Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.
Heart's Desires – Chapter 8
Rachel scanned the barren hospital room, her eyes landing on the organized stacks of boxes, computer equipment and personal belongings that now lined the far corner of the space after Bertrise had come over to help her the day before. Her life, her personal belongings and her life's work … all labeled and ready for transport. Sighing, she glanced at the clock and paced, wringing her hands together impatiently, for she hated any kind of holding pattern. And this – waiting for Rose to finish her discharge paperwork along with Tom's pending arrival – it was enough to make her feel a bit stir crazy … well, that and this slippery slope of seemingly unearthed emotions that she'd been avoiding now since Kara's departure not too long ago.
Sighing with frustration and the need for distraction, she reluctantly sat down at the work table and began pouring over the latest models for the contagious cure, marveling still at the discovery of not only one, but three small inlets situated in the middle Philippines Islands that happened to be natural safe zones from the virus. For after a deeper analysis of the world at large, she had discovered that the three tropical islands along with a single narrow strip of land in the Arctic appeared to be the only zones on the globe that were untouched by the virus, the latter being of no consequence as it was uninhabitable due to frigid year-round temperatures.
Armed with the knowledge of the additional Philippines Islands, the team's broader mission had been expanded to include those areas, though intelligence had proved they were not under siege akin to 'Flora Island' and therefore presented little or no risk to the safety of the nearby surviving populaces. As such, the humanitarian mission of spreading the cure would centralize around 'Flora Island' first and then branch out by strategically relocating persons 'infected' with the contagious cure to those neighboring islands where the antidote would spread at an appropriate exponential rate.
On paper, it all seemed relatively simple. But Rachel still feared the worst … the dropping of the quintessential other shoe. And as such, she had gotten very little sleep since the discovery of the island was made. Her restlessness, in large part due to her lingering uneasiness about Nicaragua and the dangers the team encountered on that perilous mission all of those months ago.
Her heart sank and she allowed herself to ponder the outcome of her nightmare – the one where Tom didn't make it off the island alive – though now, admittedly her desperation in wanting him to emerge again unharmed, had little to do with saving the world and more to do with saving her heart's desires.
Heat and nervous energy surged through her then. Standing, she pushed the sleeves of her cable-knit sweater up to her elbows and unbuttoned the top as she turned to face the window. Exhaling, she stared through the ghost of her reflection there, taking shallow breaths, in, out, in, out, in an attempt to subdue her racing mind, doing her best now to ignore the similarities between the two missions: hostage situations, insurgents acting out of fear, archaic oppression, Draconian punishments, unbridled violence, fear, panic and the struggle for power … classic good versus evil.
And it was here that she paused again as her panic mounted. The worries that confounded her so – seeping into her biometrics now – her heart racing, her throat tightening, her body reactive, her mind wild.
She swallowed hard and briefly pondered the idea of the woman she'd suddenly become … the one who's heart was vulnerable … the one who felt tattered and torn by her emotions. This version of herself where she was just a woman – a woman –not scientist with research to hide behind. Just a woman grappling with her nonsensical feelings and desires for more … with a man she'd come to adore. A woman dealing with intense worry over her would-be lover's family and their safety … for they too, were at risk when it came to this mission.
Shaking her head, her thoughts migrated once again to Kara and the conversation they had earlier when she stopped by following her ultrasound appointment. Rachel smiled, thinking now of the sailor's rounder, fuller face … her healthy glow akin to a ray of sunshine. Sighing, she marveled at what they had become to one another – labels and titles and images aside – they had become women and somehow evolved to be on the same plane of existence: sensitive, caring, thoughtful, strong … women.
###
"You know, every time I leave Dr. Lawrence's office … I think of Garnett," Kara admitted into the quiet room where she stood at the bookcase, the copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" in her hands.
Rachel stood at the bathroom doorway with her toiletries in hand. She nodded in assent, a twinge of regret claiming her as she thought about Andrea Garnett and the loss of her family … of her daughter in particular, to the virus. "I can't imagine … I mean, I can … we've seen enough – we know the losses have been catastrophic – but a child … I marvel at her strength …," Rachel sighed. "At Slattery's too," she added thoughtfully.
"Me too ...," Kara whispered, setting the book inside a nearby box. Her free hand landing on her belly, low and thoughtful … her casual yoga pants and shirt accentuating her burgeoning baby. Small unruly tears sprang from her eyes then, but she did nothing to stop them. Rachel walked around the bed and sat on its edge. "I'm okay," the young woman laughed through her tears. Rachel smiled. "I am," she insisted, pulling a tissue from the box on the bedside table. She tended to her nose, her dark, happier eyes suddenly clouded with doubt and fear.
