At some point, he'd managed to corral her into the bed and off the floor. Settled them both in a more comfortable position until she'd finally cried herself into exhaustion and fallen asleep. Tom hadn't moved since. He couldn't; didn't want to leave her alone, even as she slept. He was sure an hour, maybe more had passed, the lack of light peeking through the curtains alluding to that fact. He could smell food downstairs. Ashely had taken care of making dinner for herself, and for Sam – it made him feel like a failure. The day they should have spent enjoying each other's company, fishing on the dock, grilling at dinner, and hanging out by the fire, had ended up like this. With his daughter, once again taking care of her brother, because something else had taken priority. Sasha, at her lowest point. And he with the insurmountable knowledge that he should have stopped this sooner.

He'd been too scared of forcing the issue, afraid of pushing her away or of her simply leaving because that's what she did when things got too hard, when in hindsight, all the signs were there – he'd just chosen to ignore them. Chosen to believe that she would figure it out before it got this far. Like she had every other time. But everyone had a limit, she was not invincible, and he would have done well to remember it. A soft knock on the door caught his attention, and he cringed internally because there was no way he'd be able to detangle himself without waking her. He fought the indecision for a moment more before he called out quietly. With any luck, if they were careful, she was exhausted enough to sleep through it.

"You can come in."

Two heads appeared around the door, their silhouettes all he could make out against the light from the hallway. It drew across the carpeted rug in front of him in a diagonal, long rectangle but stopped short of the bed, thankfully. He was sure the light would rouse her should it hit them. Tom rose his head up, enough for him to be visible, and gestured for them to be quiet and close the door.

He whispered to Ashely when she reached the bed, "What is it?"

"We made you both dinner if you're hungry."

"Thank you, sweetie; why don't you put it in the microwave, and I'll come down and grab it later, okay?"

She chewed on her lip, eyes traveling over Sasha's form. Her back was to them, and all she could see was the top of her head and her dad's arms wrapped around her.

"Is she really okay? We heard her crying," she asked hesitantly, voice so quiet he barely heard it himself. His brows drew together in a troubled expression, and he hesitated.

"No, Ash. She's not – but she will be – she needs rest, I don't want her to wake up."

Ashley nodded solemnly, putting her arm around Sam. "I really am sorry–"

He shook his head to cut her off, "Not your fault – we'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay," she conceded, giving him one final sad look that tugged at his heart before they both exited the room as quietly as they'd come. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding once the soft click resonated. The knowledge that they'd overhead gnawed at his psyche, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He brought a hand up, absently stroking through her hair as he listened to the sound of her even breathing and waited for the feeling to surpass.

When Tom awoke, he found himself in the same position, his left arm long since numb. Sasha's head was still buried between his shoulder, the pillow, and his chest. One arm tucked tightly between them, and the other thrown over his waist, their legs entangled. Neither of them had moved at all. He exhaled sleepily, wincing at the fiery tingle that burned in his palms as they protested the lack of circulation. It was still dark, but there was a distinct blue tinge illuminating the room – if he had to guess, it was dawn. Realized he must have fallen asleep after the kids left and hadn't moved since, a summary that was quickly confirmed by his full bladder.

He moved his arm slowly, bringing his hand under her head to lift it so he could pull his left arm from under her. She stirred, and he dropped a kiss against her temple, "shhh," he soothed as he finished untangling their limbs.

He stretched as he got out, clenched, and unclenched his fist a few times while shaking his arm back to life as he headed to the bathroom, checked his watch to find it was 5:48 am. She'd slept for almost twelve hours, and the relief that washed over him was palpable. This was the longest he'd seen her sleep uninterrupted, period. It was bound to do her some good.

It was a little past nine when Sasha woke. Tom had showered, checked on the kids, grabbed some food, and found Sam curled up with Ashely in the room she'd claimed as her own. He'd left them all to sleep and taken care of cleaning the cooler – thrown out the steaks and other tainted goods far from the property line. Somewhere he was sure she wouldn't smell them. Washed the offending item three times over with the bleach he'd found in her kitchen and transferred everything else to the fridge that had finally cooled.

