This is a series of short scenes developing the Tom/Rachel relationship through each episode. Each chapter will cover an episode, with probably 2-4 scenes per episode, depending on what happens. Some are just one person's thoughts, some will be "missing" scenes, and some are the scenes that we know and love from one or the other's perspective. Will try to keep it canon-compliant throughout.
This is my first fanfic, so appreciate any comments or constructive advice.
It had been two months since they had come to the Arctic, and Rachel still wasn't sleeping well. At first, she told herself that it was the motion of the ship and the sounds of the engine. It never truly stopped, that gentle rocking of the sea and soft humming of the engines. She didn't notice it during the days, chaotic as they were. But as soon as she returned to her room and took off her boots, the motion was there.
At first, it grated on her. She felt the vibration in her body, under her feet, under her hands, everywhere. But eventually, Rachel realized that she had come to find it comforting. So why was she still tossing and turning every night, if it wasn't the movement of the ship?
Rachel tried then to tell herself that it was the cold. Yes, the Arctic was cold. Her lips were chapped, her skin was dry, and the wind whirled past her, whipping up snow and ice, every second that she worked. But Rachel knew, deep down, that she didn't mind the cold. So she pushed all of her non-virologist thoughts down during the day, didn't think about it. Work was easy. Work was comforting. Work she could handle. But when she got back to the cabin at night, changed and showered, and slipped into the tiny bunk, that's when everything got difficult.
A few nights after realizing that the movement of the ship no longer bothered her and that she actually liked the cold, Rachel had to admit that she had been lying to herself. It wasn't the ship, or the sea, or the temperature, or even that terrible coffee that was keeping her awake. No, she knew what it was, but it was emotional and messy and exactly the kind of thing that Rachel hated.
Stress. Emotions. Fear. The weight of the world was on her shoulders. She was humanity's last chance. Nine months ago, she would have laughed at anyone who voiced such clear hyperbole. But not anymore. That was the situation. They were up here while the world burned, and not only was the world on her (and Quincy's) shoulders, but no one else knew. She saw the crew walking around every day, and they had no idea.
Sometimes she wondered, in the shower or lying in her bunk, whether she was doing the right thing. Last week, she overheard one of the crew talking about the wedding that his fiancée was planning back home. Was she a bad person for letting him think that, when his fiancée was probably dead?
Two days ago, she had talked to the CDC, and they told her that the virus was close to phase six. Two hours later, she had bumped into Captain Chandler and his XO arguing some sport, baseball or basketball or something, debating whose team would be in the lead when they returned home. Chandler had made a comment about taking his son to one of the games, that his boy loved the Yankees. Who was she to let him think that he had a family waiting back at home, that everything was fine, and that they would be home in a week watching strange American sports with their kids?
If she was really honest to herself, which wasn't too often, lying to the Captain bothered her the most. The man had welcomed her and Quincy, given up the helo bay, and given her his men to watch over them on the ice. He clearly thought that their scientific expedition was absurd and a waste of resources (and who could blame him when they made it sound boring on purpose?), but he was still nothing but polite, nothing but welcoming. Yes, lying to him bothered her the most.
So that was how Rachel found herself at 0350, tossing and turning, sheets wrapped around her legs, sleep nowhere in her future. With the sigh of a teenager, she threw off the covers, kicking her feet to remove the sheet. Noting the purring of the ship under her bare feet, Rachel slipped on a sports bra and tennis shoes and started down to the gym. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well get a workout. She'd need to be in top shape when they went back home.
Trying not to get lost in the winding gray p-way, and certainly not expecting anyone else to be up at this hour, Rachel almost ran headlong into someone as she turned a corner. In fact, she would have barreled right into him, if strong hands hadn't come out and grabbed her shoulders, steadying her.
"Woah there." Rachel looked up from the navy BDUs to the voice, seeing Captain Chandler. Great.
"Sorry," she muttered.
He smiled and let go of her shoulders. Why was he nice to her? Didn't he know that she was a liar?
"Well, be careful. And smile, doctor. Bridge says that it's going to be a beautiful clear day tomorrow."
Rachel forced a smile. "'Night, Captain."
They slipped past each other in the p-way, and Rachel took a deep breath. Jesus, she needed to get a grip. As she slipped into the empty gym, she promised herself that she would stop feeling guilty and get on with the mission. And even as she whispered the words to herself, Rachel knew that it was a lie.
Tom Chandler had his shit together. He always had. He prided himself on being an officer and a gentleman, levelheaded in a crisis, honest and loyal to a fault. Tom couldn't remember the last time that he felt as if he truly had no fucking idea what to do. But sitting in his cabin, well, that was how he felt now.
He only had a few minutes. He was supposed to be changing to head to the Italian cruise ship. But it would take at least another thirty minutes to get close enough to launch the RIBs, so he sat down at his desk for a moment. In hours, his life had gone from routine to anything but. The Russian attack, Doctor Scott's revelations, the vidcom with the President, telling the crew that their families were probably dead, the nuclear attack, and now a fuel crisis! If he was honest, there was no way to know if they would ever make it home.
His hand reached out of its own volition to pick up the picture of his family on his desk in front of him, and a sad smile spread across his face. Were they even alive? Would he ever kiss Ashley's head again or ruffle Sam's hair? Would he ever be able to hold his wife again?
He remembered the day before he left, standing there with Darien, hands locked. Darien had made him promise that he would take that desk job when he came back. She had looked into his eyes, so serious, and told him "I just worry so much when you're out there. Can you really promise that this is it? That after this, it's a desk job?" He had kissed her forehead and smiled and told her yes, of course, this was it, not to worry.
