Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.

Chapter 7 – Heart's Desires

Tom stood inside the CIC flanked by Foster and Mason on his left and Slattery and Garnett on his right. The map of the world illuminated on the large Da-Vinci screen before them featured an overlay of the epidemiological results of the contagious cure and its progress thus far – the silence of the moment encapsulating him as he absorbed their collective successes – his thoughts circulating around everything it took to get to this moment.

Everything they had endured …

their defeats … their successes …

the decisions they had been forced to make in the name of this mission …

somehow mitigated now by the widespread movement of this unfathomable cure.

'Rachel', he chanted silently. 'Rachel,' he whispered her name again, imagining her alone in her lab with Neils. Alone and overcome by desperation. Alone and without a confidant to share in the burden of the task set before her.

He shook his head, pulling himself free from his reverie. "And purple is still what we want, correct?" he wondered aloud.

Noticing how the red quarantined areas had merged with the blue healthy areas and become one with each other, illustrated by a deep, regal purple.

"Yes, Sir," Garnett smiled.

"And all of these the black circular lines there," Tom pointed. "What do they represent?" he asked.

"Wind patters, Sir," answered Mason.

"And there's no irregularity there?" he prompted, turning to face them.

"No, not for this time of year," Foster answered. "The cure is moving around the world like the new flu strain moves from Asia and circumnavigates the globe year over year," she explained.

"It's really something else," Slattery said then, his voice low, deep and reflective. "She did it …," he said, marveling at Rachel.

Tom smiled broadly. "Yes she did …," he answered affirmatively … for she really did make something beautiful and all-encompassing out of something foul and degrading. He huffed. "For now – as long as the cure travels properly – we'll continue to focus our efforts on surveillance for hot spots and immune dead-enders that would prevent a full blown recovery," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Foster answered with a nod.

CMC Jeter entered the CIC then and approached the group. "Good morning, Captain," he greeted smoothly, nodding to all.

"Morning, Master Chief," Tom greeted with a smile. "About ready to push off?" he asked of him.

"Yes, Sir," the esteemed Master Chief answered. "Green and Burk are standing by and will take you and XO out to the residential site when you're ready," he confirmed.

Tom nodded in assent and then he smiled, his eyes landing on the illuminated map again wherein he was jarred by an idea. A course of uncertain energy claiming him for a beat as he stood idle and held Master Chief's unwavering gaze, caught once again between holding onto the past and moving on and into the future. Sighing heavily, he turned to Foster and Mason.

"Lieutenant Foster, could you drop any and all surveillance and satellite imagery of a 'Flora Island' on all my comm. devices, including the hospital?" he asked of her quickly.

"Sure thing, do you have any coordinates?" she asked, tilting her head.

"It's one of the Philippines Islands … that's all I've got," he stated evenly, his mind wild with the idea of learning more about Rachel's beloved island.

"That'll do," she nodded in assent.

###

Stepping onto the deck a short while later, Tom headed to the hull – his eyes on the horizon – the crisp air whipping up and around him as he walked into the wind, the sun high in the sky above him. The Mississippi River moved beneath the James: placid, smooth … peaceful and endless … murky and familiar now. Glancing at his watch, he had about ten minutes before they would depart and the convoy would take him out to where they would ultimately settle: here in the port of St. Louis.

And it was here, that Tom paused again, marginally resisting the idea of making plans to settle – of starting over – of building a life here … of leaving his old life behind.

A new life … so vastly different than everything he'd built with Darien until a mere nine months ago. Acute sadness claimed him then … and just as his father had advised him to do … Tom let it. Because his father was right –if he didn't allow himself to mourn that life – to recognize everything that was lost … he might never really learn to live and prosper and grow in the here and now.

And so he did that now – he yielded with greater ease – remembering the finer details of their conversation this morning, details that had evaded him until now.

###

He remembered feeling at odds with himself, knowing the team had set their sights on escorting him out to Lafayette Square today, having painstakingly secured the area through a cooperative effort with the city's local government as it stood. The pressure mounted.

"I'm not sure if I can just up and leave all of those memories in Norfolk, Dad," he said from the window sill of the main suite – his eyes on the sun as it rose – his heart trumpeting with the thought of abandoning the homestead he'd lovingly built with Darien. "When it comes down to it … I still feel rotten about the finality of it," he confessed, turning away from the window, he found his father in the dimly lit suite.

Jed offered him a cup of coffee. "I've handled that," he said softly then. He blinked, training his eyes on his son.