Sasha rolled stiffly, acutely aware of the headache throbbing dully at the back of her skull. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to get them to focus – realized she was parched. The TV's sounds floated muffled from downstairs; the kids had found the movie collection and were putting it to good use. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, shoulders slumping in appreciation when she noticed the glass of water left for her on the bedside table. She reached over and took it, gulping greedily as she pulled open the drawer to grab the Advil she kept there. She did not miss the fact that her gun was missing, quickly deducing that he must have secured it and her heart fell as it sank in. Tom was that worried about her. He didn't trust her mental-state. All it takes is a moment, one moment of despair in the right circumstance - anyone in the service knew that. Most had lost friends like that. But perhaps harder to stomach was the hard cold reality that she couldn't fault him for it. If the situation were reversed, she would do exactly as he'd done.

It was like a physical weight as it washed over her. As she finally accepted that she couldn't do it anymore. She didn't know how to make the idea of getting out of bed make sense. Couldn't reconcile the thought that she was hungry with the overwhelming realization that she'd have to get up, go downstairs, decide what to eat, then actually eat it when she didn't care anymore. She sank back down, burying herself deeper into the bed, and pulled his pillow over her head.

Sasha heard the door creak open, though how much time had passed she did not know, listened to his footsteps on the wood, then muffled by the rug shortly followed by the depression of the mattress as he sat next to her. She'd moved, no longer hiding under the pillow, rather staring absently at nothing. Her thoughts a spiraling monologue of realizations that she was stuck.

"Hey," his voice was tender, and he reached out to push the hair from her face. Sasha chanced a look at him, her eyes finding his worried ones for a fraction of a second, and to her utter dismay – she found she couldn't speak because, to her complete relief, looking at him broke through the apathy. Suddenly, she could feel again, the hollow numbness that had been engulfing her was replaced – albeit with a deep grief, but it was better than the abyss.

And she found that she wanted nothing more than to tell him, to confess everything, but she guessed she wasn't done crying yet, because instead of the words, all that came out was a shaky breath. A breath that was very quickly followed by a sound that was closer to a squeak than anything else as her face crumpled, the tears falling in earnest again. Tom moved immediately, got up so he could draw back the duvet and climb in, and he positioned her easily at his chest. A hand came up to clutch at the back of her head.

"Okay," he reassured her, "It's alright."

Her fingers found purchase in the soft fabric of his t-shirt, and she clawed at it, trying to make him understand, "Tom."

The plea in her voice made him wince because she was asking the impossible of him, asking him to take it away. To make it stop. Felt the uncomfortable resurgence of memories held secret. Alone. Scared his kids might overhear and realize that he wasn't strong anymore. That he was lost. But he also knew one thing, the only way out of it, was through it. There was no other choice.

"I know it hurts, Sash – believe me, I know. But I promise you, we will figure this out, and you will feel better." Suddenly, she was sobbing again. Completely miserable and unable to stop, and in the back of her mind, she wondered if it ever would. Gun to her head, at this moment, she wouldn't be able to pinpoint precisely what she was crying about, rather all of it. Everything.

The whole fucking world had imploded, and she'd lost everything. She was scared. She was lost. She didn't know what to do.

But he was with her.

Tom kissed her forehead, resting his cheek there as he listened.

"You're gonna be okay," he waited several moments before continuing. "You cry as much as you want and then we'll take a shower, and eat – and that's all we have to do today." He informed her gently, relieved to feel a jerky nod from her as she continued crying.

