Heart's Desires – Chapter 13
Sleep came easily for Tom, but not without interruption. He blinked – his eyes registering on the clock, a stabilizing beacon, both amber and bright – it was just after three-thirty. He exhaled sharply and shifted his hold upon Rachel as his mind wandered in earnest, his heart rate slowing down now as he worked through his more disquieting thoughts.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself hear it again, that trigger sound – the muffled, yet deliberate sound of a gunshot somewhere in the distance – close, but far away at the same time. The sound, deafening in the way it resonated so meaningfully, even then … even within those split-seconds that followed the discharge: blunt, final, damning. He knew it meant something … to him.
He inhaled a large helping of Rachel's essence and reminded himself now that she made it – that she was whole and healed – and therein, he willed himself see beyond her lifeless body as he charged down the hallway … beyond the blood and butchery he found when he got there … beyond her contorted face, both pale and blemished with fear and pain.
And so with his eyes shut tight, he impressed upon himself to see even further beyond those first few hours he spent with Rose in the darkened interior of the ICU – beyond the copious and complicated hospital forms and releases, beyond the somber looks upon Russ and Mike's faces, beyond the steady hum and beeps of her monitors, beyond Danny's face when he arrived with a change of clothing for him – and far beyond Rachel's 'do not resuscitate' order, a document he knew was tucked within her Navy dossier.
And it was here that his mind began to swim in a sea of agony and unease wherein he suddenly found himself drowning all over again – his prayers and pleas of that night matching his tenacious treading of the water – his desperation at staying afloat: 'Do not resuscitate. D.N.R. … Rachel … don't die on me. Not now. Not after everything. Not now. Don't make me use it. Just don't. Don't give up. Not on me. Not on life. Not now. Not after everything.'
Stilling his rhythmic heartbeat, he drew himself away from the desperation of his terrifying mantra and took a cleansing deep breath and instead relished in the way her body felt against his: warm, comfortable … and essential to his survival.
Sighing into their heat, his meandering mind moved back to that night and circulated around his thoughts of avoidance. Of course he was well aware that the 'do not resuscitate' order was in her file … except he didn't want to admit that it existed at all. He didn't lie of course – but Rose, she came to his rescue – her intuition spot on as she saw that he wasn't ready to put Rachel's wishes into play. She had said she could clearly see that he wanted to avoid that order as if 'his own life depended upon it'. And to her credit – she was right – and therein she circumnavigated the legality of it all, giving him the leeway he so desired. And quite seamlessly, she became his sounding board and the first person he confided in regarding his deep, complicated feelings for Rachel. He smiled now and thought of Rose … his savior … his confidant and once again thanked whichever God was watching over them that night.
Savoring their blessing, he breathed with purpose now … slow, meditative breaths along with the gentle sweep of his fingertips along Rachel's exit wound – the groove of her stitches, both familiar and haunting – her own breathing measured and steady, easy and predictable. Shifting again, he pressed his lips to her halo and began to breathe in tandem with her. And only then did he open his eyes.
He turned his attention to the watery shadows as they danced the waltz along the walls of their sanctuary, exhaling as he thought about this mission and how personal everything had become and seemingly overnight. He would be a liar if he didn't admit that a small part of his heart and mind were not aligned with this one. For the very idea that his kids and father were central to its success – well, it bothered him – it wasn't a deal-breaker by any means, for that mentality was for a different time … a different life and a different world. But he worried nonetheless.
Worried because they would have to separate and unlike other times in his career, his sense of duty was taking a backseat to his essential need to protect what was his: his family … and Rachel and their dream in the making. And it was here that he paused again and pondered what that meant, for it seemed separating from his loved ones had changed and drastically so.
His mind moved to Darien now and what it meant to say goodbye to her and the kids for their entire life together before the virus struck. Analytically, he realized now how naive he had been – it wasn't that he wasn't a realist – except of course, he always imagined that trouble would befall him before his family. Without reasons to believe otherwise, he'd sail off and keep eyes trained on the horizon, while surely his family would remain safe and sound – tucked away in the back of his mind on an idyllic tree-lined street in Norfolk – where their life would remain intact and the school bell would ring every morning at eight-thirty and the trash would be picked up without fail on Wednesdays … and his family would be healthy and happy and remain so until his eventual return.