"What?" Tom breathed, his voice catching, his hands warmed by the hot mug as he stilled his heart, breathing, in and out.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Jed answered. "I can't be your father anymore?" the older Chandler chided gently. "Of course I handled it, Son … for you … you're still my boy," he smiled, his weathered eyes gassy now.

"I don't understand …," Tom whispered, he shook his head … at a complete loss for words, his heart racing as he crossed the room and sat down on the sofa. He set the mug down on the side table.

His father moved and sat next to him. "I'll explain it then …," he smiled.

And there inside that moment as Tom listened to his father, he finally had a measure of understanding of what their lives had been like when he was off on this mission. Of course, he had an idea all along, but it never occurred to him that the 'army strategist' persona imbedded deep within his father had emerged and taken an orderly look at their life and approached the organization of it in a pragmatic way that suggested he would need to be prepared to move the family at any time … whether it be out of necessity or choice.

And as such, Jed Chandler very gently explained to his son that he had the kids pack up their rooms, having explained to them that they may need to leave the house again and that he wanted things to be ready if that need was to arise. He also informed Tom that he personally handled his and Darien's room and eventually had the military convoy take some Darien's everyday clothing to the local survivor's shelter.

He also assured Tom that he took great care in packing the things he imagined Darien would have liked to save for Tom and the children, putting aside the boxes he noticed she had already packed herself – for she was well aware of the dangers that confounded them so – and therein had gone to great lengths to pack and label boxes of memorabilia.

"I must remind you, Son … Darien was a practical woman … a Navy wife," he said after a long moment of silence. "She had labeled a great many items in your room with tiny white stickers … she told me this later – much later, after she was already sick – that she'd done that," he sighed. "The white stickers meant 'save' … … and so I did, Tommy, once you got us back there … I saved everything she wanted," he whispered thickly.

A lone tear slid down Tom's face, his thoughts migrating to Darien and the meaning of her private chore … her tiny white labels.

"Thanks, Dad … for thinking ahead … … for everything …," he exhaled and shook his head. "And she was … Darien was thoughtful that way … she liked everything just so …," he breathed with a weak smile, nodding in agreement. He swallowed hard, thinking about her enduring such a task without him. "She would know exactly what to do … and I miss her … right now … I feel the void," he declared evenly then, because he truly did … ache for her. His heart twisted.

"As you should … and as you will from time to time …," his father answered from experience. "But time does move on ... and so must you …," he stated evenly. "And you must try … try to find a way to live in the here and now … for yourself and the kids …," he sighed.

"I know … and I want to, I just feel … everything feels so big …," Tom sighed heavily.

"I know … and we agreed this would be hard … and yet, it's your reality … you have to live through it," he replied evenly.

###

Master Chief appeared at Tom's side then but he kept his eyes trained on the horizon – his father's sentiments resonating – his tone lingering … soothing … familiar and trustworthy. He sighed after another minute and exhaled into the comfortable silence. Forever a sea Captain, his eyes steady on the horizon, he looked on and forward and then spoke.

"Turns out … my father packed up my house in Norfolk while we were traipsing around the globe …," he exhaled, his hands set on the cool railing in front of him. "And when we had them relocated out here, he asked the Air Force convoy to be on standby on my order to move our things …," he exhaled on the finality of the statement: on his order.

"And you feel as though a chapter is closing …," came Master Chief's smooth voice, his 'Chaplain' persona fully engaged.

"Yes …," Tom answered candidly, for if there was one person Tom could be candid with regarding personal matters, it was Russ Jeter.

"And you find yourself … hesitating … resisting …," Russ prompted without judgment.

Tom turned toward him. "No … but I do feel … … stuck … mostly I'm concerned about the kids …," he confessed, his eyes steady on his trusted Chaplain.

"Hmm, well … your kids – now that they're with you – everything in their lives just improved thousands of percentage points …," he replied wisely.

"I know … we're blessed," Tom answered.

"Children adapt," Russ declared then. "And they do so much easier than a sailor is trained to – they're born that way – we all are in the beginning …," he sighed. "Of course they look to us for guidance … but they also have keen and unblemished intuitions about them too … they know more about their surroundings and the struggles we face … than we think they do," he went on.

Tom nodded his head in assent. Intellectually, he knew Russ was correct, but emotionally, he worried. As their father, their protector … his knee-jerk reaction was to covet them. For it was almost too painful to think about all they had endured without him – the loss of their devoted mother – their beacon, their only parent whilst he had been deployed time and time again … gone forever now. The irrevocability of her passing was truly staggering.