"Hormones," Rachel muttered, tilting her head.
"The worst," Kara admitted sheepishly.
Rachel smiled. "I'm afraid there isn't much to be done about pregnancy hormones," she offered practically.
"No," Kara exhaled, pressing her lips together. She reached down and pulled the copy of "The Mechanics of Crop-Dusting" from the shelf, her mouth screwed up with a grin.
"The Captain's," Rachel answered with a grin of her own. "A scientist in the making now," she smiled, both women laughed.
Sighing, Kara added the book to the box. "It's more than that though, I think … right now anyway … it's more than hormones," she pondered aloud.
"Hmm … well, there is a lot going on – especially for you and your work and our imminent mission – for all of us on this side of the fight …," Rachel sighed, her thoughts turning to the mission, the stakes and the unrest that confounded the world around them.
"But that's just it … what has me so turned around," Kara interjected then.
"How so?" Rachel prompted evenly.
"I'm not going on this mission," Kara declared then. Rachel exhaled and nodded in assent, recognizing the sailor's defeat. "And I'd be a liar if I said I didn't have mixed feelings about that," she explained, her tougher exterior falling away.
"I wish there was something I could say, but I fear the worst sometimes so –"
"Now I understand," Kara interrupted, perching herself on the edge of the bed, her eyes narrowing … searching Rachel's for answers. "Can I tell you something I haven't told anyone, not even Danny?" she whispered.
"Of course …," Rachel answered.
"I just … now I … really get it," she declared evenly. "I never thought I'd be this person, this woman – as a sailor and a woman – I see now how Danny and I tempted fate … by our … indiscretions …," she smiled ruefully, shaking her head. She set her hand along her belly, caressing her baby there. A curtain of tears sprang from her eyes. Inhaling, she went on. "I just … I get it – the need for the no fraternization rule – it simplifies relationships and attachments and yet, it somehow makes them more meaningful … because … …," her voice trailed off.
Rachel sighed. "It does seem to do that … yes …," Rachel encouraged; she handed Kara another tissue, her mind on Tom … and his children … and the mission, the simplicity, gone … the attachment, sealed by fate.
"I would do anything for my shipmates … anything to protect them … and now … I … I don't know … …," she shook her head. "Before the showdown with Ramsey's sub … … I swear, I could barely walk away from Danny … barely make myself turn around," she said with haste, her eyes still searching Rachel's.
"I understand …," Rachel empathized with a weak smile, her thoughts migrating to her own insecurities.
Kara ran her fingertips along her cheeks. "I … I could barely breathe … barely think of what a moment alone with this baby would be like without him," she confessed quickly. "It's tearing me apart … motherhood – I'm different now, everything's changed – everything around us is such a mess and yet … … I have this," she whispered desperately, her hands set protectively along her belly again. "We … have this beautiful thing," she declared.
Rachel's heart shimmied somewhere low and deep, tugging at her muscle wherein a dull ache formed … one she could only attribute to Tom and what falling for him had done to her thus far. Wondrous, intimidating, beautiful … love. She blinked hastily, forcing her waiting tears into recession as she thought about how to articulate her feelings.
"If it's any consolation …," she sighed after another moment. "I've been struggling with my own feelings a great deal lately," she divulged. "Of course, I find myself in uncharted territory – I've steered clear of forming bonded relationships for most of my adult life and even more of my childhood – but with … … Tom …," she exhaled on his name. Kara stared at her still, her dark eyes wide with hope. "With him … as strange as it sounds and as difficult as the circumstances have been … it all feels quite natural …," she breathed as the heat of embarrassment claimed her cheeks: hot and pink. "And what might have been a slow evolution for us – years upon years in the making – has somehow become the stuff of life and death … and survival …," she admitted frankly.
Eyes still fixed on Kara's, she breathed then, her heart in shambles now … though she felt relieved to have admitted what she'd come to realize for a while now: that she somehow needed Tom, this man … as a woman, she needed him.
"You've fallen for him …," Kara declared softly then … not a question, but a statement of sorts.
"I have … as scary as that is … I have," Rachel admitted wholeheartedly.
"And he feels the same?" Kara ventured carefully without judgment.
Rachel nodded in assent. "He does …," she whispered, her eyes pinned to Kara's.
"Life and death … …," Kara breathed. "You've saved one another quite a bit since you met … bonded and connected – you really are shipmates – and have evolved into more, doing anything to protect one another …," she marveled quietly. "Protocols and love make us do crazy things, I've learned that much …," she pondered and tilted her head.