And no, it wasn't perfect, not all of the time … but it was his life … their life … and he loved it.
Chastising himself, his naiveté foremost on his mind now, he wondered how he could have been so trusting … so willing to believe in the American dream – though who could have really blamed him – for that dream was fused into the very fiber of his being, his father's exemplary military career, the mere foundation for a life lived in service … that quintessential American dream, very much Tom's childhood reality.
It was then that Rachel shifted inside of his embrace and gently pulled him from his ruminations. She sighed and her lips brushed against his neck as she slept on, naturally easing back and into their innate heat where everything was safe and impervious to outside influences … for now. He closed his eyes and his lips found her crown and he imprinted a kiss to her there, breathing her in – her essence, familiar, raw, organic – made of every comfort she offered him: flowers and green tea and contagious cures and face cream and her intellectual prowess … and peaches … simply Rachel.
"Tom …," came her melodic voice, raspy with sleep.
He opened his eyes to her call and found her in the relative darkness. He smiled and gathered her near. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said, hunkering down and into her heat, he pulled her knee up and across his thighs and held her close. "Hi …," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.
"Hi …," she breathed, craning her neck up, she stared at him still. "It's all right, I assume we have to be up soon." Inclining her head, she focused more intensely on him, instinctively leaning into his touch as his fingertips traveled along her spine. "Are you troubled?" she asked of him then, her voice soft and soothing.
"No," he feigned thoughtfully, but he could tell his answer wouldn't suffice, for there was no protecting Rachel from the dangers that confounded them. He smiled weakly and brushed the back of his hand along her angular cheek, his eyes fixed to hers: ocher, endless, all-seeing.
She smiled in return, her eyes vacillating over his, perceptively searching for his truths. "You're pensive …," she whispered without judgment. "Thinking about this mission, I presume," she probed skillfully, gently drawing him out. She raised her free hand and winced but that didn't stop her from setting her comforting palm upon the plane of his cheek. "I'm a bit stiff…," she exhaled through her pain.
Reacting, Tom shifted and rolled with her in his arms, gently setting her on her back wherein she exhaled and he came to lean on his elbow, his head cradled in his hand. "Need a Motrin?" he queried, his chest a bit tight with anxiety.
"No … just the truth from you …," she smiled, tugging in his elbow. Tom sighed with a small smile and came to lay his head on the pillow next to hers. She laced her fingers through his and continued searching his eyes. "You always say I can trust you …," she whispered her appeal, eye-to-eye now.
"I do … you can," he exhaled, rolling into her heat, he draped his arm across her abdomen and traced the outline of her ribs with his fingertips, up and down.
"Remember this works both ways …," she reminded him then. "And … I don't need you to protect me from how dangerous this could become …," she asserted, her voice firm, yet soothing all the same.
"I understand … and I don't mean to be overprotective …," he breathed, his eyes pinned to hers.
"I know … but I do need you to know that if you have concerns … as a father … or a son … even as a lover …," her voice trailed off. She shook her head. "You must share with me what's troubling you – because if we're truly in this together – that does not mean you have to shoulder all the hard parts all by yourself, not with our life together …," she reasoned. "Not with me, you don't …," she asserted, impressing upon him now.
Tom felt small pricks of emotion reach his eyes wherein he was reminded of the unique foundation of their relationship – this beautiful thing that was bestowed upon them in the wake of tragedy – a foundation that was indeed entrenched within them already. He smiled weakly, "Old habits die hard … I guess."
Rachel smiled in tandem, her glassy eyes a mere reflection to his. "On the ship and when you're in command – of course, there are boundaries, this I've learned – but here … in this bed and any other we might share … there must be no secrets…," she said fervently.
Tom blinked and hesitated, trying now to formulate his circular thoughts into words. "I wasn't keeping the truth from you …," he began. "But I'll admit, I was trying to protect you, trying not to unburden myself …," he articulated smoothly.
