S/N: Overall, it's AU. What can I say? The 'bang-bang' shook me up so badly.

Having put enough distance between him and herself, the strong scent of his cologne unhinging her as she sashayed down the corridor, Rachel caught herself wondering if the brazen sass in her walk was still being appreciated. The Aldo slingbacks, which she'd worn for their intimate dinner aboard the Nathan James not long ago, lent stature to her gait. Well, he'd mentioned the dress that the judge's daughter had lent her was nice. He'd made a point of making that point. She, having blushed like some tongue-tied schoolgirl when he'd caught and held her eyes with his blue bombers, reeled again. Even if she had been wearing jeans to the ball, she would have pulled it off. In his eyes, she was the quintessential beautiful woman. The way he looked at her, couldn't stop looking at her, gave him away as predictably as pride came before a fall.

Despite his posturing hauteur and vainglorious musings, he had fallen, hard for her.

She knew, gloating a bit. She owned him, no two ways about it. But, she boasted no immunity from the love bug's bite. In all their time together, she had never walked away from him like a streetwalker, daring him to make his move. She'd meant the roll of her hips to entice Tom before they parted, perhaps parting forever. He'd told her to find him when she returned. What if she didn't come back? What if something unforeseen, something tragic befell them both? How could she be doing this, just walking away? Was it up to her to make that move? They had something, something sound, something as true as the dissemination of the Cure. They meant everything to each other.

So why were they backing off? They'd held the world in the palms of their hands and had given it to each other.

Before Rachel could stop herself, she couldn't stop herself, had no willpower over herself at all. She was on automatic pilot, goaded by Tex's words, elbowing her in the ribs. Tom and she had just spoken, but they really hadn't connected, not the way they needed to. The shadow dancing was getting old, so stale. Their stand-off, the pussyfooting around what lurked in their hearts, not exposing what really lay beneath their soulful looks of longing effortlessly exchanged, was unacceptable, not at this stage.

What made saying potent words of desire so hard? The thought of it being now, or never, drilled down on Rachel, causing her to spin around on her heel. Dismayed to see that Tom was gone, she felt marooned in this noiseless hallway. What kind of goodbye had it been?

'…I'll see you when I see you…'

"Pathetic," Rachel exhaled through a groan, shivering. This man had risked everything for her, sacrificed his soul, practically, she mulled, initiating her short journey of return, marching to his door.

'When you get back…find me.'

"Anemic," she hissed, hovering at his door, the gateway to her future. Did she have the gumption to knock? Seconds ticked off and still she made no move. As though frozen in time and place, she stared at the daffodil flat-painted door, suddenly feeling the fool. She'd surmounted Herculean hurdles before. What made this one gargantuan, insurmountable? "Because I love him," Rachel murmured, with eyes closed. "But…I…don't…know…if…I can…tell him…"

Of course, she had no knowledge that on the other side of this door, Tom, with his forehead leaned against it, creasing his forehead, was silently cursing himself for being such a big, block-headed coward. Soundlessly, he whispered, "Dumb-as-a-grunt, you let her get away still thinking you can take her or leave her. Like being cool right now is heroic." He rapped his knuckles on the door, drowning in frustration. "Tell her—ask her like you've rehearsed a thousand and one times. Don't let this jewel slip through your fingers, Dumb-as-a-grunt. Spell it out so she knows loud and clear. She's who you want. You might not get another chance if you don't speak now." When he flung open the door, seeing her standing there, they both gasped.

Throughout this vast city, people were catching wellness, all because of these atypical people, who lit up lights in the other's eyes.

"Tom?" Wonderment filled hers, as though he were half-dressed despite his being still in splendiferous full dress.

"Rachel…uh…uh." Nervousness punctuated his little laugh. Having had the sub ping directly beneath them seemed like child's play compared to facing her like this. He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was no drill; this was the real thing. He adjusted his tone, quasi-coming to attention. Bound and determined, he announced, "I was on my way to see you."

