ALIAS: More Time
A/N: Having just watched all „Alias" seasons in a row, the show has been on my mind a lot lately. It put me in the mood to write something, although I felt that everything about the main characters was told sufficiently on the show itself. However, during the season 5 finale the characters of Rachel and Tom finally began to strike me as an interesting couple, and so I came up with this. And if I am not mistaken, this is one of the first Tom/Rachel stories here.
As usual, the non-native-speaker warning applies, and reviews would be greatly appreciated.
Classification: One-shot set roughly about the same time as the epilogue of "All the Time in the World". Spoilers for everything, especially the season finale. Tom/Rachel.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters established by the show. This story is not written for profit. All character credit goes to JJ Abrams and the rest of the crew (with the exception of a couple of names mentioned in passing) – thank you for five great and inspiring years!
ooooo
Rachel Gibson was exhausted. She'd had a tough day, filling in – again – for Marshall, who had called the office fifteen minutes after he'd been due to take a leave of absence for the day. It appeared that the newest addition to his family, Cedric, was driving Carrie crazy and she desperately needed her husband home to relieve her of the stress of dealing with four boys on her own. Dixon had reprimanded the fussy op-tech officer, but only gently. And Rachel had been all too prepared to work overtime. After all, unlike Marshall, she didn't have anyone to return home to, so she'd gladly accepted the distraction.
Sometimes she still missed Sydney. She'd been her best friend during the time they'd been working together at APO, and although Rachel got along very well with the rest of the team, no one could really compare to that brilliant, devoted agent. But Sydney and Vaughn had left the CIA to go to live on a deserted island, far away from the world. They had invited Rachel to visit them whenever she felt she needed a break, but so far Rachel had kept taking rain checks. She was afraid that such a visit would make returning to her everyday routine even harder to bear than it already was.
Even after all these years, the memories were still vivid: Sloane, APO, Rambaldi, Prophet Five… Kelly Peyton and Julian Sark… and the old team: Sydney, Vaughn, Jack Bristow, Dixon, Marshall and Tom Grace. Only Dixon and Marshall were left now.
Thinking of Jack Bristow made Rachel sad.
Thinking of Tom Grace made her even sadder.
She heaved a deep sigh and rubbed her temples to fend off the approaching headache. After almost twelve hours in front of the computer screen, her eyes were screaming for some rest.
Rachel looked around. Apart from herself, only two other agents remained in the office: one of the analysts, Giles Haydock, and Dixon, who was on the phone, looking worried. He caught Rachel's eye and signalled her to come over.
He got off the phone when Rachel reached his door. He didn't look any better than she felt, Rachel noticed. His dark skin had a grayish tinge, and his eyes were bloodshot from sleep deprivation.
"Rachel."
When no one else was around, none of the old APO team bothered with the protocol attached to Dixon's new position as Deputy Director. So Rachel simply smiled. "Dixon."
Her former-colleague-turned-boss gave a weary, strangely apologetic smile, and Rachel knew instantly that she would not be getting home any time soon.
"I hate to ask this of you, what with the workload you've already had to deal with today, but I can't trust anyone else with this." Dixon gestured for her to have a seat, so Rachel sat.
"We're expecting a highly classified message from a contact in Berlin," Dixon explained. "Actually, I'm the only one here with sufficient clearance to see it, but something's come up. It appears that there was a leak somewhere and a couple of people would be able to eavesdrop if he used the method of communication we originally established. So he's gonna have to use a random encryption key to make sure the message stays safe. I'm gonna need your help to decipher it once it's arrived. Unfortunately, it could arrive any time two hours from now."
Dixon gave another apologetic smile when he saw the frustration in Rachel's face. "I know," he said, "hanging around here and waiting for that terminal to start beeping is no way to spend a Friday night. I'd spare you this if I could, but unfortunately I can't. The message requires instant decryption. The entire mission depends on it."
"What mission is it, anyway?" Rachel asked.
Dixon's face clouded over, and Rachel anticipated his answer before he even opened his mouth.
"Never mind," she said quickly. "You said yourself that you're the only one with sufficient clearance to know. Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about," Dixon replied. "I'd much prefer being able to tell you all about it. It's not a matter of trust, it's a matter of agency policy. You know that, don't you?"
Rachel smiled. "I know."
"So…?" Dixon made it a question, although Rachel could hardly refuse.