With some effort, Rachel closed the small distance between them, turning to lay on her side and face Tom. She smiled and kissed his cheek, her hand nestled in the crook of his neck where she tugged him toward her. "I'm here and I'm going anywhere … sound familiar?" she husked, the timbre of her voice barely audible. Her eyes glistened against the watery shadows inside the room and Tom once again found himself mystified by her. "And I know the night before last … I was a relative mess …," she went on, blinking to assuage her tears.
"You were overwhelmed, understandably …," he encouraged, for the last thing he intended to do was to upset her again.
"Yes … but even now, what I said remains true – I won't survive losing you, this much I know – but now I can say that again with greater ease … because I unburdened myself to you, albeit in a frenzy …," she smirked and Tom smiled. "And as scared as I was to admit how I felt … I did …," she persisted. "And I expect you to be able to do the same when it comes to matters of the heart … for if not with me, Tom … then who? Russ or Mike?" she questioned, her eyes searching his for answers.
Tom's heart raced as he stared at her, "No one but you."
"Then talk to me … please …," she beseeched him, lacing her legs through his where she held him where she wanted him.
Tom fixed his eyes on hers, somewhat speechless as he briefly wondered what would have happened if he'd really shared with Darien some of the fears he had or suppressed or found himself confronted with during his career – and therein, he suddenly realized he had done a masterful job with compartmentalizing his life with his dear sweet wife – and though he didn't regret protecting her and never would … he was certain now that those inherent boundaries he had erected so long ago had indeed been dismantled as his relationship with Rachel became solidified.
He shook his head and again searched for the right words. He exhaled, his fingertips dancing along her hairline. "I was thinking about what it will feel like to say goodbye to you and the kids when we get to Subic Bay," he admitted evenly.
Rachel leaned into his touch and encouraged, "Go on."
Tom smiled weakly. "And … also … about my own unquestioning compliance when it came to going on tour before all of this happened …," he added, his mind racing again with the simplicity of it all.
"It's your job … your career … it's what defines you some of the time … and I know how that feels …," Rachel sighed pragmatically, searching his eyes for more than what was on the surface.
"I know you do," he smiled at her and shook his head. "And it has defined me, that much is true … but more than that – I was thinking about the way I would envision Darien and the kids without me when I'd leave – I would see them safe and secure … and unharmed … a stock photo in my mind's eye that remained … somewhat perfect," he sighed heavily in defeat of his own virtue.
"And they were …," Rachel smiled weakly.
"Yes … until they weren't …," he exhaled, grappling with his more deeply rooted feelings of guilt.
"Not your fault…," she countered poignantly, brushing her nose against his, her sweet nighttime breath fanning his face until she pressed her perfect-fit lips against his, pulsing gently. "Perspectives change …," she sighed into their heat. "All the time," she rationalized.
He kissed her with intensity now, his lifeline tethered again, kiss, kiss, she soothed him without even trying. "I know …," he breathed against her mouth. "But now, with everything we do know …," he sighed, pulling back slightly, he smoothed her hair away from her angular face and caught his breath. He shook his head and exhaled sharply. "Just knowing that you and the kids are central to this mission's success …," he swallowed hard. "And realizing in truth, that at the core of everything … how essential you really are to me – and how you're not going to be in some far off safe place, on some street in 'Anywhere U.S.A' – but likely in harm's way … in harm's way and completely essential to my survival … to our survival … I just … it's a lot to process …," he exhaled sharply, his eyes fixed to hers as he attempted to maintain his composure.
"Tom …," she appealed to him without words, she ran her hand up and down his forearm and pulled him closer.
"I'll put it how you put it …," he husked, his heart racing now. "I cannot lose you and the kids … I won't survive it …," he confessed, his pulse quickening. "I know this – I've known it all along – for my whole career before this mission …," he added quickly, unburdening himself now. "And yet … I never allowed myself to really admit it … not to Darien …," he shook his head. "I never really acknowledged how dangerous the world at large really was … or is …," he breathed, his heart fissured via unearthed emotion now.
Rachel held onto him with tenacity. "But our foundation is different … yours and mine …," she mused thoughtfully. "It's built upon something else entirely – not out of necessity, we know that now – but certainly borne out of survival and how the world is today …," she sighed.