"You were?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Gently, his fingers wrapped around her forearm so he could tow her inside, with no resistance. Why else was she here? To be with him, although, this wasn't the time for a public viewing of his feelings on display. This was for Rachel only. Closing the door, he gingerly began, "I've got something to say."

With a pinching of her lips to one side, she regarded him, trying not to think how amusing she found him, as if someone had swapped out a girder for his spine. Serious, delirious, this smacks of mysterious, she thought. "I'm all ears."

Munch-able ones, he considered, and a slew of other munch-worthy areas I'd like to sample. About to plunge into his monologue, he paused, the thought having struck him. "What were you doing outside my door? I thought you were headed for your room?"

"I was, but then this overwhelming impulse to speak with you further overpowered me…and here I am." Stepping out of the killer Aldos, she wriggled her freed toes. Despite the shoes being a far cry from stilettoes, they weren't the most comfortable shoes she was accustomed to. "Though I'm your guest, you outrank me. So...you first." Without being asked, she padded over to one of the twin dark walnut highback wing chairs across from the king size bed. Looking comfy, she pertly invited, "You may fire when ready, Gridley."

Tom squirmed, unconsciously going for his collar with his forefinger, unbuttoning a button, then loosening his tie. He appeared squeamish, she judged, purposely softening her eyes, hoping to ease his palpable tension.

"I had a grand time tonight. You're a wonderful dancer," she plied, buttering him up.

"You're not bad yourself. You're magic." As her blush flared, she averted her eyes, seemingly engrossed suddenly with the drab pattern of the dreary rug. His obvious advance on her stalled, or so she thought, an error in judgment on her part. Aware that he hadn't missed a beat, arriving to stand in front of her, she noticed that he was fishing for something on his person. Once he garnered it, Rachel stared in abject disbelief and shock, watching him go down on one knee.

"Magical together," she couldn't help utter as bravely as she could muster, hoping he hadn't notice the tremulous hitch in her voice. He was laudable, looking this discombobulated. "What's on your mind?"

Having produced a midnight blue velvet box, he expertly opened it. No small feat since his hands were shaking. With his heart up his throat, Tom showcased its contents. He was having trouble with his voice as well. "Ra-chel—" Further loosening of his tie didn't help much. "In the hallway just now, when you started walking away, I lost my nerve."

Her eyes glued to the platinum pave halo diamond ring, she squeaked, "I-is this r-really happening?" This was something straight out of what used to be Disneyland.

"Only if you say it should…" He was already at work, carefully slipping the glittery keepsake on the third finger of her left hand, smiling like he'd just been made CNO—wait, he had been made Commander of Naval Operations. On a scale of 1 to 10, that promotion was an 11. The look on his lady's face was a 12.

If she quipped that this was all so sudden, it would sound trite, even though his proposal was beyond out of the blue. Instead, she softly yielded, "You wish to marry me?" Why had she made it sound as though he were asking a two-headed dragon?

"I do." The exigent need in his voice coursed in her veins. "If you'll have me…" She cupped his face in her hands; he kissed each palm as if he were doing penance. "I know this is crazy, but despite how I've been acting, treating you like crap, I've been thinking about 'us' ever since I knew I can't be without you. I'm stubborn, and hardnosed, but I know enough to know that I want you, Rachel." Pining meshed with avidity melded as humility bubbled to the surface. "Don't give me your answer now. You'll have plenty of time to decide if you seriously want to do the unthinkable and saddle yourself with me, while you're away."

Throwing caution to the wind, Rachel replied, "You'd let me go on my way without knowing what my answer is?" Pressing her lips lightly against his, she teased, "Thomas Bryce Chandler, you are one completely impossible man." Taking a breath, she confessed with abandon, "I'd have you no other way."

"I don't want you to feel trapped, or cornered. You're too free-spirited for that. Being your own woman turns me on, and on and on and on."

