an. We've reached the end of this story. It's been so fun and such a pleasure writing again, and I'm happy to see there are still people who love this show. I still have some stories left to tell here in this verse, so rest assured you'll see something else from me, and probably soon. I might even try and tackle the mess of Season 5 at some point. Who knows!

Until then, thank you and enjoy!

December 25th, 2015 – 1500 hours, St. Louis, Missouri

"You sure you're okay?" she was hovering in the doorway, her hair and make-up done, wearing a robe watching as he grimaced while tying his shoes. She wasn't trying to make him feel decrepit, but it had only been two and a half weeks since he'd started physical therapy. He'd outright refused a wheelchair—also, the walker. Requested crutches instead – he already felt old, didn't need to look it too. He was meant to keep weight off it as much as possible, but he was also encouraged to move. His recovery would go faster if he kept active and didn't let the muscle atrophy too much. In another two weeks, he'd start hydrotherapy and slowly introduce weight back onto it.

"Sasha," he warned; his tone a little more frustrated than he'd intended. He knew it was because she cared; he just hated feeling so useless. She threw her hands up, signaling she was dropping the subject, and he went back to fixing his shoe – annoyed with himself for snapping at her like that. "I'm sorry," he mumbled quickly, and she nodded to let him know they were okay.

She picked at her nails a little, touching the simple French polish she'd gone with during the manicure she'd taken Ashely to – it all felt so surreal still. It had been a month and two days since they'd landed in San Diego. Burk had flown out as soon as he'd escorted the Vellek's to St. Louis, joined her in keeping Danny company until the James docked in Mayport, and Kara had arrived. They'd celebrated both Tom and Ashley's birthdays as best they could in the hospital. The second he was able to leave his bed, he'd requested his care to be transferred to Missouri. Ashely had contacted some of her old friends – he wanted the kids to have some familiarity and go back to their old school in January. They'd barely been in the rental a week; Ashely's suggestion that Sasha continue to live with them. She liked seeing her dad happier when she was around, and if she had to admit it, she actually liked Sasha. President Oliver was hosting Christmas for the crew and family members of the James – his way of saying thank you for their dedication and service.

It felt like something he should do. Something he owed the family members of the fallen that would attend – it was his duty as their leader to show up and be there, regardless of how much pain he might be in by the end of the night.

"I finally got access to my bank account." She started nonchalantly, he paused and glanced up at her. She was looking at him softly. "Somehow, my pay was backdated." He took his hands away from his feet and sat up slowly, eyes locked with hers. "Only it's been deposited regularly since August of 2014… the first, specifically." She continued raising her eyebrow slightly. His gaze faltered, looking her up and down quickly. "And when I checked the housing registry, my address was already listed as "surviving confirmed" …any idea how that might have happened?" she whispered—already knowing the answer. He dropped his eyes, pondering a spot on the carpet.

One of his signature initiatives upon accepting the position of CNO had been taking care of their forces. In fact, it was one of the few lasting things he was proud of. He'd developed a program with Michener to backdate pay effective immediately for all confirmed vital enlisted. To automatically link it to the housing registry to protect their homes federally from re-assignment or occupation. To trump the squatter's rights and ease the passage of reclaiming everything they were owed.

"I updated your file right before I resigned. I already knew you told Michener not to do it because I'd looked for you. Before Hong Kong. Though, I would have put two and two together sooner had I known your last name changed to Cooper." He admitted quietly. Making eye contact with her again. She felt her throat tightening as a ball of emotion swept over her, tiptoeing tantalizingly between comfort and pain.

Comfort, because it affirmed her belief that he'd fallen just as deeply in love with her again as she had him during Asia; that he'd actually thought of her, looked for confirmation that she might be alive before Hong Kong. Comfort, because it was a reminder of just how loyal and thoughtful he could be. Pain, because he'd sat there and actively chosen to leave her behind, had taken steps to make sure in his mind she'd be taken care of when she re-started her life - without him. Pain, because she wished he'd just come to her before Slattery had desperately informed her, he was leaving the ship; asked if she could get him to change his mind. Pain because the past couldn't be changed – and they'd wasted yet more of their time being stubborn apart.