"Yes … it is …," Tom agreed, brushing his lips against hers before he pulled back and found her eyes, trying again to explain himself, "It's the stakes … they're just so high." He sighed pressed on. "And tossing you and the kids and my father into the equation – it's an element that tips everything on its side – and drastically changes the dynamic of my long-practiced methods of coping and compartmentalizing."
Rachel nodded in assent. "And so …," she probed gently.
"And so … I don't know …," he huffed in defeat and rolled to his back where he trained his eyes on the ceiling. "My instinct is still to protect my family … and you …," he exhaled in truth. "And I know, short of staying with you at Subic Bay …," he began, pausing now where he was lulled temporarily by the whimsical movement of the shadows again. "Which won't work, because that's not the plan …," he rationalized aloud. "Honestly …," he sighed and turned his head to find her again. "I feel a little bit like my hands are tied and I don't like it …," he breathed. "I don't like to be backed into a corner and you know that …," he enunciated, his heart racing now. "It's the whole fate and destiny thing again – it's like you said the other night – do we trust it? Can we just trust it and hope it all works out in the end?" he peppered her with his questions, voicing his deepest fears.
Rachel kissed his cheek and Tom studied her face for a lost beat in time. She smiled weakly and therein he knew how she would answer. "I think you know I'm about to say – yes, we trust it … for what choice do we have for the greater good – but I'll add to that though …," she said softly. "For neither of us can deny that so far, the whole fate and destiny thing has been kinder to us in some regards – less kind, of course, in a great many ways – but for us and this thing between us as it stands right now … right here … for us and the livelihood of a dream yet lived … it's not so terrible …," she appealed to him, her candor lodged at the core of her being.
And then just like that, he felt aligned and much better about where they stood – he just needed a reminder from time to time – that everything they'd been through, both together and apart from one another, was not in vain. And that the world was changing … and that was all right too. "We're all right, right now – one day at a time, I know – we've overcome so much," he agreed.
"We have … and that has to be enough, for now…," she said, her reflective eyes searching his. "And we know this mission, so far – is working as planned with propaganda in full swing in the Philippines, ahead of our arrival – and while the children and I will not be completely secluded …," she breathed, her voice hitched. "We will be as safe as we can be – and after this, after we fix what's happening on Flora Island – we're truly done with the hardest part … and our biggest obstacle in beating this virus will have been tackled, for good …," she appealed to his senses, rationally and passionately falling into her Dr. Rachel Scott persona.
And so as Tom looked on at her and smiled, he quietly fell for her all over again and his fears and misgivings were indeed mitigated and all that resonated were the words of the strong-willed, tenacious doctor he'd come to trust with his life and livelihood like no other before her. Drawing her closer now, he let go of his trepidations and soundly kissed his woman instead, determined to enjoy their last few moments of time spent truly alone.
###
A short while later, Tom stared at his reflection in the mirror in the alcove of the bathroom inside his room. Everything was so quiet he realized then … even his heartbeat. After having slipped into his suite, he had packed the balance of his things, showered, shaved and donned a working uniform – performing the everyday mundane by rote as his mind still wandered, his discussion with Rachel still resonating – along with the feeling of her lips on his skin and the intensity of her stare as if all she saw … was him. And it was there inside those last few minutes alone with her, that he knew he wouldn't want it any other way.
He inhaled sharply on this truth, the humid air filled his lungs and then he smiled, for his father was awake now too, the added essence of fresh brewed coffee told him as much. Turning away from the mirror, he sighed into the silence once more and made to exit his room – his bed untouched, his personal space idle, unused – especially since Rachel's emergence from her coma. And with that thought, he smiled broadly, picked up his go-bag and tablet device and turned on his heels … for it had truly been a wondrous ten or so days.
"Good morning, Dad," he greeted the elder Chandler as he stepped into the main room.
"Perfect timing, Tommy," Jed replied with a warm, tired smile as he turned around from his perch next to the coffee pot, still dressed in his pajamas. "Do you have time for a cup?" he wondered easily, a disarming twinkle set deep within his eyes.
"I do, a quick one," Tom replied, privately checking on his father.
