moonless sky from the deck of the Nathan James at sea – endless and gorgeous … where everything was perfect and relatively unknown … kind of like looking into their boy's eyes … his curious reflection so endless, his purpose on earth, so pure, so great … that Tom was right, anything was possible.
###
The bed was cold. The bed shouldn't be cold, she rationalized, still very much asleep, though she felt more like she had been drugged. Groggy, she rolled over again instinctively chasing Tom's innate heat and found his arm, curling into him, though that comfort was marred by a shocking pain that traveled down her back.
"Rachel …," came Tom's baritone from someplace far away. "Rachel … open your eyes … find me," he whispered his pea, his sentiment and his voice, deep and familiar. 'Find me', there was his sentiment, two simple words that meant so much to her. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy, she couldn't. Panic claimed her. She tried to move in earnest, thrashing about. "Hey Doc!" he called, his voice urgent, demanding now.
At the mention of a doctor, Rachel forced her dry eyes open, frenetic alarms blaring inside her head as she looked up to Tom, perched on the side of the bed – a hospital bed, no, no, no – she shook her head and heard her voice. "No, no, no …," she babbled incoherently. "Where am I? Where is he? And you?" she she gasped, her lungs on fire, the sterile air, both stale and cold.
"Rachel… look at me," Tom whispered, setting warm hand along her halo, she held his intense gaze. "You're going to be fine … you were hurt … but you're going to be fine …," he said, his voice betraying him as it trembled and therein he appeared more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him.
Reaching for his hand, she squeezed. "Where is he? Are you okay?" she whispered, fat tears pricked her eyes; she blinked and set them free.
He shook his head and pressed his lips together, squeezing her hand in return, holding her desperate gaze. "You're going to be fine … I'm fine …," he soothed, leaning in. "Everything is going to be all right," he exhaled, his eyes darting to the door … his desperation mounting.
Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?
She felt like screaming! She pulled her hand out of Tom's and began to cry in earnest, 'please, please, please', she prayed to no one in particular but her hope diminished quickly and she felt as if she was free-falling out of her own skin, disintegrating beyond repair. A pit churned in her stomach. What was happening? She blinked rapidly, her heart already pummeled, tattered and torn. She lunged forward.
"Rachel … please lay back," Tom implored softly, his steadfast eyes darting to the door again to which he boomed into the relative silence, "SOMEONE! GET IN HERE, NOW!"
"No, no … no … please …Tom …," she exhaled; he turned back to her. "Where is he?" she begged of him, trying to sit up again. "WHERE IS HE?" she shrilled, her maternal instincts on high alert now wherein all she could think about was their little boy … their angel. "Where is he?" she whispered now, broken-hearted already.
She watched this steadfast, tower of a man, lose himself before her now, noticing that he looked fuzzy around the edges, he was wearing street clothes, a long sleeved sweater and jeans as if he were some kind of peculiar apparition of himself. But she knew better. Panic rose again and she tried to rise off of the bed with it, her eyes searching his for answers. Bile traveled up from her reassess and she felt like vomiting, she lunged forward.
"Rachel … WHO?" he beseeched her, gently holding her face in his hands in an effort to get through to her, his eyes so close now she could see they were marred with fear. "Who do you want?" he whispered urgently. "Just tell me who you want!" he begged of her now.
"You …," she whispered, swallowing hard, staring at him. "And him …," she muttered, her mind deluge with a confusing array of facts … or was it all fiction? Damn it.
"I'm here …," he answered, smoothing her hair back and away from her face. "Everything's going to be all right, now that you woke up …," he whispered, losing his resolve, the staccato of his breathing giving away to tears.
His panic further incited a frenzy within her now. Where is he? She shook her head, her chest was on fire and she reached up and pressed her hand to her clavicle, her skin was hot to the touch and she scoured her memory for what happened … she'd been shot! The realization hitting her akin to a barrage of fresh bullets now. Refusing to believe what her mind was trying to tell her though, she pushed on and through … trying desperately to go back in time! To get back to their baby! To find him again!
Unable to hold himself together, Tom bent forward and covered his face with his hands, wiping his tears away, and only then did she see it – his wedding band – just where it had been since they met, a perfect fit … sparkling gold against the overhead fluorescent lights.
And in that moment, Rachel's entire being radiated with pain and all color drained from her face over what was lost – Where is he? – she heard herself repeating the failed mantra and therein, her heart truly broke – her innermost thoughts falling to Tom where she reached for him, but then abruptly stopped herself, silently erecting the unspoken boundaries she and Tom had lived within in this life – because deep inside that moment of clarity was the truth: that everything … 'he' and the idea of 'them' (Tom and Rachel, Rachel and Tom) … were simply a dream … her heart's desires.
To be continued …