Tom blinked his eyes rapidly. Running his hand across his face, it came away with a sheen of sweat. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed, took a few deep breaths, and stared at the floor beneath him.

Once his heart slowed to normal, he glanced at the clock. 4 am. The worst time to wake up. Stuck with slipping into a restless sleep or getting up and being wiped out by the end of the day.

Sighing, he flicked the light on and got dressed.

###

He paused after stepping onto the deck. Apparently he wasn't the only one up early.

"Good morning."

She jumped, her hand moving towards her hip for a weapon that wasn't there. Tom raised his hands in apology.

"Sorry, I thought you heard me approach."

"I should have," she remarked absently before leaning forward, resting her forearms on the railing. He mimicked her position, their shoulders close but not quite touching.

"What has you up so early?" he asked.

"Nightmare. Couldn't fall back asleep." Her eyes drifted over the dark waters. "You?"

"Some uncomfortable dreams."

"Is that what guys call nightmares?" she asked, amused.

He smiled. "I suppose."

They said nothing for several minutes, both searching for equilibrium. Sasha broke the silence first.

"What was yours about?" she asked quietly.

"An old mission," he said. "We'd gotten bad intel. Instead of being outgunned two-to-one it was closer to five-to-one. I lost two-thirds of my team."

Sasha looked at him pointedly. "You've been outnumbered and lost men before. That's not what's bothering you about it."

Tom smirked. Sasha never pulled her punches, even with him. He considered her question for a few moments before answering.

"I didn't trust myself. It felt off, but I was assured multiple times the intel was solid."

Sasha tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She didn't mention that the intel probably was solid at the time it was given; situations can change rapidly. But that's not what he'd want to hear at the moment. Another thought occurred to her, though.

"How long ago was this?" she asked.

Tom thought back. "About six years ago."

"Was that the last time you ignored your instincts?"

"Yes," he answered, without hesitation.

"Then it's a good thing it happened." He stared at her, not sure where she was going with this. She gave him a small smile.

"It made an impression on you. A strong one. And from what I understand, trusting your instincts is the sole reason this ship survived and brought everyone the cure."

Tom took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, letting go of the tension he'd had since he'd jolted awake. He missed this from Sasha - her unerring ability to see the larger picture at play. It was why she was good at her job. And good with him.

Running a hand through his hair, he let the remnants of his dream fade away. "What about you?" he asked. "What was your nightmare about?"

Sasha sighed. He wasn't going to let her off easy.

"It was similar to yours," she said wryly. "A mission marred by shoddy intel." She took a deep breath before continuing. Sometimes saying things out loud helped. Sometimes it just hurt more.

"The building was supposed to be abandoned, but apparently their militia had 'recruited' recently. Most of the guards were barely in their teens. I ended up in a fight with a boy about fourteen years old. Fifteen if I want to make myself feel better." She looked down at her hands, idly scraping at a nail. "He was on top of me when I slit his throat. I watched the life bleed out of him. Felt the moment when his weight became dead and I had to roll him off of me."

Tom remained silent. He'd done things, too. Up close and personal, like this. Where you couldn't hide from the reality. Nothing he could say would be adequate.

"The thing is, I can't blame the intel. Knowing the actual scenario, we still would have proceeded and I'd have acted the same way. But it's hard not to dislike yourself when you know you can choose to be so brutal."

Sasha rarely allowed herself to appear vulnerable. To see her turmoil written so clearly on her face was significant. But there were crewman on deck and he was the CNO. All he could do was grasp her hand and interlock their fingers, squeezing gently.

"Dislike the action, Sasha, not yourself. Scenarios like that keep your humanity in check," he said quietly. "Feeling that, remembering that, prevents you from going numb. It makes you think long and hard about decisions and the consequences to all parties involved. And that's the only way for both sides to hope to come to any sort of understanding in the future. Through empathy."

Sasha nodded, his words helping her regain her composure. She squeezed his hand once before letting go to turn around, leaning back against the railing.

"Are we ever going to have normal conversations again?" she asked, smiling. She needed to shift focus to something less serious.

"Like about sports or movies?" he asked. He bumped her shoulder lightly, taking the hint. "I don't recall us ever doing normal conversations, Sasha."

"Okay, not normal," she conceded, "but less somber."

Tom looked up, drawing attention to the stars and darkness above them. "It would help if we spoke at times other than the middle of the night."

She almost quipped, 'But it's so romantic'. She held back, though. He might not want to go there yet, even in jest. "True," she replied instead.

"Then let's change that. Join me for lunch later," he said.

And then again…maybe he was ready to go there. Or maybe it was just lunch. She was good at reading between the lines, but those lines seemed to shift rather frequently these days.

"Okay," she replied.

"Okay? Don't you mean, 'Aye, aye?'"

Sasha glared at him. "You're never going to let go of that are you?"

"Not anytime soon, no," he said.

"Fine," Sasha huffed. "But expect payback, Tom."

He retreated ten paces, drawing a curious look from her.

"Aye, aye," he replied, before beating a hasty retreat. He really did enjoy pushing her buttons at times.