"Of course I'm staying," she said. "But you said the message ain't due until two hours from now?"
"That's right."
"Then I might as well try and catch some sleep in the meantime." Rachel yawned. "Wake me in two hours, okay? Then I'll keep you company by the terminal."
"Thank you." Dixon smiled. "I really appreciate it. I guess you've just earned yourself an extra day off whenever you want it."
"I'll be sure to remind you of that," Rachel replied. "I'll crash on the couch in… the office over there." She bit her lip. Even after seven years she sometimes wanted to refer to the room as "Jack's office". It didn't even make sense, since they were in an entirely different building, but the layout was similar to that at APO, and Sydney had told her that Jack had indeed once resided in that office, back in the times before APO even existed.
If Dixon had noticed the pause, he didn't let it show. "Sleep well," he said. "And don't curse me too hard when I come to wake you."
"I'll do my best."
Rachel left Dixon's office and entered the other one, bidding goodbye to Giles Haydock on her way over. The young analyst looked surprised that she was still here but didn't ask any questions. Shouldering his bag, he waved at her, then – more respectfully – at Dixon and disappeared into the elevator.
Rachel shut the office door behind her, curled up on the couch and rested her head on her arm. It took her hardly ten seconds to fall asleep.
ooooo
"Sorry to disturb you, but I'll have to leave for ten minutes or so," Dixon said. "I need you awake in my absence, just in case."
He looked like guilty conscience personified, and Rachel couldn't be angry at him for not letting her sleep any longer.
"'s okay," she mumbled, trying to open her eyes properly. "I'll stay here on the couch, though."
Dixon made as to protest, but Rachel interrupted him. "I've rigged my cell phone to the terminal. The millisecond something arrives, my cell's gonna make an awful lot of noise. Even if I should fall asleep again – which I'll try not to – it's gonna have me wide awake within a fraction of a second."
"You sure?"
"Dead sure. Just go, I'll keep guard."
"Okay. Call me if anything happens. But the message isn't due yet. I don't think our contact will choose exactly those ten minutes to be early." With another smile, Dixon left, and Rachel shifted her position on the couch. She closed her eyes again but forced herself to keep her mind busy. That way, her eyes got some rest but she wouldn't go back to sleep.
What could the mission be, she wondered, a mission that required a contact in Berlin. As far as she knew, there was nothing wrong with Berlin at the moment. But maybe the CIA was cooperating with German Intelligence, fighting against someone – or something – else. Yes, a cooperation, that might be possible…
She turned to the wall and curled into a ball, playing with the idea.
Rachel was so lost in thought that she only noticed Dixon's return when she heard him entering the office. Eyes still closed, she gave a wave with her hand.
"I'm still here, Dixon."
Dixon didn't reply, but Rachel heard the sound of his footsteps as he approached the couch where she was lying. Then the scraping of metal on the floor as he pulled a chair over to sit beside her.
"What's the time, anyway?" she asked.
There was still no answer, only breathing. Slightly alarmed, Rachel forced herself to open her eyes and turn around.
"Dix…?" The name got stuck in her throat when she laid eyes on the man sitting on the chair.
It wasn't Dixon.
Nor was it anyone else working for their division, or even anyone she had seen in the past seven years. In fact, it was someone she had thought long dead and gone.
Tom Grace.
"Hello Rachel."
His voice sounded husky and unfamiliar. He looked different, his face a little more haggard, with a deep line furrowing his brow. A relatively fresh scar adorned his left cheek, as if someone had slashed at him with a knife.
Rachel stared at him, at a complete loss for words. She had seen and known things she would never have thought were possible, but this topped everything. She had talked to Tom right before the bomb went off, had even heard the blast on the com. She had seen the explosion that he had died in. They had recovered his charred, unrecognizable remains afterwards and given him a state funeral. She had wept for this man, mourned the loss of a colleague and friend.
And yet here he was, alive and well, as far as she could tell.
Tom made a half-hearted gesture with his hand and Rachel realized she must have been gaping at him for at least a minute by now. She swallowed twice, making a clicking sound in her throat. She still had absolutely no idea what to say, so all she eventually managed was, "Tom?"
Something lit up in his eyes that hadn't been there before. It wasn't exactly a smile, but Tom looked as if a huge burden had been taken from him.
"Yes, Rachel, it's me. It's nice that you remember me."