Their house was suddenly packed. Darien's little white stickers … her last wishes, intact. She was gone.

And while the finality of her death had long-since been very real and certain for him, Tom worried that the reality of her passing had yet to fully claim his children. And that by moving on without her, leaving the only home they'd ever known without their dear and cherished mother … certainly those triggers would soon be brought to the forefront and with them would come the awful realization that she was indeed gone forever.

"May I ask you about Flora Island and its significance?" came his confidant's voice.

"Hmm …," Tom smiled weakly and held his steady gaze. "Am I that transparent?" he wondered aloud.

"Not to most people …," Russ replied. "But to me, you can be …," he revealed.

Tom swallowed hard and thought about the direction of their conversation and any number of ways he could explain … Flora Island.

His thoughts went to Rachel – 'Where is he?' – her tortured call filtered through his mind. And then the other night … when she awoke and put a name to this place, this safe place from her childhood where she somehow ended up … with him. Emotion funneled to his surface and within his own vacuum of safety he began to explain the island's significance … his eyes fixed and steady on the vast horizon before them.

"Flora Island is …," Tom sighed. "The place where Rachel had been just before she awoke from her coma," he exhaled on the truth. "That night when she woke up … I'd never seen someone so … petrified …," he reflected. "The desperate fear in her eyes – the way she screamed at me – my God, Russ, I can still hear her …," he breathed thickly. "She went on and on, looking for someone …," he recited. "As desperate as parent … you know, when you think you've lost your kid at the playground …," he exhaled heavily, her shrill lingering in his ears, even now. "And I remember asking her, who she was looking for … but she was so heartbroken and so … so frantic …," he whispered, turning to Russ.

"And who was she with …," Russ wondered.

"Me …," Tom stated evenly, turning to face his confidant. "She had been with me … and someone else she was desperate to find," he sighed. Russ tilted his head. "Since then she's intimated to me that she feels conflicted about this dream and what it must signify … she said it was … 'euphoric' …," he whispered, his voice trailing off. "And … 'profound' … but that she feels confused by what her heart and mind … must … want …," he declared, his eyes steady.

"So … you were together … a couple?" Russ wondered without judgment. Tom nodded slowly in assent. Russ smiled. "Has she since told you more about who else she was looking for?" he prompted.

Tom sighed with resignation and shook his head. His heart pounding now as he thought about his conversations with Rachel since – and the way in which they were innately drawn to one another – especially since she'd woken up. There was no doubt in his mind (or hers for that matter) that they were in the thick of it together. And for that, he was truly happy … grounded and ready to let it unfold.

He exhaled and tried to find his footing again – for if he was honest with himself, he had an idea about who 'he' was – but to make presumptions on a scale such as that, he felt he needed more than intuition. He wanted proof. And he also knew – deep within his heart – that he longed to know more about this dream and his would-be lover's inner most secret desires. He could admit that much.

"I've tried … and I … have an idea of my own …," he said at last. "But … you know, I don't want to push her, it's been a traumatic nine months …," he breathed, his heart racing, blood pressure rising now. "The way things were between us, before she was shot – with Neils and that whole ordeal, how at odds we were – and the Ramsey's … and all the death and the oil rig disaster …. I don't want to push her … but … …," he exhaled heavily, trying his best to regain his composure.

"You want to know more …," Russ intuited.

"Yes …," Tom confessed.

"And this desire has you feeling stymied – stuck between the past and the future – all this talk about settling … and dreams and the possibility of a relationship … it's feels too real?" he articulated thoughtfully.

"Yes … at times … today, it does …," he exhaled, his heart aching over the past and letting go – imagining his family home in Norfolk as empty as the day they closed escrow now – with its pristine walls and the echo of the wood floors creaking under their feet. His heart pinched low and deep.

Russ smiled. "And do you think, ultimately … that Rachel wants what you want? Even if at the moment … she's scared too?" he probed gently.

"Yes …," Tom breathed, a small smile forming on his face now.

"I think, like most things, Tom … you will handle this with your intuition, that gut instinct of yours has taken you far and wide – and as I've told you before – you must trust it …," he advised. "Trust yourself … and what you might also want – dreams and island getaways aside – you may feel yourself at an impasse here … but perhaps in part, that's because you already know what you want …," Russ intuited eloquently.

Tom froze. "I do …," he admitted candidly then.