"Yes … they do…," Rachel agreed.
"Everything is so … … tipped on it's side, isn't it?" Kara wondered then. "Babies and love and viruses and civil unrest – nine months ago everything was so simple – follow the rules and no gets hurt … follow the protocols … and everyone does their part …," she shook her head.
"Everything was how it was before – and we were what we were – we wore those labels well: a sailor and a scientist … all by the book …," Rachel articulated aloud.
"And now …," Kara smiled.
"It would seem we're a whole lot more to a great many more people … and to some … we might mean … everything … as scary as that may sound," Rachel deemed thoughtfully; her heart raced.
"It's nice to talk to you, like this …," Kara said then with a small smile, her happiness more evident again
"Like what?" Rachel wondered.
"Woman to woman," Kara smiled.
"What? Instead of crazy, misunderstood scientist?" Rachel smirked.
Kara chuckled. "Something like that …," she sighed, her eyes vacillating over the bookcase in front of them.
Rachel paused, ruminating over the months of their collective journey, her gaze following Kara's. Everything was quiet for a long moment … eyes forward, books waiting to be packed … but neither woman moved.
"You know … … I was lonely back then, so alone in this fight …," Rachel said after another moment. "When this mission began … … I was so happy just to have gotten the Nathan James in the first place …," she navigated carefully. "And … I was aware of how difficult the terms of this mission would come to be – and I really did think of all of you, the sailors on the ship – I know it seems as though I didn't … but still, I'm sorry … still so sorry for the secrecy of it all –"
"I should stop you here," Kara interrupted, turning her attention back to Rachel. "I admire you so much – for fighting the way you did for something you believed in – you're so strong … so capable and fearless, I've never met anyone like you …," she marveled. "And now, aside from losing the people we lost along the way of course – even after everything – I'm not sure I'd want it any different …," she sighed.
"No?" Rachel wondered, mulling over her own circumstances … her own higher stakes now.
"No …," Kara shook her head. "Because there was no way around this virus until it met its match in you … and the Captain … and the crew of the Nathan James … a trifecta, a force of its own making," she breathed. "Call it fate … or destiny – somehow or another – I think this is where we were meant to end up …," she sighed with a resigned smile.
"Conflicted women?" Rachel smirked.
Kara laughed. "Conflicted women," she determined, nodding her head.
###
Rachel turned from the window at the sound of a cursory knock at the door. Rose entered the room. "The last doctor's signature for your discharge has been obtained, now we just need yours and you'll be out of here …," she said with a warm smile. She set the hefty file down at the table and pulled a chair out. Rachel smiled in tandem and came to sit next to her. "Just make your way through and sign away at the yellow tabs," she instructed with her same smile. Rachel opened the file and began to sign. "The last page there outlines your visit with Dr. Lawrence this morning, I trust you got what you needed from her?" she inquired.
"Yes … a script for an extended-cycle pill, she said she would fill it for me," Rachel replied without looking up, her mind quickly moving over the practicality of her visit with Dr. Lawrence, her heart raced, 'Tom', she whispered into herself and smiled.
"I'll have it ready for you before you take off," Rose answered.
"And then … that's it?" Rachel smirked, making a sidelong glance at Rose as turned another page of the file.
"Well, that's it officially, for you … in this room," Rose snorted. "But I expect to see you again, Rachel …," she sighed, tilting her head.
Rachel sighed, her eyes moving over her chart as she signed in all the designated places, her shoulder radiating with residual pain as trigger words darted out at her – gunshot, exit wounds, surgery, swelling, contusions, comatose, prognosis, recovery, treatment – she blinked, craning her neck up and back.
"Not to worry, Rose," Rachel finally said. "You can't get rid of me that easily," she added, turning to the older woman. Reaching over she set her hand upon Rose's. "But I think you know that," she smiled.
"Oh, I do … perhaps you can visit me when you have physical therapy updates …," she thought aloud.
"Yes, absolutely … and outside of this blessed place too …," Rachel sighed with a weak smile.
She sighed, skillfully ignoring the slight sense of unease that had encapsulated her just then. She felt her smile falter as she wondered about making plans for the future like that – so matter of fact, so complacent – for it was a lot like 'Be safe' … her stomach twisted. Tom's hesitant voice filled her mind and she thought of him in the hallway that night at the hotel, just over a month ago. She thought of him ... and sighed heavily.
Ever astute, Rose was on her immediately. "What has you worried, Rachel?" she probed gently. "If it's about your health – you're going to be fine – sure I know you don't feel so confident at the moment, but you'll see … you'll be just fine, you'll all return back here after your mission and have a chance at a real recovery …," she assured.