"Of course I remember you. But I thought… I mean, how…?" Rachel trailed off, waving her hand helplessly, unable to state the obvious.
"That's… a long story."
Rachel managed to pull herself together. She sat up on the couch, her elbow brushing Tom's knee in the process. Maybe it was the touch that did it, but the truth finally hit home, overwhelming her for a moment. Tom Grace was here, and he was alive. Tears shot into Rachel's eyes, one of them trickling down her cheek. She didn't even know why she was crying; it was partly due to the exhaustion and lack of sleep as well as Tom's unexpected return, she reckoned. She stretched out a hand, wanting to touch him again to really convince herself she wasn't dreaming.
Her hand practically collided with Tom's cheek, and she cupped the side of his face in her palm, the base of her hand resting against his jaw. Tom's eyes seemed to light up again, and he leaned slightly into her hand. His eyelids fluttered, as if he had been about to close his eyes and then thought better of it.
Stubble covered his cheeks and jaw line, and the new scar felt deceptively smooth under her skin. Rachel ran a finger over it, and Tom shuddered slightly, barely noticeably, under her touch.
"It's been a long time," he said softly. His voice was quivering a little.
"Oh yes, it has," Rachel agreed. Her thumb was almost on the corner of his mouth. If she moved it just the fraction of an inch, she would touch his lips.
Not really understanding why, she did.
Tom held very still, his gaze holding hers, unfaltering. Even his breathing slowed down, as if she were some shy animal that he didn't want to scare off.
"Where have you been?" Rachel whispered while her thumb moved over the side of his mouth, tracing first the upper and then the lower lip. "How did you get away?"
Somewhat inconsistently, she didn't even give him time to answer her question, though. Something inside her chest just exploded and she made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"God, I've missed you, Tom," she burst out, wrapping her free arm around his neck and half pulling him close, half pushing herself against him from her half-sitting position.
Tom responded immediately. He hugged her back fiercely, enveloping her completely in his arms. One hand tangled in her hair at the back of her head, he lifted her from the couch against his body, burying his face against the side of her neck. She felt his breath on her skin and her entire body suddenly broke out in goose bumps. She had forgotten how good it felt to be so close to someone.
"I've missed you, too, Rachel," Tom mumbled against her neck. "I wish I could have come back earlier…"
"I thought you were dead!" The memory made Rachel hug him even harder, grasping his shoulders like someone drowning, wanting to know, really know, that he was there. And with that, another memory stirred: Tom knocking on her door late one night, shortly before everything went pear-shaped, not knowing why he had come to her apartment.
They had never had the opportunity to talk about the kiss, not really. They had said goodbye, both knowing what was left unsaid between them.
Now, locked in a tight embrace with the man she had once thought she had a connection with, Rachel remembered everything. And something told her that Tom was thinking the same.
With sudden determination, Rachel loosened her grip on him enough to lean back and look at him. He looked back at her, the same dark expression on his face that she remembered best about him. But there was a melancholy in his eyes that had not been there seven years ago, at least not as clearly. Tom Grace must have gone through a lot.
She bowed her head to his and brought one of her hands back to his cheek. She stroked his face gently, feeling the stubble against her fingers. Tom's arms remained where they were, clasped loosely around her, but she felt the weight of his head as he leaned his forehead against hers.
For a while, they remained like that, holding each other, Rachel moving her fingers up and down his cheek, not flinching when she brushed over the scar.
When Tom broke the silence, she all but jumped.
"You made me change my mind," he said, his voice so low that Rachel had to listen hard in order to understand what he was saying. "I was prepared to die. I even wanted to. I just wanted to say goodbye to you and then die in peace, saving a lot of people in the process. But you made me change my mind."
"How so?" Rachel whispered back.
"Remember the last thing I said to you?"
"You said you wished there was more time, and that you would've asked me out."
Tom nodded slowly, and the feeling of his head moving against hers was strangely intimate.
"And you said you would have said yes."
"I remember."
Tom lifted his eyes so he could look straight into hers. "That's what changed my mind," he said. "I suddenly realized that there might actually be something worth living for. That not everything was lost. I had something to look forward to…" A shadow fell over his eyes. "But unfortunately, I never got the chance to ask you out. The blast from the bomb knocked me unconscious, although I managed to get far enough not to be blown up. Jack found me later and practically begged me to fake my death. He had a plan for me, and I was stupid enough to agree. It was most convenient that apparently some poor homeless guy was close enough to the bomb to get burned beyond recognition. Jack faked the DNA results so that it appeared to be me and sent me away immediately. I didn't even get to attend my own funeral, although I've been told it was a huge event."