Russ nodded. "And if you're scared … or unsure – it's only because you care about the outcome of the decisions you make on the behalf of others – and it's this innate ability that makes you such a worthy sea Captain …," he went on, his eyes liquid black, his voice smooth and calm. Tom nodded in assent. "Trust yourself, Tom – and your children will watch you just like your crew – and know that everything will be all right," he surmised.

And just like that Tom believed that things would, evolve to be so. "Thank you, Russ …," he sighed. "Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words?" he wondered with a smirk.

"All the time, my friend," Russ smiled broadly, his endless eyes bouncing now.

###

Lafayette Square turned out to be everything the boys said it was – a refurbished old neighborhood, about three miles west of the coast, a plan for an urban renewal community. Half of the construction was completed around the old park with the ground cleared and ready for the balance of what was meant to be an idyllic, gated community of townhomes.

The model homes were completed and it was here that Mike had focused the team's energy on securing the space. The homes were close enough to the gate where some extra assurances would be needed, such as an additional boundary or retaining wall, but promising none-the-less. The added bonus of securing the model homes was that they were furnished and hadn't belonged to private citizens. This fact alone facilitated an easier occupation – knowing they wouldn't be uprooting anyone, that no one would be returning home – and that no one had been sick with the virus within.

These homes were quite literally … a preserved idea of the quintessential American life.

Presently they stood on the walkway just outside the homes, of which there were eight. Mike on his left, Green on his right – Burk, Cruz and Miller securing the area once again, where Tom noted an Army convoy set up along the far perimeter, an outpost of sorts.

"So essentially these homes are in move-in condition …," Tom said eventually.

"Yes, Sir … Michener figures we could make it work for the core team, with some roommate situations …," Mike stipulated.

Tom grinned and glanced at Green. "I presume you and Foster are ready to move in together," he teased.

Green's face turned as red as a tomato, but he smiled all the same and answered, "Yes, Sir."

"Would you like to take a closer look? We had engineering come over and reinstall all the locks," Mike informed him then.

Tom exhaled into the fresh air, a gust of wind whipping up, pushing against his back. "Yes," he nodded in assent and therein the three of them made their way up the path to the townhome situated in the center of the long, connected row of homes.

Once inside, silence encapsulated them. The furnishings and appliances were new and modern … sleek, with slender lines. The paint was bright and welcoming, this unit decorated with hues of ecru, spring green and brown accents.

"Each one of these units has three to four bedrooms depending on the model," Mike said then, walking toward the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the space. "The kitchens all face the park, with a two-car garage taking up the bottom square footage, the entrances located around the back of each property," he went on.

Tom inhaled, the essence of new paint and air freshener filling his lungs as he walked to the foot of the steps leading to the third floor. "All of the bedrooms are located upstairs?" he wondered aloud.

"No … not with this model, actually, there's a master suite down here," Green pointed before heading down a short hallway.

Tom followed Danny, stopping just outside the French doors at the end of the hall … his heart stilled as he lingered there … on the precipice of the idea of coming home to such a space without Darien … or with … Rachel.

He sighed and reluctantly stepped into the sanctuary – the room meant as such – an escape with painstaking time spent by the designer to scream and shout at perspective buyers: 'You want this life! This life could be yours!'

"Sir, everything all right?" Green asked of him then, his eyes vacillating.

"Yes …," Tom lied and steadied himself against a large built-in bookshelf, his eyes landing on the perfectly made bed: the focal point of the room. "Can you give me a minute?" he asked of him then.

Green's face softened. "Yes, Sir," he nodded in assent before he made to leave, pausing at the door where he turned around. "Permission to speak freely, Sir," he said then.

Tom turned to face him. "Always," he nodded curtly.

"I know … I feel like I should say that I acknowledge how hard this must be for you, without your wife …," Green whispered quickly.

"That it is," Tom agreed; he exhaled, seeking relief from the stress.

"But for what it's worth … the way I think about it is – that my loved ones, my family that didn't make it – wouldn't want me to look back and over my shoulder all time… at everything we lost …," he sighed heavily and then shook his head. "Quite frankly …," he began again. "The only thing that's made sense since any of this started was the idea of moving beyond it all … to reach some other destination where we could get off of the James and stop running … stop chasing … and fighting," he reasoned aloud. "And I think this could be a start … a new Norfolk, Sir …," he surmised evenly.

Tom smiled. "You've always been a superb strategist, Danny," he complimented. And then he smiled. "You remind me of my father, he's a planner like you are …," he admired.