She blinked a few times to stop the moisture in her eyes from falling; had spent far too much time on her make-up to ruin it with tears. He was watching her reaction curiously, trying to figure out her mood.

"Are you upset with me?" he finally asked; she looked clouded in thought, somewhat melancholy, a little pained, but also touched. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her heart clenched over his expression – he looked lost and a little sad, disappointed that she might be upset with him. She shook her head, letting her arms fall to her sides from where they'd been crossed.

"No, Tom. I just love you," she uttered sincerely before turning to change into her dress.

Dinner had been pleasant, provisions were scarce, but Oliver pulled out all the stops. Left three tables fully set, name cards, and all for the fallen. It was a beautiful gesture, poignant yet mournful at once. He'd been sat at the President's table, of course, along with his kids, Slattery, Green, Miller, Cameron and Carlton Burk, Meylan, Jeter, Garnett, and some other department heads. In-fact his only complaint was that Sasha hadn't been seated there too. She was better at schmoozing than him anyway, and she deserved to be there just as much as any of them – though he understood. She played in the shadows, while they sat in their uniforms playing politics. They were the face of the war, the latest heroes. The one's the press would write about.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. She far outshone anyone in the room, not that he was looking to compare, but it was hard not to notice. Her lithe, athletic figure hugged perfectly by the emerald silk slip dress she'd chosen. The scooping neckline exposing just enough to make his mouth water, but still appropriate for this kind of affair. He caught her eye at the other table; gave her a look that made her blush slightly as she pretended to listen to the idle chatter around her. Took a sip from her champagne while staring right at him.

"You need me to switch seats?" Mike muttered to him under his breath, leaning over to make sure only Tom could hear him.

He had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed that he'd been caught before he covered it quickly. A wry smirk settling itself across his face.

"Well, she's certainly better looking," he replied easily, and Mike laughed brashly.

"No doubt about it."

The sound of his laugh traveled, which piqued her interest. She took her glass away from her lips slightly, looking between them while shooting them a questioning expression – now noticing that they were both looking directly at her, obviously enjoying whatever conversation they were in.

Azima noticed her distraction and followed her gaze to the two men and then back to Sasha. A smile broke out on her face.

"So, you and the Captain finally did it then?" she asked knowingly. Sasha's head turned a little too sharply, not quite sure what, "Did it," referred to, though she had an idea. Azima grinned at her, drinking from her glass.

"Ship's scuttlebutt puts it on the way back from Asia," Kara piped up quickly, which caused the color to drain from her face slightly. Wolf smirked and dropped his head.

"Interesting," Azima replied, turning her head as she considered her friend. Sasha rose her eyebrows and shook her head to indicate that she was not interested in joining the conversation. Used her glass as a reason to occupy her lips. It's not that they were trying to hide it at this point. And it was probably the worst kept secret in the fleet… they had shown up together this evening, but it's not like she wanted to shout it from the rooftops either.

She'd worked the room effortlessly for most of the night while he hung back with the rest of the injured and maimed as he'd sarcastically labeled them. Green was almost back to normal, the advantages of being twelve years younger and fit as an athlete. Cameron had just started walking with his prosthetics, though he tired quickly. Miller was on crutches, showing off his war wound to any woman that would listen. They'd had no shortage of visitors and well-wishers – both crew and family alike, and now? They and Russ were enjoying some fine Cuban cigars courtesy of Mike in front of the fireplace by the bar.

Ashely had found a couple teenagers to make friends with, and Sam had been following Green and Burk around all night. Something they'd good-naturedly put up with. He'd have to remember to thank them both later for that. A flash of green caught his eye, and he turned his head in her direction just in time to watch her glide over to them. She smiled as she made eye contact with him. Mike and Russ stood as she approached, he would have too if he could, but he settled for straightening up along with Cameron. It was the respectful thing to do.

"Hope you saved one for me," she joked when she reached them, coming over to stand just behind the sofa where Tom sat. He canted his head up so he could still see her, though it was hard.

"Always," Mike confirmed, about to pull another from the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Hold that thought," she told him, turning her attention back to focus on Tom, leaning down over him slightly so he could see her better.