There was no humor in his voice when he delivered the wry remark.
"I cried at your funeral," Rachel said slowly. "I mourned you. I thought you sacrificed yourself. But you were alive the whole time…"
"Rachel, please don't get mad at me," Tom implored. "I wanted to tell you. I practically got on my knees before Dixon, once he had succeeded Jack, to give you sufficient clearance, but he wouldn't budge. Under no circumstances was I to let you know I was still alive. Nor anyone else, for that matter."
Rachel was silent for a while. She had stopped stroking his cheek, but her hand lingered where it was. She couldn't bring herself to be mad at Tom. She had known it, too, not being able to tell the people closest to her what she was really doing. She couldn't blame him for following orders. If anything, she should be mad at Jack – who was no more – or Dixon for giving that order.
"Rachel," Tom said again when she still didn't speak. There was resignation in his voice and she felt his grip on her slacken. Slowly, reluctantly, he began to draw back from her.
And Rachel made a split decision.
"Don't you dare leave now," she said and reached for his hand. "Don't you dare, Tom Grace!" With an almost angry movement, she gripped his hand and held it. Tom hesitated for a moment, then his fingers curled around hers and he squeezed back.
"I would still say yes, you know," Rachel said. She said it straight to his face, her eyes on his. "All you have to do is ask."
Instead of doing just that, Tom closed the distance between their faces and pressed his lips to hers. He smelled of smoke and tasted of cheap alcohol, and Rachel didn't care. Her lips parted against his; she welcomed his tongue, welcomed the two very different sensations of the coarse stubble rubbing against her face and the softness of his mouth on hers. The kiss deepened quickly, both of them hungrily seeking to finish what they had started seven years ago. It was impossible to make up for all that lost time in such a short moment, but they did their best to try. Rachel sank back upon the couch, and Tom followed, landing on top of her. His mouth moved over her face and then on to her neck. She held him close, digging her fingers into his muscular back, her legs wrapped around him, as she placed eager kisses on whatever part of him she could reach.
Tom heaved a shuddering sigh as he moved back up from her neck to find her mouth once again, and for a long, long moment, they became lost in a kiss that hovered between tenderness and passion, prone to topple over to one side or the other at any moment.
Her ears started ringing and she felt light-headed. She realized in that moment that she had secretly been hoping for a miracle all those years; that this was why she had not committed to anyone else ever since Tom's apparent death. She had always been waiting for him to come back, even though she had never consciously known.
The ringing in her ears did not cease. It became louder and louder, and some part of her mind started to realize that it wasn't in her head. It was something else.
Her cell phone, maybe.
ooooooo
Rachel awoke with a start, panting, disoriented. She was still lying on the couch, her hair tousled, the blanket a bundle at her feet.
And the ringing went on, shrill and persistent.
The terminal!
Muttering a curse, Rachel got off the couch and rushed across the office to Dixon's terminal, deliberately pushing the harsh truth that everything had just been a dream back to some corner of her mind.
She had no time to mourn. It was like déjà vu all over again, losing Tom and having no time to let it sink in.
Rachel arrived at the terminal the same moment that Dixon came back. Seeing her at the station, he jogged across the office to join her.
"Is the transmission coming through?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her.
"I think so," Rachel replied while she was typing away commands, too fast for Dixon to follow. "At least something's going on here. Hold on, I'm still checking the ports."
For thirty seconds, Rachel burrowed through streams of data until she found what she had been looking for. The encrypted message unfolded before her eyes on the screen.
"Can you decrypt it?"
"I take it that's a rhetoric question," Rachel quipped. Furrowing her brow, she loaded a program she had hacked together earlier to identify the encryption. Once identified, she typed in a series of commands until the program started working. Line by line, the transmitted message appeared.
Dixon read through it, a deep crease appearing between his eyebrows. Rachel had a look at it, too, but it didn't make any sense to her. On top of the encryption, it was written in code.
The last line of the message began to unfold, then came a blank, and then the signature.
It was pure coincidence that she even looked at it, but when she did, it was as if a huge block of ice had been dropped right on top of her.
The signature read, "Sidewinder".