She hadn't left the room in three days. Only got out of bed because Tom forced her to; made her shower, and made sure she ate. She felt useless, broken – irreparably so. Felt guilty that she had ruined their vacation, that he spent so much of his time holding her as she cried endlessly, sometimes silently, sometimes hysterically while she swirled in a strange purgatory of wanting to speak, yet finding herself incapable of forming the sentences. Time he should have been spending with his kids. Wouldn't be surprised if they hated her for it. In fact, she expected them to.

It was late; she'd gathered that because it was dark. Her phone had buzzed with countless messages, and she was yet to return a single one of them. Couldn't even muster the courage to look because it all felt like too much effort. Like an awful lot of people wanting her attention, and she wondered if she might simply ask him to do it for her. Yet if she did that, then everyone would know she'd fallen, and her pride wouldn't allow it, so the cycle continued.

Everything was within her reach, TV remote, laptop, the book she'd been reading before Panama – all there if she wanted it, yet she still didn't. Found sleeping a better way to pass the time, ruefully noting that she hadn't dreamt once since she'd told him. Ironic, some might say.

A quick knock on the door announced Tom's arrival before he emerged, a little shock registering on his face because Sasha was sitting up at least, leaning on the various pillows – some of which had been left on the floor, which indicated that she'd moved.

Her eyes looked clearer, more alert, and more present than they had in days, which caused a soft smile to pull at his features, and though she didn't entirely return it, she did speak, finally.

"Hi," breathed, barely more than a whisper and one of the most beautiful things he'd heard. Tom closed the door gently, stepping into the room and sitting to her left, facing her.

"Hi," he echoed, reaching out and taking one of her hands in his own as he studied her expression. She dropped her eyes in favor of exploring the veins on the back of his because she couldn't quite cope with the level of raw emotion on display. Still feeling unsure now that she'd been exposed, self-conscious though she knew he wasn't judging her in any way. More of that pride.

"The kids are asking after you," she could hear the hesitation in his voice, the uncertainty on whether she wanted to talk or not, and it colored her shocked. Her voice was almost hopeful when she inquired, "they are?" as if it were a surprise, and he felt the overwhelming need to clarify that for her.

"Of course they are. They care about you – why would you think any different?"

Her shoulders shrugged slightly, and she continued to look at his hands.

"Because you've spent more time in here with me, when you–"

"I'm exactly where I need to be, and we spent plenty of time together while you were away," he cut her off quickly, dispelling the train of thought. Her blue eyes flickered upward then, assessing his sincerity, an almost imperceptible nod serving as her answer.

"If you're feeling up to it, they've been begging me for three days to come and see you?"

Sasha dropped her eyes again, chewing slightly on her lip as she pondered what to do with that information, tried to determine how she felt considering the last time they'd seen her, she'd been on the kitchen floor in the midst of the worst panic attack of her life.

"What did you tell them?" her voice was hesitant, quiet, and she waited for a moment as he paused, seemingly collecting himself.

"The truth – they heard, baby. It's not like I could hide it."

She inhaled audibly as she accepted it for what it was, let it go quickly. It was no one's fault. It was just the way things had played out – though she would have preferred a lie, however ridiculous that may sound.

After a few more minutes of silent deliberation, she made eye contact with him again, "You can bring them up," and the curl of his lips downward was the only indication of his surprise.

"Alright, I'll go get em."

She was nervously playing with the comforter when she saw the shadows approach and break the light pouring in from the hallway, silly as it sounded, but she was so out of sorts that the concept of making small talk with them was almost foreign to her. The trepidation was eased, however, when she caught Sam's bright expression, the innocent happiness lifting her spirits. They both seemed happy to see her.

"Sasha!"

Sam climbed on the bed quickly, careful not to crumple the paper he was holding in his hand, and Ashley approached on her other side, a small hesitant smile on her face. Though she chose to stand rather than sit.

"Hey, buddy," and though her voice sounded foreign to her ears, she was at least glad to feel her expression register warmth, genuine and unforced.

"I made you this," and he held out the paper he'd been protecting, a card she now realized. She was genuinely touched, and she reached out, taking it delicately. A lump already forming in her throat, he'd put some considerable effort into it. Colored in the front and drawn some lettering that read "Get Well Soon."