Rachel signed the last document, the one that outlined her physical therapy exercises and the care and cleaning of her wounds. She shook her head, closed the file and stood. Pacing, she spoke hurriedly with one eye on the door.
"I know you're correct, Rose … and as a doctor, I feel confident in my recovery," she reasoned. And then she laughed aloud and her heart skipped a beat. "It's everything else in my life that feels so chaotic!" she heaved, darting along her circuit. "Even just then … talking of making plans to see you again or scheduling a visit with Dr. Lawrence this morning – talking of the future as if it's guaranteed – when it's not!" she heaved. "It's not a reasonable assumption … not anymore!" she blurted out, turning on her heel.
Rose smiled. "I see."
"And it's more than this mission," she turned again. "It's life and life choices – to take a plunge – to finally do something! To finally be something to someone … more than just a scientist –"
Rose stood, intercepted Rachel's circuit and set her hands upon her shoulders. "Hey, now you look at me," she smiled, eye-to-eye.
"What?" Rachel heaved breathlessly, her eyes searching for answers.
"You can do this," Rose assured. "It doesn't matter if you've always held yourself back …," she reasoned. "You can make something with Tom … outside of this room …," she insisted, getting right the root of her argument. Rachel stared at her still. "You're capable of making the life you both deserve … and no amount of running away from how you feel is going to change that …," she smiled on her truth. "Destiny has spoken, Rachel … and you should heed its call …," she counseled as seriously as she would as if it were sound medical advice.
"I'm anxious … worried … I hardly know what to do with myself," Rachel explained; twisting her hands together in an effort to do something with herself.
"Yes … and that's the point, I suppose," Rose smiled, taking a step back. "Life can be scary… even for someone like you who's spent a lifetime being fearless," she smirked. Rachel laughed weakly. "Trust me … I know what I'm talking about …," she confessed. "See … people like you and me … we've always done whatever we wanted …," she went on. "For my part … I've always lived in the present – never fretting as my friends did about growing old or regretting the mistakes we all made – much like you I never felt … scared of life …," she confessed. "Until now … until this virus claimed every person I ever loved – and so now I get it more than ever – life is vulnerable and you're right, our futures are not guaranteed … even if you're fearless …," she surmised evenly.
"It's all so taxing …," Rachel agreed softly, her mind a royal mess now. She walked to the window, the sun was high in the sky.
Rose came to stand next to her. "Yes … it is … but I've learned it's okay to be scared or uncertain …," she confided. "And I know as scientist – it's the uncertainty that can both derail and consume you – but this is the truth of life and what's made of, especially now … and the fear of the unknown is meant to be all right some of the time, I suppose," she went on. "Particularly if it pushes us to dig deeper and to live more fully in the present, for in today's world, we have no choice …," she said fervently.
Rachel huffed, her eyes pinned the trees as they danced the wind. "Intellectually, I know you're right … I know I need to live more fully … and I want to …," she began. "And when I … … … look at Tom, when I really see him … I know no safer place … and yet … …," she breathed, her eyes on the horizon as she tried to find her voice … until there was nothing left to say.
"You're letting fear win, my dear …," Rose asserted after a moment.
"Yes …," Rachel admitted, shaking her head; her heart raced. "Yes … and now I'm petrified to even wonder what life might be like without him …," she confessed urgently, her coveted the fear laid out before her now. "It's the dropping of the other shoe, it haunts me … it always has …," she reasoned, turning to her confidant.
Rose paused. "I think you're confusing the sensation of fear … and the idea of surrendering to it …," she answered, draping her arm along Rachel's shoulders. "Just because you feel – and you give and receive love – doesn't mean the fear of losing it should consume you …," she rationalized.
Rachel inhaled sharply, her tension ebbing now. "Again … I would agree, rationally that all makes perfect sense – but I've been on my own for a long while now – taking care of myself … protecting myself since I was a girl …," she offered.
"I'm aware … but this has more to do with trust than self sufficiency," Rose replied evenly. "You must learn to lean on those you trust for support – lean on us, Rachel – the people in your life who have invested in you …," she smiled. "The people you have invested in saving … your shipmates … your friends … Tom, his children …," she went on. Rachel's heart raced and tears of recognition formed. "We can help you cope … you don't have to do it all alone, not anymore …," she murmured.
Rachel sighed and further relaxed into Rose's maternal embrace, relishing in the comfort of such a gesture as she thought of her mother and how much she missed her … her eyes pinned on the horizon now, the sun, still perched high in the sky, the trees dancing in the breeze.