Green smiled and then exited the room. And left alone with his own thoughts, Tom exhaled and let his eyes wander around the retreat, seeing the space now without regret for what would never be again … but with renewed hope instead.

###

Exiting the townhome, Tom exhaled and let the balance of his stresses decompress. Standing just outside on the porch, he scanned the expansive horizon wherein he saw the developer's vision come to life. It was subtle, but it was there … a glimmer of something … a dream that once was the American dream.

The way the sunlight cascaded through the mature tree branches high in the sky and somehow framed the historical square, preserving it for a new generation. And indeed the way the trees moved in the wind – forever softening this central focus of the neighborhood – a small space carved out from the city … the community, in and of itself, meant to become a retreat.

"It's a go for me, if it is for you, gentlemen," he said then, his eyes fixed and steady on the future.

"We'll bring Michener out then," Mike replied. "He's going to take up residence at the hotel, but had requested to come out here once a decision was made," he reported.

"CIC to Vulture Team," came Foster's voice from their comm. devices then.

Tom engaged his device, "Roger that, CIC this is Vulture Team."

"Captain, we've found some coordinates on Flora Island … and something came up," she reported then.

"Go on," Tom replied.

"We encountered some initial troubles, Sir … … it turns out this island is managed by a European company and it uses an alias to keep its location private as its mainly utilized as a remote 'castaway' resort of sorts," she reported.

"So it's a vacation destination …," he wondered aloud.

"Yes, Sir … its actually a small island located along the tip of the Palawan Islands, about four-hundred and fifty nautical miles south of Manila," she reported. "And Sir …," her voice trailed off for a beat.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Tom prompted, turning to Slattery and Green.

"It's a veritable hot spot," she deemed. "We've heard enough chatter on the line to confirm … the local people are under siege, Sir," she reported evenly.

"How many people are we taking about? How bad is it?" Slattery interjected then, his eyes intense.

"We're not sure, Sir," she admitted. "We're still trying to get some updated imagery, but it seems as though they're barely holding their own – and even more important – from what we can discern … they were somehow a natural safe zone from the virus," she added quickly.

"I didn't think that was possible," Tom replied into his device.

"Neither did we … now scientifically, we have to confirm these findings with Dr. Scott … but we're thinking it's the wind patterns, Sir … they all but circumnavigated the tiny island for months, even with the heat –"

"Well, how about that?" Tom wondered. "I gather people got the idea to flee there … good or bad," he surmised then. "Sounds like El Toro all over again," he surmised.

"Yes, Sir and from what we can tell … the employees of the island, along with its small populace of indigenous people are barely holding their own against enemy combatants and hostiles now –"

"Every man for himself," Slattery muttered.

"Exactly," she concurred.

"Good work, lieutenant – drop everything you have on my devices and let's keep an eye on this – seems as though we may need to get out there and get these people some relief …," he declared. "And unlike with Nicaragua, we are in the 'nation building business' now," he thought aloud, a tight smile on his face as he made eye contact with both Slattery and Green.

Foster signed off and Tom toggled his comm. device, his thoughts circulating around the idea of Flora Island becoming more significant than personal whim. Exhaling, he thought of Rachel, vacationing on this tiny 'deserted' island as a child. He nodded again in assent to Slattery and Green and paced along the small porch for a beat, already wondering how on earth they would plan a multi-service operation such as this … and then his tactical prodigy, Green, spoke up.

"I'll call down to Scott Air Force base and inform them we may need transport … I'm thinking a Huron or a Gulfstream might do the trick,with a mid-flight refuel from a KC-46," he reported in.

###

Having changed into street clothes, Tom sat comfortably in the lobby and waited for his father, Tex and the kids to return from the local park, deciding that a quick family style lunch was in order after the debrief with Michener. Where the new President gave them the go-ahead to formulate a plan for a military and humanitarian aid mission for 'Flora' and the greater Palawan Islands.

He sighed with satisfaction now, having just checked in with Rose, he was happy to hear Rachel was resting comfortably in her room after having her stitches removed before another (according to Rose): 'long and tedious, meeting with Dr. Milowsky.'

Without thinking, Tom reached for his tablet, entered his barrage of passcodes and clicked on the satellite images of the Palawan Islands before he zeroed in on the coordinates Lieutenant Foster designated for 'Flora Island'.