"You did?" her voice reflecting the fact that she was moved. She opened it up and noted the drawing he'd attempted, a smile dimpled her cheeks at the rendition, but it was the message that filled her with unexpected sentiment. It was a simple list of reasons why they thought she was "the best" and why she shouldn't be sad, right down to the fact that she had pretty hair written in a P.S – she gave a watery laugh when she reached that part. But what really sank in was the way they'd signed it off. "We missed you, love Ashely & Sam."

She swallowed, fighting for composure but failing fast as she placed fingers over her mouth, trying to stop the tremble of her lip.

"Thank you, I love it," she managed to squeeze out before she lost the battle entirely, and her face crumpled. She buried her face in her hands and felt small arms encircle her. Ashley. She climbed on the bed and hugged her, Sam mirroring her on the other side.

"You'll be okay, Sasha. We're all here for you – right, Sam?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

Sasha nodded, unable to form words as she clasped a hand around Ashley's arm, returning her embrace caught entirely off guard by their kindness. By how much it affected her. Tom found them that way shortly after, both kids on either side hugging her as she cried softly – it squeezed at his heart. Wordlessly, he settled himself behind Sam, wrapping his left arm around all of them and his right arm over their heads until his hand made contact with Sasha's. Letting her know he was there.

In that moment, she realized she had a family, and they were worth fighting for.

Tom was sitting on the garden sofa out back. It was a beautiful night, a decent breeze making the humidity comfortable. Sasha had finally emerged from the room that morning. They'd spent an almost entirely normal day together, swum in the river with the kids – had dinner, played a board game, and roasted marshmallows by the fire. Precisely as it should have been, save for the fact that it was still eating her alive, and he could see it. Could see it in the way she dropped her eyes if they made contact with him for too long. Like she couldn't bear to look at him. In the way that she paused, staring off into space when she thought he wasn't looking.

The sound of the patio door caught his attention, and he turned, his heart aching when he saw her. She'd changed out of her bathing suit, taken a shower, and was wearing a dress he'd never seen before. Come to think of it, the last time he'd seen her in a dress was at the Christmas party. It was linen, white with thin straps, the light fabric billowing in the breeze as she walked to him. It struck him in that moment that he wished she could see herself the way he saw her, wished that she could understand that she was the most exquisite thing in the world to him – maybe then she wouldn't be so afraid to tell him what she'd done.

It wasn't fair she thought – as she walked over, bare feet sinking into the plush grass – wasn't fair that this night should be so beautiful, the sky so clear and the moon so bright as the breeze rustled the moss on the trees; the perfect accompaniment to the evening's orchestra of lapping water, and lively cricket chirps. Temperature, perfect and warming, like a well-worn blanket – not when she was about to ruin it all by confessing.

His expression was open, questioning as she settled herself nervously on the same sofa, legs tucked under her and hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Her face was regretful; her lips parted as she breathed – finding the words or a way to start as he waited patiently, the light of the moon catching his eyes and casting shadows over his impossibly handsome face.

"I crossed the line in Panama, and I don't know how to come back from it," her voice was tight, eyes glassy and brows contorted. "I didn't just kill them, Tom. I tortured them – I cut off their hands and feet with a machete and made them crawl." The rest of her confession stilted and pitchy as she fought to control her voice. She brought a hand to her mouth, and covered it, squeezed her eyes shut tight because she couldn't bear to look at him. Didn't think she could withstand the disappointment and judgment she expected to find – the condemnation.

She knew him; she knew it. He was noble; he did the right thing – always. It was in the very fiber of his being, part of his DNA, and she'd just told him about the war crimes she'd committed, hell, the war crimes she'd planned in some misplaced search of retribution.

"I thought it would make it better, and I was wrong." Her gaze was firmly fixed on her lap; her chin tucked close to her chest as she mumbled it. "I was so, so wrong – and I dragged Danny down with me."

