It was a long day. Rachel checked up the wall only to find a dead clock face with arms frozen on 11 directions. It was just a decorative antique on the ship to honor the old sail time.

Actually it was about 3 a.m. She worked almost round clock. Suddenly she felt small-but-sharp pain coming up deeply from her inner body. An early warning sign, maybe a heart attack. Rachel thought. She knew what the all-year-round chaotic demanding research and fieldwork is going to cost her finally. She never really gave much care. Perhaps it was because she did not get anyone to seriously worry about, like children. Quincy, whatever, made a point there. She has no SKIN in this, no family, no friends. It even looks sort of advantage in all this longtime dangerous competition on vaccine development. And, if he were right, the glory of beating the most consequential plague in human history and saving the world, should go to her for that.

But it is not true. The idea of getting one's name carved into stone never made her interested.

The patients fell asleep, quietly, deeply and steady, Darien Chandler and her two children, with an exhausted Tom sitting aside staring at his family.

But now he would not need to be anxious anymore. Rachel had just saved them.

In no way it was any simple regular injection. Their infections were unusual, complicated with multiple symptoms. Rachel had to vary the cure's formula a little with tremendous care. After 15 hours' waiting and observation, in the end she confirmed her success. They will be O.K. Not until then did she suddenly felt that pressure grown on her nearly killed her. It rang a bell, painfully, of some moments in the trial last week, the way his eyes fixed upon her, when she was struggling desperately to throw out anything she thought out. If only it wouldn't work, how could she look into them again? Failure may be just a normal scientific outcome with statistical reasonability. But it was NOT an option at that time, absolutely not. Deep down heart he might never stop believing in her, only there were too much for him to concern, too much responsibilities for any personal feelings or sentiments in his commanding position. She was so clear about that, and that is why she never tried to pierce the curtain of graceful social distance between them, even after the messy and dramatic "necessary" kiss. Thanks to God, she is a natural for that. She is British.

But something is still there, no matter how hard one try to avoid, even for a steel-willed man he is, or an ice-clear sober woman she tries to be. When she finally broke into tears, which she did not tell coming from joys or fears, and collapsed on his shoulder, she saw what was soaring behind that heavy iron door. Tom turned to her, pressing a long time kiss gently on her hair. Looked like the only way the commanding officer could indulge himself into any intimacy with her.

Now this man has more to worry about. He just lost his old man, and was so close to lose his wife, son and daughter. He looked still the every stoic military man in the past six months life-or-death struggle on the sea, only nearly totally squeezed out , for the crew and the mission. He is on the fringe to implode. The crisis was over. However he obviously needed time to straight it out.

He buried face in hands for a short while, putting on some calm-down refreshing effort, and then sits straight up responding to Rachel's good-bye. Tiredness did not do a very successful job to wear out his handsome and thoughtful looks, or his inner spirit.

Rachel quietly gave the captain a comforting pat on the shoulder, carefully not to add any mental weight to it. " Get some rest." She said in controlled plain voice, and turn for the doorway.

Before She could reach the door handle, suddenly she found her waist taken firmly with an irresistible powerful pull to behind. The next moment only things she could feel were his strong holding arm and hot breaths right coming to her ear. His lips trembled and the always-calm-clear penetrating blue eyes burnt in dark fire. For a split second, he seemed like bend forward for a kiss, but he did not.

There rose the small nicking pains again, to her chest. Rachel needed to find a way to breathe before this kill her. But Tom ruthlessly tightened his arms, holding her firmly, not letting her go, with the all furious and damaging strength, like a pissed-off tiger smashing a bloody prey animal. His lips were right beneath her ear with low wordless mumblings. Rachel's minds became blurred, she thought she was going pass out or die. She gave up while something stupid emerged into her last lingering thoughts before losing consciousness: the funny old clock face on the wall, setting a moment long, long time ago and always be waiting…