Jed busiest himself with the coffee while Tom moved swiftly to the door and set his go-bag down. He glanced at the clock, it was just before five. He slid his finger across the tablet and the device came to life. He approached his father and entered his passcodes. "I wanted to show you something before we take off this morning," he said as he accessed his email.
"All right," Jed answered and handed Tom a cup of coffee.
"Thank you," he smiled. He took a sip of the scalding elixir, waking up as the smooth liquid funneled down his throat. "How are you? The kids? Do you really think Sam's up for a trip like this?" he asked in rapid-fire style as he set the tablet down on the counter and watched for a moment while his messages loaded.
Jed took a sip of his coffee. "They had nice evening, went to sleep without incident – and Sammy's just fine … sure he's young and still a tad apprehensive about this flight – but remember when it comes down to it, he has what he needs, Tommy …," he assured. "A great many people have lost a lot more than he has, they've seen worse … all we can do is what we're doing …," he counseled evenly and without hesitation.
Tom pressed his lips together in a veiled attempt conceal his unease. "I keep wondering what Darien would say about having the kids go on this mission with us …," he said quickly, his eyes on the tablet, Harley's messages loaded now: new and bold and unread.
Jed set his cup down and came to stand next to Tom, "One thing I know, Son … is that Darien trusted you, implicitly – and deep down, you know she did – now you just have to learn to trust yourself when it comes to the kids."
Tom sighed and toggled the first email. "It will take some getting used to …," he said reflectively, his eyes pricked with unforeseen tears. He blinked and set his cup down. "I've been thinking a lot about the nuances of life and how things were before, for the kids … for me … and how we'll need to live now –"
"Everything is different," Jed interjected then, setting his hand upon Tom's forearm. "The most we can do is work with the hand we're dealt … that much we've talked about …," he rationalized. "And I know talking about it doesn't make it any easier," he empathized.
"No … it doesn't …," Tom agreed. "So much has changed – I hate feeling this circular – like I'm not making headway … with anything," he confessed now. His heart skipped a beat.
"Listen, Son … I've said this before too, don't be so hard on yourself – and remember, for whatever reason this is your path – and from where I stand, I think you're doing a heck of a job staying on course," he praised, his weathered eyes glistening against the soft light. Tom exhaled and nodded in assent. "Now what did you want to show me?" he asked, skillfully changing the subject.
Tom smirked, "So … it's a work in progress then?"
"Yes, that's the thing about life, its always been that way … we just have to adapt," Jed replied without hesitation.
Tom nodded in assent, for of course, his father was right … life and time just moved on while circumstances were manifested and change just … happened. He exhaled with a resigned sigh and pushed the tablet toward his father. "Here are some photos that will accompany a human interest article on the mission … and the Nathan James … and the race to find and develop the cure," he reported, looking on at the photos with his father.
"So … the press corps is interested in the personal lives of those responsible for saving the world … not a bad angle," he surmised wistfully. "Some fantastic photos too," he deemed.
"Seems to be a consensus amongst the reporters we met yesterday," Tom explained. "This reporter, Phillip Harley is one Michener's guys – these are his photos – and when he addressed the team yesterday … he wanted to know where things stood between us … Rachel and I, apparently there is a decent amount scuttlebutt on the subject …," he exhaled.
"I see," Jed looked up and held Tom's gaze. Tom opened the last email and clicked on the photo of he and Rachel. He handed the tablet back to his father. "That's a handsome photo of the two of you," his father commented. He tilted his head and admired it from afar. "You look happy, Son … like the weight of the world was just lifted from your shoulders … and Rachel … look at her …," he declared, a tiny bit of pride etched along his face.
"Yes, she's something else …," Tom whispered, privately doting on Rachel … her unfettered happiness as apparent now as it was when he first saw the photo last night. "Harley will likely publish his article some time this week …," he went on. "And perhaps in the interest of encouraging hope and being honest with ourselves … Rachel and I confirmed that we're … together …," he breathed; his heart raced. "We'll talk with the kids of course before I take leave from Subic Bay… but I wanted you to know," he exhaled, searching his father's eyes for something … approval perhaps.
Jed smiled. "I'm sure it will be a fine article, Tommy – and you know how I feel about Rachel – you know I'm on your side," he said fervently.