"Does it now?" she verbally stroked, flipping him a saucy wink.

His ardor fanned, he strove keeping his voice level. "Never mold yourself to what I may want."

"Unless you happen to be right," Rachel sweetened, rolling big irrepressible eyes at him as he turned a bright shade of crimson.

Better blushers there could never be; these two held the title.

"You be the judge. You're not one to knuckle under."

"Here, here. As are you."

"So, don't start just because. Just because I can become a bully too quickly. Okay? Been there, done that and it sucked like no tomorrow, giving you all kinds of hell." He heard how wound up he sounded, yet floundering at the same time. She must think him mad. The vicissitudes of this ultra-unconventional war had pushed him over the edge. He reined himself in. "Well, if we exchange vows, that is." He was down on both knees now, smoothing his hands over her shapely knees. "You're perfect just the way you are."

She couldn't speak, couldn't think, was having the hardest time breathing. He made it so easy for her to forget how. All she could do was feel, feel his gratitude, his empathy, and most of all his love. "My answer is yes. Yes. Yes, yes. YES. I believe it will always be this way with us. We'll meet each other halfway, and we'll be perfect…together." She grabbed his face and showered every inch of it with kisses. "Yes, my captain. I shall be honored being Misses Thomas B. Chandler, C-N-O of the American Navy."

"I've decided to get back to Michener on that. I'm not sure if it's what I want." Chuckling, he freely admitted, "But I know I want you." His lips moored to her neck, he submitted even more humbly, "Mister T. B. Chandler, proud husband of the wonder woman who rolled-out the Cure. And vaccinated my sad heart against perpetual mourning."

The precision with which he ravished her mouth made her breathless. Stealing needed air, Rachel sputtered, "You've changed your mind. You intend to do away with me after all."

"Huh?"

Looking pie-eyed, oozing sensuality, Rachel tapped his close-lipped mouth with her tongue. The sparks in her eyes sizzled as she breathed, "Your kiss is killer."

Snickering, Tom croaked, "You vixen."

Tightening her arms around his neck, laughing high and brightly, she said, "Yes. Yes I am. All your fault."

A serious tone crept into his voice as he searched her eyes. "Think there'd be enough time for us to tie the knot before you fly out?"

He wasn't giving her much time, but then, wasn't this what she had started wanting, coveting what wasn't hers when he belonged to another? "How fast do we think we can say, 'I do?'" Shrugging against him, she pointed out, "I'm out of here at ten-hundred hours. That gives us time if we're up before dawn, go before the judge and pledge our troth in record time."

Scowling in typical Tom Chandler fashion, he shook his head, dissatisfied with what he'd just suggested, just as she had accepted it. "Nah. Scrap that."

"I'm up for it, if you are."

His hands that held her waist fast cinched tighter. "You deserve a spectacular wedding with all the trimmings. White dress, wedding ring, lots of flowers, those ladies in pastel dresses. A symphony cranking out the wedding march. And cake and champagne. Lots and lots of cake and champers!" Huffing, he growled, "Not some quicky deal." More to himself he grumbled, "Then I won't see you for months."

"I don't care about those things," she insisted, upsetting the straightness of his cap sitting atop his head with the index finger of her right hand beneath its bill. Holding her breath, she removed his military headgear with both hands and tossed the sailor topper Frisbee-style on the bed where it joined the manila envelope.

"I do. I care. Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Then it's doubly important to me that you have what first-time brides should have."

"Hmm, what did you just say about not molding myself to your demands, hmm?" The mindful arch of her eyebrow took substantial wind out of his sails.

"Oh, boy…here we go."

"No. No, not at'all. If it's what you want for me, Tom, Luv. Then, it's fine by me."

He stood at his full height, appearing to have grown a few inches. He gathered up her hands, squeezing them tight, then kissed their alabaster backs as he had her stand. "May I have another dance, Wife-To-Be?"