And it was here that he paused over an aerial view of the bean-shaped island – white, perfect sand that surrounded a lush tropical rain forest – the ocean, blue and green … calm and peaceful … he could see why people would want to escape there, for from this viewpoint especially, it looked uninhabited. It looked like an unforeseen dream come true. Spreading his fingers along the touch screen, he tapped the center of the island and zoomed in, the satellite software triangulated a bird's eye view and then another as if he were standing along the shoreline … the endless, pixilated sea before him now.

Tom sighed and shook his head – stock images from his jaunt in Nicaragua filled his mind now – along with the survivalist attitude of the people there and the demonic view of the self-made chief-lord … their actions all driven by panic and fear, just as Rachel predicted from the very beginning … when she fought to requisition the Nathan James in the first place.

And therein, after everything they'd been through and in the name of everything Michener stood for now … Tom knew the man was right … this was their fight too – for this island represented the earth, preserved – before the virus took hold and ravaged everything they all held so dear.

###

Lunch concluded and Tom slipped out to check in with Michener. Once the team could confer with Dr. Scott and determine the validity of their assumptions – that this tiny island was indeed untouched by the virus – and was fighting against impurities every moment of every day … they would push off, which meant that within twenty-four hour's time, they set in motion one of the most meaningful humanitarian missions of their country's history.

He entered the lobby now where Ashley approached him, a wide smile on her face. His heart stilled on her more relaxed attitude and therein, he faltered slightly at the thought of leaving her and Sam again. "Can you stay for a round or two of Scrabble?" she asked of him, her eyes bouncing.

"I'm afraid I can't, Ash ... Mike and I have to get to the hospital and meet with Dr. Scott," he said softly, draping his arm around her, drawing her near as she innately slipped into his embrace where they watched the scene before them. He sighed. "Sam looks happy," he smiled and looked down at her.

"He is, Dad," she said, also smiling. "And so am I," she assured him in her own grown up way.

"I can tell," he agreed, once again seeing how the darkness in her eyes had become lighter and lighter since their arrival here in St. Louis.

"And so are you …," she declared, a fierce intensity in her eyes now. "Especially since Dr. Scott woke up," she added thoughtfully.

Tom exhaled, his heart pinched, pummeling him with a barrage of emotions. "I am …," he finally answered.

The pair stood together for a long moment then – Ashley snickering as she watched Sam try to sneak extra letters from the Scrabble bag – Kathleen's bright eyes, fixed on her father's while Jed sat by and watched the group, doting from afar, his keen eyes watching everything all at once.

"Dad …," Ashley whispered after another minute. Tom looked down and found her eyes. "Do you … like Dr. Scott more than a friend?" she wondered.

Tom pressed his lips together and held himself together. "I would be a liar if I said 'no' … I care about her, a great deal …," he exhaled on the truth.

Ashley sighed. "And honesty is the best policy …," she answered with a small smile.

"Always … sweet girl," he answered, marveling at his lovely daughter … for never in his life would he have imagined they would be standing here, having a moment like this with her. "May I admire you Ashley Chandler?" he asked of her then.

Ashley smiled and stood taller, "You may."

Tom chuckled. "I'm super proud of you … do you know that?" he prompted.

Ashley smiled. "I do know, Dad," she answered. "And I think … it's all going to be all right … now we're all going to be all right …," she articulated.

"So do I," he replied, easing into his acknowledgment now.

"Does Dr. Scott … Rachel … like you too?" she probed curiously with a tiny smile.

"She does …," he breathed and therein he watched a broader smile cascade along his daughter's pretty face.

###

"I can't believe it," Rachel said excitedly, peering down at the monitor, flanked by Tom and Mike. "I never thought it possible – that any populace would be spared – though I'm not quite sure what good its done them now," she breathed, her green eyes teeming with energy even against the dull fluorescent lights.

Tom smiled at her and shook his head. "Nothing gets you excited like a scientific conundrum," he smirked.

Rachel chortled. "Well, if I had a retort handy, it would involve something about you and the pig-headed way you chase lunatics and nuclear submarines," she chided gently.

Mike snorted. "Damn the two of you and your influence on me! Especially you," he turned around and pointed to Rachel. "You've turned me into a want-a-be virologist … or something close to it," he smirked.

The three trusted friends shared a laugh, Tom's keen eyes fixed on Rachel's wherein he once again realized how enthralled he was by her intellectual prowess and the intensity of her eyes, something he recognized and appreciated now as he knew her mind was at work … calculating and recalculating … searching … reaching for the conclusions that evaded everyone else. He sighed and shook his head, privately marveling at her.