"I do …," Tom answered. "Thanks Dad … for everything," he smiled.
"Sure thing …," Jed answered with a tight smile. "So our plan is still in play then?" he redirected easily. "We'll see you, Rachel, Burk and Green at the air force base at seven?" he prompted, always an army strategist.
"That's the plan," Tom nodded in assent, promptly screwing his head on straight.
###
The sun was almost up by the time they arrived at the dock. Tom exited the jeep and walked around to Rachel's side where he opened the door for her, she smiled up at him and exited. He took her bag from her and draped it over his shoulder. The morning air was fresh and crisp and it felt good as he inhaled sharply and cleansed his lungs. The foursome met at the trunk where they gathered the balance of their and without a moment to spare, headed around a small bend to make their way to the James.
And it was here that almost in unison, his and Rachel's footsteps slowed down to a more measurable stride as Tom found himself quite awestruck. For he couldn't help but to notice the gorgeous façade of the Nathan James with her battleship gray exterior, her bridge and tower, both tall and proud as the sun rose purposefully behind her. The sky was a magnificent mash of orange and pink and purple that delivered the promise of a new day. And there inside that private moment – all Tom could suddenly sense was the vestiges of their rich history together – his thoughts suddenly aligned while his heartstrings tugged upon the core of his being in the name of battles both won and lost upon her vast and glorious decks.
He blinked and glanced at Rachel then, her eyes glistening against the sun's early rays, her striking face illuminated by the color of the sky and he could see that she was feeling it too … this undeniable connection … and therein, she took his breath away. He exhaled and privately watched her for a beat longer before Green and Burk stopped and turned around.
"She's stunning isn't she, Sir?" Green commented, a smile cascaded along his face.
"That she is …," Tom nodded in assent.
"There's nothing like her, Sir … maybe she'll always be 'home' now," Burk nodded.
"I think you're on to something," was all Tom could say.
The foursome walked in tandem now and approached a security detail where the ensign on duty saluted Tom and nodded in assent for them to pass through to the dock. With his eyes set on the horizon, Tom walked on and forward now with Rachel at his side, flanked by Green and Burk. The men reached the gangway and headed up without looking back, but Rachel stopped and Tom turned to her.
"How significantly different I feel now … about this ship …," she ruminated; a gentle nautical breeze whipped up and around them. "Almost like I'm coming home after a long journey, there's truth in what Lieutenant Burk just said …," she sighed, shaking her head. She exhaled and hot tufts of her breath spiraled from her lips. Tom smiled and watched her eyes gloss over with emotion, transforming now into deep reflective pools of history and wisdom. "Do you remember the day we met in the hangar …," she breathed quickly, her voice cracked into the silence and she looked away.
"I do …," Tom replied, but held his tongue, for he knew what it was like to come upon a ship where he'd lived and worked before and the James was certainly no different.
"I could have told you right then, the moment we met … I could have told you everything …," she whispered urgently, her eyes vacillating as she looked up at the James. She turned back to Tom and he watched the last of her resolve collapse. "Do you really forgive me?" she wondered hastily, stepping into his personal space, her face marred with insecurity as she stared up at him.
Tom exhaled and brushed the back of his free hand against hers. "There's nothing to forgive," he offered candidly, twirling his fingertips through hers. "And I mean that …," he said with more determination. "And if I didn't, I wouldn't say it …," he husked, his eyes pinned to hers now. "We both did what we had to do with the cards we were dealt …," he appealed to her senses, his father's advice foremost on his mind now.
Rachel looked down at their hands and then raised her head. She smiled radiantly at him and shook her head. She exhaled, collecting herself before whispered, "We did … you really are something else, you know that?"
And then he smiled and said, "So are you."
###
Tom reported to CIC to touch base with Mason and Gator. Presently they stood at the Da Vinci screen and reviewed some overnight surveillance provided to them by their counterparts in the Philippines. Burk and Green entered then and joined the small group.
"As you can see, Sir … not much has changed overnight, this imagery is the most current we have," Mason said then. He pointed to the most remote and impassable shoreline of what was deemed to be Flora Island. "You'll focus on securing entry to the island from here, as planned, coordinates have not changed, obviously," he reiterated confidently.