Tom blinked, processing the information. Information that he'd somewhat suspected, though, had no evidence to confirm until now. A heaviness set in, but not for the reasons she likely presumed; because he didn't want this for her, didn't like the reality that she'd reached her limit – had found the pain that crippled her. Made her something that she wasn't, not in her heart. He knew what that did. He'd found it with Shaw. Lived in an uncomfortable reality where everything he thought he was, everything he'd sworn to be, was no more because he'd sunk to her level. He'd chosen, and he wasn't the "good guy" anymore; he was just a man - as human as the rest of them - who'd passed judgment and lost a piece of his soul as he did it.

"Because of the boy?" a quiet clarification, something he'd picked up on in the report though she'd spared the gruesome details, and she nodded – hand coming up to wipe at her dripping nose. She was still refusing to look at him.

"Sasha."

She shook her head, the tone of his voice a mystery – somewhere between sadness, regret, and something else that she couldn't quite place, and it became clear to Tom then – he knew what she needed from him.

"Look at me," he asked quietly. He could see the struggle play out across her features – through her body language. The way she drew in a shaky breath as she bought her head up but kept her eyes pointed up at the sky, as if she were looking for resolve. Saw how she tried to psych herself up before she finally found some control and the courage to face him.

Her eyes snapped down to meet his, swimming with fear, guilt, and shame, but a question quickly colored them once she registered his expression. Instead of the damnation she'd expected, he was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I love you – exactly as you are. I always have," he paused to inhale, "and I will love you enough for the both of us until you figure out how to forgive yourself for being human."

It stole her breath, like she hadn't really known the true joy that love could bring until this precise moment. Certainly not the unconditional kind – all she'd ever experienced was the longing, the desire, the soaring passion – the obsession. But salvation? Complete acceptance, safety, honesty? It had never been more apparent than now that she'd found it – with him.

Her expression morphed until it was touched by an abstract wonder, soft and reflective – like she'd reached an epiphany. She shook her head in a fraction of a motion, "I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left you," it was breathy, not more than a whisper, and the confession made his heart stop.

He canted his head to the side, and his eyes searched hers, finding them to be completely open, honest, and raw, and he reached for her hands. Enclosed them within his own and caressed the skin with his thumb.

"Is that your way of saying you'll marry me now if I asked?" that boyish twinkle in his eye, the lopsided half-smirk pulling at his lips.

Her eyes faltered as she tried to control the hope that blossomed in her heart, the hope that she might actually get that chance again, and she was struck by how much she truly wanted it. More than she ever had in her life. When she'd married Chris – it had felt like the right thing to do, the proper thing, sensible – if they were going to share a life, it may as well be legally recognized. She was ashamed to say she had approached it almost like a business decision, though she had loved him, just differently.

But this? What she felt for him couldn't be quantified; it wasn't simple, and she didn't control it – never had. He was her salvation, probably always had been, and she'd walked away without communicating. Had pre-determined how they would end up when now she wasn't so sure of what she'd been so convinced of. All she wanted was to spend the rest of her life with him; she wanted to grow old, be that couple that still loved each other madly at ninety. She wanted to be part of his family and everything that came with it.

"Yes – if you asked," lips parted slightly as she breathed shallow, anxious breaths.

The smirk morphed into a soft smile, and he blinked once languidly before it slipped away. His expression became sincere – an attempt to convey everything he felt in a single look, though he thought that impossible. He brought his hand up to touch her cheek, resting where it dimpled, knuckles pressed against her skin, and thumb gently stroking it.

"Then marry me?"

An overwhelming surge of emotion engulfed her and lodged itself in her throat, made it hard for her to speak, so she simply nodded instead. Moving so she could capture his lips and communicate everything she felt that way instead. He anticipated her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she climbed into his lap, her fingers skimming his strong jawline as she kissed him with everything she had.