###
Much later, Rachel had retreated to the work table as her more personal belongings lined the top of her bed now. She exhaled and turned her attention back to her tablet where she re-read the dossier on the mission as it stood after the morning debrief with Michener. The initial plan remained intact with this report relaying more information on Subic Bay Freeport Zone, a converted Philippines' military base located just north of Manila where she and the Chandler's would wait for the rendezvous at the start of the mission.
The file included maps and photos along with the outline – the area, despite a military base – seemed subtropical with its blue, endless ocean far along the perimeter, statuesque palm trees and bright, welcoming flowers. She sighed and flipped ahead, viewing an aerial photo of what was deemed, 'Flora Island', still gorgeous, though she wondered how severely the virus might have ravaged it without even making landfall.
There was a knock at the door and Tom sauntered inside with Rose wherein he turned back to his cohort and muttered, "You owe me a drink."
Rose cackled. "It seems I do," she smirked, narrowing her eyes playfully at Rachel.
Rachel snorted at their antics and stood to greet them. "Whatever for?" she asked, her eyes dancing with Tom's now.
"He bet me a round of drinks that you would be working and I … well, I don't know what I was thinking," she chuckled, shaking her head in mock-defeat.
Tom smirked, his eyes pinned to Rachel's now. "It was a good bet, drinks with Rose … in a bar … outside of this room … it was a bet we'd all win," he smiled and winked.
Rachel smiled too. "I like those odds," she replied, her cheeks heating as he stared at her.
"Me too," Rose laughed. "All right, we'll make a plan for when you return, drinks are on me," she declared.
"Nah, it was just for fun, the bet ... I mean …," Tom smiled, always a gentleman. "I'm sure I can speak for both of us here, that it would be a pleasure to maintain our friendship," he smiled genuinely, draping his arm along Rose's tiny frame.
The older woman beamed and Rachel thought of what she'd said earlier about leaning on the people in her life with whom she trusts … and Rose was certainly one of them.
"Well, with all of the niceties out of the way, let's get on with this discharge," Rose said happily then. "Now … Rachel has signed all of her paperwork and I know you have some sailors coming by in a bit to move everything … so all I have to do is grab a wheelchair and –"
"A wheelchair?" Rachel shrieked, fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater.
Rose chortled. "Oh, don't … come now, it's standard operating procedure –"
"Seriously?" Rachel demanded.
"Seriously!" Rose laughed. "And I'll be right back!" she added playfully and made a hasty exit.
Tom chuckled and stepped forward. "Ah, come on …," he chortled. "It'll only be for a few minutes," he offered sincerely. Rachel fumed. "I see … you've been busy," he surmised then, his eyes moving along the boxes in the corner.
"I have … well … Bertrise and Kara helped out quite a bit with the actual packing, I was more of a director," she smiled, following his gaze. He turned back to her where she saw a cast of doubt etched in his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked of him then.
"Oh, it's nothing …," he replied, recovering, he slipped his hand into hers … still a perfect fit.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she probed, tilting her head, a weak smile cascading along her face.
"No … I'm all right – it's just your stickers – they reminded me of something," he smiled weakly, caressing her hand.
"Oh … well, pink is designated for my office wherever that ends up, perhaps the hotel for now and blue goes to my room, those are personal –"
"And the white?" he asked of her, his eyes searching hers now.
"To the James," she smiled up at him.
"Ah …," he whispered.
"That's all right isn't it?" she wondered then. "I figured this stuff came from the James and without a lab of my own yet and the ship in dry dock it would be all right," she explained.
Tom smiled and turned her. "It's fine," he assured, taking her other hand in his. "Makes sense … I'm just happy you're getting out of here," he went on, lacing his fingers through hers.
"Me too …," she smiled.
And therein she felt the tip of her anxieties ebb, because … even if she was scared to walk out of the safety of this sanctuary … she could not deny, when she looked to Tom – when she leaned into him – she felt her fears dissipate just enough to trust that they would make it … together.
###
It was after eight by the time they pulled into the hotel parking lot in an Army-issued jeep the team had procured at some point. Rachel smiled, thinking now about the line of doctors they made their way through, some from her team, some in other specialties, all there at her exit, most there to honor her and her work on the cure. She glanced at Tom as he cut the engine off and silence consumed them. He smiled at her, the filtered light from the headlights, just enough for her to really see him.
He leaned toward her. "You all right?" he asked, his voice filling the silence.
"Yes …," she answered. "Just thinking about all of those doctors, the hospital staff … I was surprised by how they honored me …," she exhaled.
"You're famous, what can I say?" he chuckled.