"And low tide is still targeted for first light?" Tom queried, his eyes scanning the nighttime images of the island: the water calm and serene, the moon high in the sky.
"Yes, Sir … tide tables haven't had any major adjustments and it looks like low tide, the day after tomorrow will be optimal at about an hour before sunrise," Gator reported in. "As planned – you'll take a RHIB out to this cave here, which appears to be a craggy overlook, but opens up when the tide goes out – once there, you'll leave the RHIB and swim ashore along the interior the cave," he directed. "From what the local people tell us, there's an entry point on the other side of the long cave, which will put you at the mouth of a large waterfall," he rehashed.
"Time of day and tides along with location still make this the optimal place to access the island, Sir," Burk added then. "With any luck, we won't find any inhabitants there and will able to infiltrate and take control of the situation from the interior of the island instead of meeting resistance along the shores of the main beach," he reported.
Tom nodded in assent and then prompted, "And what is the status on thermal-imaging?"
"No change, Sir," Gator confirmed, bringing up a satellite image of the island with a heat map placed on top of it. He immediately pointed to some small flecks of red and orange and deemed, "Too small to be humans or even land animals."
"Very good," Tom nodded. "And what do know about our propaganda campaign, have we made any more headway overnight?" he prompted.
Mason nodded in assent, "The feedback Val and Granderson have received has been positive – we've been vague of course, with respect to our schedule and Dr. Scott's location while waiting for rendezvous – but the Philippines public is genuinely elated to know help is on the way," he reported. "This mission is definitely looked upon as a partnership at this point and we're pretty confident that the local people they have begun to understand that these islands must be secured and safe-guarded from an outbreak," he added.
"And the insurgents? Any changes there?" he probed evenly.
"No, Sir … still holding their own, it's still unclear how many of them are Immunes or happened to flee there under the assumption of safety," Gator reported. "We did manage, late last night, to receive a small portion of a message over the wire from the hotel manager there, who indicated that she was still at a maximum capacity … with some hostile influences afoot, mainly set up in camps along the primary shoreline," he stated.
Tom sighed. "Well, good work everyone," he approved. "Now we've just got to get there and talk some sense into these people … and ideally, with little or no force on our part, I want this as peaceful as possible," he declared.
###
A short while later, following a quick debrief with Michener, Tom lingered inside the doorway of the lab, hesitating as he spotted Rachel in the far corner – his mind deluge with memories of what took place within the sanctum of this space – the hours upon hours of time Rachel spent here … beleaguered by her grave failures and bolstered by her eventual success. He shook his head and found that he was smiling – despite everything, after all the wreckage and suffering and uncertainty – he was still smiling … and that had to mean something.
He inhaled sharply, the remnants of sea and salt filled his lungs as he watched her work from his perch much like he did every time he came to visit her here. Hesitating once again before he would step tentatively over the threshold and leave a small piece of himself here … in her domain where everything was foreign to him and belonged to her. He shifted on his feet and she turned around to find him.
"Captain," she greeted and a playful smile reached her eyes; her cheeks were pink.
"Dr. Scott," he declared with his own smile.
"I'm putting the last of what I need in this case here … and that will be it," she said from her same spot.
"Perfect timing," he nodded in assent, making note of how she favored her shoulder.
She turned back and pulled some files from several of the boxes she had packed at the hospital and designated for the James – tiny white stickers adorning their sides – and therein he thought of Darien and her lonely task. He smiled through his unease, trying now to assess Rachel's mental state as he approached her.
"I love this lab …," she declared into the quiet then. Her voice, stoic and reflective, echoed slightly. "I love everything about it …," she whispered and Tom came to stand beside her at a long metal worktable. She looked up to him. "I didn't think I would … after everything, the stress, the trials … but I do all the same …," she sighed. "I almost can't let go of it … I can't believe that one day this space will just be a hangar on a Navy destroyer again …," she smiled wistfully.
"One day, perhaps …," Tom said softly. "But for now and for the foreseeable future … the Nathan James will be here and so will your lab …," he replied evenly and pressed his lips into a thin contemplative line as he looked around the space.