Watching her still, he saw her wince slightly as she gingerly sat down at the table across from him wherein he wondered how much pain she was in following the removal of her stitches … once again hit with the harsh reality of how how fragile she still seemed to be. She held his gaze and smiled and he knew she was trying to tell him without words, 'I'm all right,' wherein he winked at her in response … because he knew she really was.

"The thing I keep going back to is … what if we're too late?" Mike interjected then. "Do we have any doses of the original cure left?" he wondered. "How do we exactly immunize the survivors, if there are any left to vaccinate?" he went on.

Rachel sighed heavily. "That is the true question of the day," she agreed. "The doses of the original cure are limited and we can most definitely use them as a prototype to make more now that we can build a lab, but … I fear we don't have time for that," she reasoned. "In fact, I know we don't," she added.

"So, if sick people who haven't been infected with the contagious cure yet are desperately trying to make landfall there … every day … what can we do to keep the populace safe?" Tom wondered. "How on earth can we keep interlopers away from this island that will only remain a safe zone if no one infected ever makes landfall?" he thought aloud.

And with that question hanging in the air, Rachel stood abruptly and began to pace where she stopped after a moment. Turning on her heel, she headed for a small stack of art on the credenza there – she picked the drawings up and smiled – her eyes darting along the art made for her by Ashley and Sam and Kathleen. Whimsical drawings of fairies and the Nathan James and sunrises and sunsets. Drawings that projected visions of hope and peace. Page after page she turned the drawings over until she found what she was looking for … the scene of island paradise drawn for her by Kathleen. She flipped it around and held it up for Tom, shocking him with the intensity of her stare.

"We go … … and we take them with us," she whispered, her eyes moving between Tom and Mike now.

"We take who with us?" Mike wondered.

Rachel smiled and held Tom's gaze. "The children … and your father," she breathed.

"The booster … …," Tom muttered, quite mystified now. "They all had a dose of the original cure," he smiled.

"I'll be damned," Mike huffed. "That's it!" he deemed, a smile reaching his eyes. "We go in, secure the area – then we bring the kids, give them the boosters – and the rest –"

"Is history …," Tom sighed.

###

Tom sat on the armchair in the corner of Rachel's room and waited for her to finish up in the washroom. He exhaled and watched the last of the sunlight disappear from the small space. 'What a day,' was all he could think. The door opened and she emerged, the light behind her illuminating her petite silhouette such that she looked like an angel before him. He stood and smiled and she flipped the switch off, walking toward him in the relative darkness. She held a small tube of ointment.

"Can you put this on my clavicle, along the exit wound?" she asked of him. She smiled. "I can't reach it," she elaborated.

"Sure …," he answered. She held his gaze for a beat before she turned around. She unbuttoned her shirt in the front and he pushed the loose fabric down and over her shoulder cap; her skin was soft and she smelled of soap and toothpaste. "How much should I use?" he asked of her, his eyes fixed upon the scar along her clavicle, about two inches in length.

"Enough to cover it," she instructed. "I want to let it breathe a little tonight … I'll have Rose dress it before I fall asleep later," she elaborated.

Tom sighed and squeezed some of the antibiotic ointment from the tube and handed it back to Rachel over her good shoulder. "Let me know if this hurts at all," he said as he gently began to smooth the ointment over the closed wound.

Sighing in tandem with Rachel, feeling the slight groove of the needlework under the pads of his fingertips, he imagined the scar tissue healing under his lithe touch. He breathed, in and out – frowning somewhere inside before fumed protectively – for he was still angry about the shooting. Inhaling, he drew her near and eased into a comfortable stance as Rachel leaned back and into him. He set his chin upon her crown and breathed her in, noticing her hair was softer now and smelled less of antiseptic and more like flowers or fruit.

"Do you think it's really Flora Island?" Rachel asked of him then … her voice as quiet as a child's.

"Yes … though that's not its real name … it's sold as a sanctuary," he sighed, relaxing into the heat of her body against his. "It was a hidden island where people would pay top dollar for their privacy … like being a castaway …," he explained.

"And you … … you just wanted to see the island originally?" she asked of him. "For your own eyes … you wanted to see where we were in my dream?" she went on.

"I did …," he admitted candidly. "I still do, Rachel," he whispered.

"I want to come with you on this mission … and I don't want to hear that I can't," she said quickly into their confessional then.

Tom smiled into himself. "I know … and you won't …," he answered, finishing up, his fingertips lingering along her shoulder cap where he held her close for a beat longer.