She shook her head. "I'd be infamous if they knew half of what I did to –"
"Don't," Tom appealed to her then. "We all did what we had to do, Rachel … we have to move on from it," he reminded her, tilting his head.
She regarded him then … this tower of a man and the way in which he owned what they had been through. His practicality … she admired that, for he was forever a worthy sea captain … a trusted friend and more. And then she smiled.
"I suppose you're right," she acquiesced. "I was just surprised by the outpouring of emotion …," she sighed, her eyes fixed on his: gorgeous, blue, endless.
"Hmm, well … people hail to you … and really, we can't blame them …," he smiled, admiring her now as he opened his door. "Shall we?" he asked, the cab illuminated now.
Rachel smiled and opened her door where Tom promptly met her there. She took his hand and slipped out of the cab. Reaching behind her seat, he grabbed her bags. He locked the jeep and took her hand in his. The hotel still looked grand as they approached, pretty lights accentuating the gardens in all the right places. The crisp air pushed them from behind, urging them forward. And for this brief moment, it was just the two of them.
"So I take it, you don't like surprises that aren't scientific breakthroughs," Tom chuckled as they continued their approach to the carport main entrance.
Rachel smiled. "Not particularly, no," she answered. "Why?" she prompted.
"It's Michener … he wanted to have a celebration for you tonight – but before you say anything – I had him postpone it until tomorrow –"
Rachel's stomach tightened slightly. "What kind of celebration?" she speculated, stopping just short of the carport, she tugged on Tom's hand. "Thank you for warning me," she smiled.
Tom stepped closer and traced his fingertips along her hairline. He smiled. "A champagne brunch," he informed her. "After the morning debrief …," he revealed.
Rachel leaned into his innate heat, drawn to him akin a magnet. "And who will be there?" she prodded.
"The team … our people, plus some local government officials … my family," he answered and then he smiled. "You'll be all right … I'll be there the whole time," he chuckled. "Not that you need me … I just sense –"
"I want you there, yes …," she replied, finishing his thought … because she really did need and want him … period.
###
In relative silence, the pair made their way to the elevator without being seen. Stepping onto their floor, Tom took Rachel's hand in his and nodded to the ensign on duty and again at another armed sailor as they came to the corridor where their rooms were situated.
Walking in tandem, Rachel slowed her pace, feeling somewhat uneasy as they made their way down the dimly lit hallway – just around the opposite corner from where the shooting took place – wherein she briefly wondered what happened to the bullet that went through her that night. She squeezed Tom's hand in response. Her chest tightened and she watched as he pulled a key card from his back pocket. He came to a slow stop and turned to face her, his eyes searching hers as he handed the key card to her.
She sighed heavily and twirled the plastic card in her fingers, absentmindedly counting the number of doors that remained along the hallway. She swallowed hard, barely trusting herself to speak, "And you … your room is right there?"
Tom looked over his shoulder. "Yes … my father is right next to you … and then mine, the kids are already in bed …," he said, his expression softening now.
Rachel smiled, though she felt more like throwing up. Her knees were weak and her shoulder radiated, reacting to the small wave of panic and post traumatic stress she attempted to thwart.
"So … this is where it all started …," she finally said, pushing her palm against his.
"Yes …," he answered softly, drawing her near … magnets, snapping into place.
"And where we'll say goodbye again?" she whispered, looking down and away from the intensity of his eyes, her stomach was in knots.
Tom set her bags down and stepped into her space. "No …," he shook his head, raising her chin with his fingertips. "No … this is where we'll see one another tomorrow and prepare for our mission, together …," he countered as the last of her resolve faded. "Rachel …," he entered his unspoken plea, his glassy eyes vacillating over hers now.
She stared right back at him – for half of her brain heard and trusted his words – whereas the other half feared the worst. Powerless against her nerves, her heart raced and panic ensued, ravaging her mind and body like a flu … a new virus she could do nothing to stop, for this one was a lifetime in the making. She shook her head, silently chastising the sanctity of love and everything that went along with it.
"Or …," she swallowed hard. "The place where we promise one another to … what? 'Be safe' … and leave it up to fate to decide the rest again?" she whispered desperately. Blinking, she released her waiting tears.
"No … come here …," he beseeched her then, cupping her face in his hands. "Look at me … we can do this …," he whispered, leaning closer, his warm hands cradling her skull now, his hot breath fanning her face.
"And what if I'm incapable?" she asked, closing her eyes, she hid from the intensity of his stare.