He sighed and turned his attention back to Rachel, knowing he wanted nothing more than to break rank and gather her in his arms and kiss and kiss her here, on sacred ground … where it would mean something else entirely – and he knew he could have – except for some reason, he hedged. For the 'Tom and Rachel' they had established within confines of this space seemed to be just as preserved as all that had transpired here. He smiled and so did she – and they silently maintained their distance – ever mindful and respectful of everything they were to each other during that time of their lives.
Tom cleared his throat and pressed on, turning back to her. "I have a new development …," he announced smoothly then.
"Trouble already?" Rachel queried, her brow raised with concern. She zipped her final case up.
"No … at least, I hope not," he muttered. She eyed him carefully. "Michener wants Phillip Harley to accompany you – to do a chronicle of sorts on your part of this mission – apparently as part of a larger documentary outlining the history of the search for the cure and the Nathan James' voyage around the globe …," he informed her, keenly alert to her gut reaction.
"I see …," she replied evenly and then tilted her head. "And this bothers you?" she probed slowly.
Tom smiled. "No … not the documentation aspect of it … because that has to be done," he sighed. "I just know, much like I am, how private of a person you are …," he articulated carefully.
"I am …," she agreed, a small smile gracing her lips.
"And taking that into consideration, I already had a word with Harley myself," he reported quickly.
"Really?" she scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes. "How surprising," she smirked.
Tom chuckled under his breath, thankful she didn't go ape-shit on him for trying to control the situation when it came to her personal life. "Look … I know you can take care of yourself … God, I sound like a broken record …," his voice trailed off.
He exhaled sharply and searched for the right words, his keen eyes scanning the lab, his thoughts migrating to the darker times spent within: dying monkeys, the trials, Michener's attempt on his own life … and Neils. Rachel stepped closer, tempting fate now with her proximity. She set her hand carefully over his and added pressure, effectively drawing him out.
"Yes, you do … a bit …," she smiled. "Except I know where it comes from now, so … I'm beginning to feel all right about that …," she whispered her sentiment.
Tom turned his hand over and boldly laced his fingers through hers, palm to palm now. "I keep thinking about how awful it was for you when I boxed you into that corner with Neils …," he began, shaking his head. "And I don't want to put you in that kind position again, not if I can help it … and truthfully, we know very little about this guy …," he sighed, his mind wild with the implications of leaving Harley with his family.
He sighed heavily and Rachel trained her eyes on his wherein he could find no signs of duress. She smiled weakly. "So … what did you say to him?" she wondered.
"That your personal life is off limits … unless you want to share something with him," he began, his eyes still trained on hers. He watched her cheeks blush. "And that he should try to remain objective in his reporting – because while the search for the cure may sound like a chronicle of pure science – it became far more than that …," he nodded. "Especially to you and to me and to the entire crew of this vessel …," he breathed, his voice deep and reflective.
"Perhaps no truer words have been spoken …," Rachel replied with a small smile meant just for him. "May I admire you … here … inside our last few minutes alone?" she breathed, searching his eyes with hers: vibrant, alert, all-seeing. Tom squeezed her hand, but held his tongue again. He smiled and nodded in assent. "You are right … I can take care of myself," she began. "But standing here, inside this lab again with you – I realize how far we've come – and not just by saving the world together … but by the unearthing a lifetime of protected emotions and deep insecurities … yours and mine …," she exhaled on her truths.
"Ours …," was all he found he could say.
And so as he stood there with Rachel's hand nestled in his for a beat longer – he exhaled and relished in the quiet solitude this space had to offer now – feeling gratified that the hangar had indeed become a place of peace for Rachel … a home … and a sanctuary … rather than a place that simply defined her tireless struggle to find and develop the cure.
He blinked then and broke their connection, squeezing her hand one last time before she began to inform him of the cases she needed and he pressed his comm. device and called for Green and Burk to come and assist them. Where they would disembark the Nathan James – and fly high in the sky, over land and sea – with open hearts and open minds to a far off, not so safe, yet not so hostile place of beauty – that resided for now, deep within their minds' eyes.
To be continued …