And now, this. His head swirled with memories, with regret, with fear for his family. Tom slammed down the picture and closed his eyes. He could see his family behind his eyelids, as he had left them on the dock, waving.
"Fucking stop, Tom," he told himself out loud. "This isn't the time or the place."
Tom stood up. The longer that he sat at that desk, the longer he looked at the picture, the harder it would get. He knew that, but it was still fucking hard to stand up and turn around.
Tom finished tying his boot and left the cabin. He didn't look back at the picture at his desk, he couldn't. The p-way was bustling, and he made his way quickly to the staging area. When he got there, the first thing that he saw was Doctor Rachel Scott. She was getting her materials together, dressed in containment gear, mask off.
At the sight of her, he felt anger coiling in his stomach. She had known, she had lied. If she had told him, they could have gone home, could have saved people. But Tom pushed the emotions away. They weren't helpful, and they weren't even right. The husband and father in him hated her, but the Captain in him knew that she was the only chance for their mission. And the pragmatist in him knew that she was their only chance at getting a vaccine and ending this entire thing.
He walked up to her, and they gave each other cautious nods. It was cold and rainy, and he had to speak loudly to even be heard.
"What are we looking at out there? If the ship was infected?"
"It's a messy death, this virus. Even just one. An entire cruise ship? It…it will be bad. Difficult to see."
Tom bristled. "My men can handle it, Doctor. They're well trained."
Rachel Scott just smiled at him. "Your men are very strong, Captain. But death by this virus, well, it's worse than any battle."
Tom started to cut her off. Who was she to know about battle? But she kept going, "I spent a year at a trauma ward in Mogadishu. I know what war is. And Captain, this is worse."
He looked at her. A year in Mogadishu? That was unexpected. Between the accent and the attitude, he had taken her as soft academic with no practical experience. Maybe he had misread her.
Tom changed the topic. "Well, I'm going to split most of the men into food and fuel, but I'll go with you. Let me know what you need."
"I will. Thank you," Rachel said, turning back to her CDC box. Tom took a step back, looking around at everything. They were ready to go. But Tom held back for a second before he gave the order, turning his gaze back to Doctor Scott in front of him. Maybe he had misread her. The world might be in her hands, but maybe they were in better shape than he had thought just five minutes before.
Rachel sat on the port side of the ship, the setting sun warming her thick sweater. She listened to the Captain speak to the crew, and she had to admit that it was a damn good speech. For years, the rah-rah patriotism of Americans had amused her, but now, she could see why they felt like that. And if she was honest, she did believe in this crew. She just didn't believe in herself.
A few minutes later, when the heavy orange sun just touched the horizon, she sensed someone else coming up. Rachel was surprised to find that it was the Captain, and even more surprised when he sat next to her. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked over at her. They were silent for a moment.
"I liked your speech," Rachel said, giving him the best smile she could muster.
The Captain looked up at her, surprise at the compliment clear on his face. "I have my moments."
They fell quiet again. Rachel looked out at the sea, but when she glanced at the Captain, he was looking at her.
"Do you know how hard Cuba was hit? Any idea what we're going to find?" Tom asked her.
"I'm honestly not sure," she answered. "The tropics were hit the hardest. Venezuela and Brazil had some of the highest death rates. But an island like Cuba, it's hard to say. Too many variables."
Tom nodded and looked down at his boots, but Rachel didn't look away from him. "Why the sudden decision to do this on the ship? What happened to the labs in North Carolina and Florida?"
The Captain looked back up at her. His blue eyes looked conflicted, and she saw almost imperceptible movement of the muscles around his mouth. Even Rachel, admittedly not the best at interpersonal affairs, could tell that he was conflicted. She wondered if he showed the same face to his crew, but she doubted it. For some reason, he was being more honest with her.
"Not safe enough. If we're really the only chance at a vaccine, the only ones with this primordial, then we can't send it to a lab 200 miles inland. Takes the control from our hands. Like you said, too many variables."
Rachel nodded. She could tell that he wasn't done. After a few heartbeats, the Captain kept speaking.
"I got through to my family. They're safe. My wife, my kids, they're with my dad. But it sounded bad out there. We need to get this vaccine together here, where we can control our environment, and then get it to them."
Rachel smiled at him, but part of her wasn't sure how to feel about that revelation. She knew that he was married, he had the ring, but she hadn't even known that he had kids. It hit her then how little she actually knew about the man sitting in front of her.
"I'm glad that you found your family," Rachel responded.
"Me too."
"Is the rest of the ship ok with this? With going to Guantanamo?"
She saw him hesitate for a second. Was he trying to decide whether to tell her the truth? Was there more to her question than she had thought? She knew that Guantanamo Bay was a location with baggage to most Americans, but there seemed to be even more behind his reaction.
"They will be. They'll understand why we had to do this when we get home."
Rachel nodded. She looked down, fingers fooling with a loose thread in her sweater. She wasn't sure how to answer that. She knew nothing about command or leading people.
Rachel sensed the Captain standing up, and she looked up at him. Sometimes she forgot how big, how imposing he was.
"We can do this, Doctor. I will move heaven and Earth to keep you and Doctor Tophet safe and get you what you need. We're going to go home with that vaccine." The Captain reached down and squeezed her shoulder, just a brief touch, conveying his message.
"Thank you, Captain." Rachel gave him a slow smile, and he nodded at her as he turned and left. She knew that he was a good commander, a good captain, and a good leader. She was none of those things, but she was a damn good virologist. Maybe, just maybe, they could pull this off together.