"Rachel … please …," he husked, holding her in place, his nose brushing against hers now. "You can trust me … this … us …," he whispered. "I'll be here for you … … always," he exhaled, pulsing his lips against her halo where they stayed, warm and comforting, his heart beating rapidly under her palm.
And it was here that Rachel paused and stared up at him, a terrifying wave of fear shaking her senses just then. 'Always' … came his baritone again. Caressing his face with her left hand, she silently grounded herself, keeping her eyes trained on his, so beautiful now that she found she could barely breathe.
"Rachel …," he whispered her name, drawing her out of her private thoughts. "What?" he prompted, his soulful eyes searching hers.
Her heart bottomed out. "No … Tom …," she muttered, shaking her head. "Not out here …," she said, turning out of his arms where she slipped the key card into the slot.
Tom grabbed her bags and the pair slipped into the darkened room. The triangle of bright light disappearing as the door shut and they found themselves truly alone for the first time … ever.
Where she watched him drop her bags and step forward, the fragmented light from the reading lamp cascading along his face now, somehow accentuating his insecurities and making him even more real and invested … to her and in her.
And there inside that brief moment – her heart gave out, softening as she fell for him all over again – succumbing to her wants and desires because … despite her fears, she thought of little else aside from quelling his.
"Always is a long time, Tom … I want ... always …," she whispered fervently. "Always … … is forever …," she simplified, her eyes pinned to his in the relative darkness.
"It is …," he agreed, exhaling on the truth, his fingertips dancing along her halo now as he appealed to her without words. Tilting his head, he smiled weakly. "If I could make it all go away … I would …," he sighed heavily.
"What?" she heaved, stepping out of his embrace.
"Whatever it is you're so scared of …," he intuited, his deep voice resonating in the quiet that surrounded them. He stepped forward.
And it was here that the fear Rachel was so tenaciously avoiding tackled her. It was also here that she ducked out of Tom's way and began to pace in earnest. Frantically, moving about the sleekly furnished room – the perfectly made bed turned down for her – soothing yellow light emanating from the reading lamp, a cozy armchair situated in the corner, her oversized sweater all of a suddenly no more than stifling nuisance.
"Oh God!" she blurted out, inhaling sharply. "What have I done?" she asked, her eyes landing on Tom's as he held his ground and she paced away from him again, walking with purpose now where she repeated her circuit, darting to and fro around room.
"What … Rachel?" he breathed, moving in an attempt to stop her.
"What do you mean? What?" she charged at him. "Don't you feel this?" she shrilled, setting his hand over her heart where it pounded wildly against his palm. Staring at him, she shook her head. "My God, Tom … do you?" she demanded, catching her breath, losing herself within the depths of his gateways: as clear and calm as the middle ocean.
"I do …," he whispered, a small smile gracing his handsome face as he set her palm over his own muscle where it beat for her in perpetuity … thump, thump, thump.
"This isn't normal – how damned scared I am – it can't be, this cannot be … how it is!" she exhaled, still searching his eyes for her answers.
"But it is … trust me … I feel it too …," he reasoned.
"What? Petrified?" she insisted.
"Yes! NO!" he corrected himself. "Damn it," he muttered.
Rachel shook her head and stared at him still. "My God …," she breathed, setting her hand over his. "Look at me …," she exhaled. "I mean … here I am – standing here alone with you, finally alone – and all I can think about is how I don't want you to walk out that door!" she whispered harshly. "How I don't want to part ways and let fate rear its ugly head again!" she went on. "Jesus, how did she do it? How do they do it?" she demanded then.
Tom stepped closer and cupped her face with his hands, his eyes clear and without a trace of doubt or insecurity now. "Who?" he asked of her then.
"Your wife … military wives … these women ... they're so brave …," she replied, setting her hand upon his forearm, steadying herself as she held his gaze, still watching for signs of unease, though none appeared. She blinked and released her tears.
"Rachel … you are brave," he declared then, gently moving his fingers along her cheeks, he flicked her tears away. "Hell, you're the bravest person I've ever met," he admired frankly. "And about my leaving here tonight …," he shook his head. "I won't go until you're ready for me to – I imagined tonight would be rough – that's why my father has the kids and I asked Michener to reschedule his celebration…," he explained, flecks of uncertainty riddling his handsome face.
Rachel sighed, caressing the handsome plane of his cheek. "Tom … I just … I cannot … … lose you," she whispered into their confessional then, her head tilted up, her eyes fastened to his. "I cannot … don't you see ...," she repeated evenly, her heart racing again. "I won't survive it – I will not – not after everything–"
"And you won't have to," he answered, cutting her off.
"And you can't make that promise!" she retorted, her fearful shrill hanging in the quiet now.