She turned to face him, her all-seeing eyes dancing now. "Really?" she whispered, slipping her left hand into his.

"Really …," he smiled, gently pushing her flyaway tendrils away from angular face, lacing his fingers through hers now. "As long as you agree – we secure the island first – we'll arrange for a safe house somewhere on a cooperative base in Manila or Indonesia for you to wait with my father and the kids … and then we'll rendezvous when it's safe," he said, relaying the shell of his plan.

"And when do we leave?" she asked, wincing slightly as she turned out of his arms and set the tube on her night table before she sat on her bed with some effort.

"Within the next thirty-six hours, if you're up to it … it's not exactly the recovery your doctors had in mind," he chortled, stepping closer to her where he noticed she suddenly looked fatigued. "You all right?" he prompted.

"Yes … better than all right," she smiled. "Just feeling a bit tired tonight … and I'll be all right, I promise, I won't do anything risky," she smiled. "I'll be on my best behavior, Captain," she teased.

Tom chuckled. "I know … I trust that you will," he conceded, for what other choice did he have, he knew there would be no mission without her. "It's been a long day," he added, setting his palms on her knees.

"Yes … but a good one," she smiled; her cheeks blushing before his eyes. "And you? How are you?" she whispered, raising her left hand, she set her palm on his chest, his heart went nuts.

"I'm all right … big day all around, for everyone," he smiled. "Before we stumbled upon the island, the convoy took me out to those model homes we spoke about –"

"And?" she wondered.

"They're perfect … ideal actually," he smiled, his earlier insecurities mitigated now by openly discussing the space with Rachel.

"Will you tell me about it?" she requested and then promptly yawned. The pair laughed in tandem. "Don't leave …," she insisted urgently then, foretelling that he'd make ready to go once she was sleepy. "Not yet … anyway, I want to hear more …," she whispered intimately, setting her hand on his forearm.

"I'll do even better … scooch a little …," he smiled, slipping his shoes off before he sat down next to her and swung his legs up and lay back against the pillows with her. "Nice view," he laughed softly, his eyes dancing with hers now. "I feel oddly proud of you … you know …," he admitted then, turning his head toward hers.

Rachel slipped her hand into his. "You do?" she wondered, leaning into his heat.

"I do …," he whispered, closing the small distance between them now, her hot, minty breath fanning his face … so close now he could almost kiss her.

"Don't …," she whispered suddenly, closing her eyes tight. "Not here," she breathed, pleading with him; she opened her eyes again.

Tom smiled; his heart racing from their proximity alone. "No?" he husked into their shared space.

Rachel shook her head. "No … not in this room …," she appealed. "Not with … everything …," she whispered urgently, taking his hand in hers, she searched his eyes frantically. "The coma … and all the waiting you did for me … I want to Tom, really … I want … you, I just … … … let's –"

"Hey, hey … I want what you want, remember?" he cut her off, raising her chin with his fingertips now. "I want you, Rachel …," he whispered. "And this, our thing … everything …," he whispered thickly then, his glassy eyes fixed on her gateways … endless and sparkling in the semi-darkness.

"All right ...," she smiled, tilting her head.

"Hmm … I know you better than you think I do ….," he said, turning further into her. He set his free hand along her soft, blushed cheek where untamed heat radiated against his palm. "I know you want to be 'you' again … before there's an 'us' …," he smiled wherein he watched a tiny set of tears form and slip down her face.

"Maybe, yes … I do …," she sighed, relaxing into his heat.

"And you're getting there …," he sighed with a small smile. "We're getting there …," he added.

"We are …," she deemed thoughtfully. "I'm almost out of here … and then – as crazy as it sounds – and as messy as it might be when we get there … we'll be on that island together …," she sighed hopefully, shaking her head, her eyes as gorgeous as he'd ever seen them.

"Yes, we will," Tom sighed with a reflective smile.

"I can't hardly believe it … just the thought of it all … of saving those people …," she whispered, shaking her head with wonder. "It's a dream – in so many ways – it's as if we've been given a second chance to beat the virus all over again …," she smiled.

"A new dream in the making …," he agreed, his eyes steady and clear, full of hope and wonder as he stared at her now.

Where he took her hand in his and marveled once again at her capacity for healing … for seeking out and fighting for the disenfranchised … her innate desire to save the lives of strangers – and there inside that moment – Tom smiled broadly and then somewhere deep inside an even more finite split second, he realized he'd fallen for Rachel Scott all over again.

To be continued …