"You may, kind sir." As pragmatic as ever, despite the mega-romanticism of this occasion, she pointed out, "We've no music."

"Will this do?" Holding her closer to his body than he'd ever done before, he softly began humming the tune You Are My Sunshine into an ear. Feeling her much smaller frame tremble against his larger one, he held her more tightly, heady, jubilant beyond rational thought. His humming trailed off and with come hither finesse, he softly wooed, "Don't go. Stay with me tonight so we can hold each other for as long as we've got before you go."

"The honeymoon first?" The very thought fired so many neurons, it made her dizzy beyond belief. "I-if…you believe y-you're up to it. But as your physician, I'd advi—"

He shook his head against her exquisite cheek, cutting her off. Confirmation was solid; he wasn't dreaming. She was his. "Nope. We'll save that for after. I'm old-fashioned that way. Like the way my folks were once they became wife and husband following their ceremony."

"You win again." Rachel drew her head back from his chest, kissing its center as she issued a contagiously-contented sigh.

"How right you are. I got you."

"Winners all around, if you will."

"I think I will." Forgetting all about his recent surgery, he scooped her up into his strong arms, groaning involuntarily when his wound nagged.

"Don't overdo it," Rachel cautioned, quietly prodding him with reproving looks to set her down, brushing her fingers over his cheek.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm not at full capacity." Being on the mend was cramping his style, thinking that, as his molars gently kneaded the lining of his inner cheek.

"Oh, you'll do," she rooted, patting the undamaged side of his middle. Under his approving eyes, she informed, "I've a trifle more gear to pack."

More things to pack? Like what? But, he didn't open his mouth to ask. She liked doing things her own way he reminded himself. Most likely she wanted to change into something much more comfortable, he also figured, jeans and a T-shirt, her unofficial uniform. He grinned, although his objection came out as a whine. He didn't care. "Can't that wait until morning?"

"It could, but if I finish it up now, we'll have more time for breakfasting."

"Nice…"

"And I'll change out of this into my normal clothes." She had used her powers for seeing how quickly he could come around to her way of thinking and since he had, she was at the door about to open it. "I shan't be long."

Closing in on her, twining his fingers with hers, he stipulated, "You'd better not be." He took his time about surrendering her hand. Rising up on tiptoes, she pecked his cheek, then stepped back into the borrowed Aldos. She opened the door and went through. The sway of her hips had Tom drooling, sticking his head through the space, watching her go. Insistently, he ordered, "Hurry back."

Abruptly, Rachel spun around, a veritable vision to behold, which he ate up this second time around, with all his might. "I shall."

"I love you," he hooted, filling the hallway with bubbly elation.

Swooning, beside herself, having heard his carefully inflected words, Rachel continued her backwards walking, reaching out to him with her left arm. She brought her outstretched hand to her lips, kissing her engagement ring and nodding. She blew him a kiss with the same hand and returned, "Love you more. I'll be back in a jiff."

Tom leveled the biggest smile at his girl, memorizing every memorable move Rachel made as she descended the staircase, bound for her room one flight below. This time tomorrow, she'd be in Nebraska. Her itinerary left him cold. Between now and when she was scheduled to depart afforded him little time. There had to be a way that they could still be together and she could accomplish what the President expected of her.

RTRTRTRT

The lone gunman, armed with cruel intentions, made Rachel's swift return to Tom impossible. The bullet wound disfiguring her chest was a despicable reminder that all was not right with this aberrant new world. Having heard the shot ring out, Tom now knelt beside her, his heartsick, desperate eyes all too aware of the bullet responsible for bringing her down was lodged in the wall.

Feebly, Rachel attempted to slow the rapid outflow of her precious vital fluid. The beautiful dress was a macabre tapestry of gore. Tom's hand double-teamed, covering the hand she pressed with, doubling down to impede her blood loss. With painstaking care, he positioned himself behind her. Hard-core, as this revolting situation called for, he did his best, curtailing the loss from the exit wound, willing that she stabilize.

