Author's Note: From a prompt given by MuchMeaning, "Tom realizes his feelings after Rachel is taken hostage". See the End Notes for more.
There is something cold and twisted in his gut, upending his center and growing ever sharper. It bathes him in ice, sets a tremble into his hands that he can't will away, and cuts short his breath with every short breath of air he sucks down. This cold thing is working its way into his brain, digging deep to that part of him he keeps locked away.
It isn't good for a captain to be so unsure, so incapable of fighting down the spiked cold as it grows roots in his stomach. He needs to be strong and firm, to stand tall and ready as the situation demands, but his mind and body are rebelling against that idea.
He is in her lab, shaking fingers tracing small artifacts of her time here: empty vials, a worn microscope, neat rows of syringes. And suddenly comes the realization that these things, these items tiny and large, mean nothing without her using them. They are simply things, inanimate objects existing for the prospect of future use, and even then, they come alive only from skilled touch.
Her hands gave these things life, and without her, they are only things.
That jagged cold in his middle twists again, and he grinds his teeth in retaliation. Soon, there will be contact from his people on the ground. Soon there will be word as to whether or not she skated through another bloody, tangled situation, unharmed but wary.
Soon there will be word if these things around him would still have use.
Abruptly, his assaulted mind latches on to a singular thought: she gave him a use past captain and soldier, brought him literal salvation through her tears and her fears and her triumphs, and never once did he recognize the way his heart had responded to such heady acts.
And there it was, the thought that cracks the hold of the cold thing around his chest, the bands that prevented him from breathing. He gasps in great lungfuls of chill air, his tremoring hands scrubbing away at the hard layer of fear on his face. There is still terror, still an abundance of anxiety and worry and panic, but now he knows why.
It isn't just because she is the phenomenal Dr. Scott, or because she has brought them all new life, or because of the thousand and one other things she has given to this overwhelming, never-ending quest they are all set on. It isn't because she is one of them, a member of their floating family, and it isn't because she spurs them all on to greater things.
It is because she is Rachel.
And he loves her.
This simple understanding brings a sudden peace with it, a warmth that combats the cold inside him. There remains the worry and panic, but he understands why now, understands the reason behind the emotions, and that is enough to rip up the roots of cold that had burrowed tight into his mind. He can think again, he can reason, and with that reason comes a flood of potential plans. He has faith in her, in the strength and tenacity of her mind, and in her conviction; his worry is now getting her back, not if she is still alive.
Her hands give so much life, to her machines and computers, to family and strangers.
He needs her to know what those hands have done to his heart.
Author's End Note: My take on prompts like this tend to be a little less than the usual story, and more a vignette on one character or another. I have challenged myself to write a little dialogue as possible, much like I did in my previous Arrow collection. I also based this on a progression to their relationship, because I don't see them so close as of yet within the show. And though I have updated quite a bit over the past day and a half, please don't assume this will be a constant; I just happened to have time free for the first time in a while, but I will attempt to have a chapter up at least every other day.