Tom conceded, "No … I can't."
Rachel swallowed hard. "So this is it?" she wondered desperately. "This panic … this is what it means – what love brings – what it does to people?" she prattled on. "By God, my mind is a mess …," she muttered.
Her heart wild now as she stared at him still, so scared of the fallout now – of what her emotional maelstrom might have done to this 'relationship' – for she knew she could be her own worst enemy when it came to connecting with men … a saboteur even.
"A gorgeous mess, maybe …," was all he said, still holding his own.
"No …," she shook her head. "Do not do that, do not … make light of this …," she appealed.
"Rachel …," he whispered, holding her steady inside the moment. "I understand … fear … and how it works, hell … we've been running straight into the fear of the unknown since we met …," he sighed, tilting his head.
"We have," she agreed as she regarded him, her more circular thoughts coming to a halt now. "I must apologize … I must …," she exhaled, loosening her tethers. "I feel less than myself – a loss of control of sorts – and you were right about leaving the hospital … it's a little bit of everything has me on edge …," she went on. "But … it has less to do with you than it may seem …," she stammered, her mind reeling.
"I can tell," he asserted, a small handsome smile etched along his face now. "You've been cagey since we left the hospital," he intuited, squeezing her hand. "It was a matter of time … I've had my freak outs too, so I get it … there's a lot at stake here …," he navigated carefully.
"There is …," she agreed, tilting her head. "But you're okay?" she probed gently then, turning her attention to him.
"I am … one day at a time …," he nodded and wrapped his arms around her petite frame, her ear pressed to his chest now, her hands on his hips as she relaxed into him. "I really do get it … the fear of loss and the loss of control," he said after a moment. "And despite how unique our finding one another has been …," he navigated carefully and she felt him shudder. "There are some things you need to know …," he whispered, pulling back he found her eyes.
"Oh?" she sighed, feeling trace amounts of stress spike again as she stared at him.
He nodded slowly, his fingertips traveling along her spine. "I'm not willing to let you go without trying … without fighting for us …," he informed her then. Rachel pressed her lips into a thin smile. "Because I … really need and want you in my life …," he added sincerely, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "And because you want that dream … and I want to give it to you," he whispered thickly, quickly folding her into the envelope of his embrace.
Rachel regulated her breathing, leaning into his warmth before she looked up. "I really do … want that dream with you," she admitted, a small whimsical smile etching along her face now as she blushed: sun, sand, beach, love, baby. "It's the jumping off point that had me a little spooked … or 'cagey' as you put it," she chuckled. "But make no mistake … I want it …," she whispered. "I want you …," she confessed brazenly.
Tom exhaled with relief wherein she retreated back into his innate heat. "We're alone, Rachel …," he deemed after another quiet minute, his hot mouth suddenly on her neck. Responsive energy zipped up her spine. Her heart plummeted. "Alone …," he husked into her flesh. "Finally alone, just like you wanted … like I've wanted … just us …," he peppered into her ear before he kissed her earlobe and maneuvered himself against the wall, drawing her even closer, one hand on the small of her back, the other nestled in her wild tresses.
Rachel clung to him akin to a lifeline then, her insecure, wild thoughts tamed by his touch and her desire for more, the thunder of her heartbeat all she could hear as she whispered to him, "Kiss me."
And so he did. Wasting no time, he ducked down and seized her lips, branding her as his own with a series of open-mouthed kisses that pummeled everything she was from the inside out and then back again. Kisses that were not a note-passing exercise of life and death– but rather signified so much more – kisses that solidified who and what they were to one another for all time … and in the here and now. Rachel's heart flip-flopped and her knees buckled in response to his ministrations, one hand on his broad shoulder, the other pinned to his hip where she simultaneously lost and found herself within the confines of his warm, open embrace.
"Hmm …," Tom hummed, pulling back briefly, his fingertips dancing along her hairline. "I wanted to live this moment all day," he admitted before he kissed her again, his tongue skillfully massaging hers.
"Me too … all day … every night …," she said against his open mouth, barely able to get enough of him now.
The couple swayed inside their mutual embrace, moans of heated pleasure filling the quiet void of the room until Tom set his forehead against hers wherein tufts of hot air were all that remained between them. Rachel smiled … and so did he.
"We're okay …," he assured, catching his breath. "Let's see about that dream …," he whispered thickly.
"Yes … let's …," she answered breathlessly, pressing her mouth to his without a second thought now, his kisses moving languidly over her lips – so naturally, so perfectly – that the here and now suddenly far surpassed her wildest of dreams.
To be continued …