"Hang tough," he recited over and over like some oracular mantra, cradling her protectively. Why hadn't he gone with her? Why, why, why? His voice breaking, he beseeched, "Hold on for us—atta girl. You can do it!"

Her breathing thready, she faintly begged, "H-hum y-your s-song, Tom." She blinked slowly several times, struggling to stay conscious. Willing her heart to take it easy. Remain calm, her mind commanded. "You are my sunshine…"

With tears like globules surfeiting his eyes, he brokenly complied. You Are My Sunshine cracked in his windpipe; Rachel managed a fragile smile, ethereal, like a puff of smoke, which he missed with her back to him.

Aborting his humming, he feverishly implored, "Baby, don't die—please! Don't die! Please!"

"Keep humming," she barely whispered. The sound of his deep voice focused her, kept her mind on the task at head, adrenalizing her vitals.

He had his order and he started up again with vigor renewed. He kept right on humming away, hardy and true, until the help he'd bellowed for arrived. Over the partying whoops, his maniacal cries for succor had been heard. Members of the crew, led by Mike, beset the hallway, bearing a stretcher from the hotel. Doc Rios, who'd chosen to attend the party later, was with them too. Already directing that the precious cargo be handled with excessive care, he performed a precursory inspection before loading her unto the stretcher. At the end of sixty seconds, he had some answers. Relief swelled in his eyes as he searched for additional wounds. Thankfully, the bullet had passed on through. The path of the bullet was impossible to determine in the field. Only when they had her on the operating table would he know how extensive the damage was. Although her loss of blood was substantial, he was certain that Ringer's Lactate solution would duly compensate for the decrease in volume. She breathed with a wheeze, so he administered a BA to better facilitate each breath she struggled to take. Ordinarily, he wasn't in the habit of bringing a breathing device with him, but tonight he happened to have one, had picked one up at a local medical supply so sickbay would have at least two on hand.

The weak security at the nearest hospital ruled out taking Rachel there. During her transport by chopper to the Nathan James, she slipped in and out of consciousness more times than Tom could handle. When she came to right before the chopper landed on the heliport, Tom dug his fingers into her hand.

"Y-you're not h-humming," Rachel weakly admonished, focusing tired eyes on him.

"On it," Tom promised, commencing the purring of their song emanating from deep within his throat. Swatting at his tears, he never stopped clinging to her hand, or ceased the melody until separation at sickbay parted them. Milowsky, who'd remained aboard the ship, along with those of the medical staff, who hadn't gone ashore, were prepped.

Left alone with his distraught thoughts, all Tom could do was wait now. Pray that their having a future together was no pipe dream.

Why, why, why? Hanging his head, he sobbed uncontrollably with Mike stepping up to embrace his former CO, clapping his back. Steely sorrow engulfed the battle-tested, stricken warrior. The violence of his pain racked his body, saturated with his sweet, fair lady's noble blood.

"She's gonna make it, Cap. She's what you are, only with double X chromosomes," Mike bolstered. "Hard as nails."

Feeling weightless in his former XO's stalwart arms, Tom would brook nothing less than a miracle. "Who did this to her?" he barked, pulling himself together as though an alarm had gone off in his head.

"From what we've piece together so far, an unidentified Immune who's still at large," Slattery reported. "A housekeeper has come forward claiming she encountered a man casually roaming the hallways earlier in the evening. Michener is secured."

Thoughts of the POTUS swirled in Tom's mind, adding to his agitation. "We've got McDowell. We'll find out if he knows this Immune," Tom rasped from his gut. "We capture the piece of crap; we handle it our way."

The men, grim, their faces rigid, took stock of the other, leaving little doubt that Rachel's unknown assassin would wish he'd never been born if he fell into their hands, primed for meting out justice with iron fists.

Rest assured, TBC