"I'm gonna go take Sam up; Green said he's wiped – fell asleep in a chair." She said quietly, humor in her voice. She squeezed his shoulder gently to cut his thanks off. She could see how much he appreciated it – didn't need to hear it again.

"I'll take you up on that when I get back," she said to Mike as she wordlessly handed her empty glass to Tom. "And another glass," she said, a twinkle in her eye. She was buzzed and frankly, enjoying it.

"Yes Ma'am," Tom responded, trying to suppress his smirk but ultimately failing.

Mike settled again, sitting down in the armchair next to Tom.

Didn't know if it was the alcohol or the fact it was Christmas, but he could feel himself getting emotional. He glanced at Russ and Cameron to make sure they were occupied with their own conversation before clearing his throat.

"She's a good woman." He started.

Tom's face grew more serious as he looked up and pondered his friend. He'd never really noticed before, but it was clear he'd come to really care about her since he'd been gone—more than he'd realized.

"She is," he agreed, knowing somehow that this conversation was going somewhere heavier than he likely wanted to be.

"Reminds me of Hannah, in a way." He continued. His speech a little stunted as he said the words, took a puff from his cigar to cover it. Tom's expression changed into one of understanding and empathy, and he tightened his lips, looking down in respect of his pain.

"I uh, I never thanked you – for being there for her after I left," he started, but Mike cut him off with an expression and a quirk of his head.

"I didn't do it for you." I did it for her.

Tom raised his head slightly, appropriately humbled by the simple statement.

"You know, friendship aside - you pull a stunt like that again – we're gonna have a problem." He told him honestly. Rarely did he talk down to Tom. Rarely. He loved the guy, like a brother. He was family to him. They all were – but he loved her like a daughter, and Tom could be an insensitive jerk when he wanted to. Thought about it every day; how lucky he was to have his kids still, the knowledge of what had happened to his wife, the closure, and ability to move on. And to top it off, the love of his life had somehow survived, and he'd still been stupid enough to walk away. Seemed that sometimes he was too focused on what he'd lost, rather than what he still had.

"Duly noted." Tom said carefully, a slow nod of his head confirming his full understanding of what Mike was trying to say.

Mike nodded back once sharply.

"Good. I'm happy for you guys. She seems happy. You do too. Don't screw it up." He said, lightening the tone significantly. He put the cigar in his mouth and grabbed the glass.

"Why don't I get that," he mumbled, getting up to replenish her drink, so his friend didn't have to get up on crutches to do it. Tom watched him go, the conversation ringing in his head as he went.

The party was winding down, it was well past 1:00 AM, and a handful of people remained scattered about the place. Some dancing in the ballroom, others admiring the fresh snow over the gardens. A few of them lounging in the cigar room – making the best of the open bar.

Green and Kara were draped over each other in an armchair. Miller and both Burks' were chasing the world's worst hangover. Mike and Andrea absorbed in what looked to be a riveting conversation. And he and Sasha at opposite ends of the sofa, his leg propped up on a chair she'd pulled over. She was drunk, and he'd been maintaining a warm inhibition for the night. He'd stopped taking heavy-duty painkillers a week ago – made himself go cold turkey before he could become dependent on them. Last thing he needed was to add substance abuse to the list of problems he was facing on the personal front.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" he asked huskily suddenly as she sipped more wine. She snorted slightly, the liquid splashing a little on her face. He smirked, having effectively flustered her – the reaction he'd wanted.

"Uh, a few times?"

"I'm pretty sure the Chief of Staff thinks so too," he added – tone light. She shook her head and laughed.

"God, you saw that?"

"How could I not?"

She giggled slightly, raising an eyebrow at him suggestively.

"Jealous?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"Not a chance."

She smirked at him knowingly.

"I think he got the message when Admiral Chandler hobbled over and put his hand on my back." She teased. His mouth quirked, and he shrugged slightly at the way she'd referenced the surprise promotion he'd been given after dinner—much to his chagrin.

"It's kinda hot when you say it like that," he deadpanned, knowing precisely what it would do to her. She pouted slightly, turning her head to the side.

"Tom," she warned. She'd give nothing more than to jump his bones right now – but with his leg, it was simply not an option. He looked her up and down slowly, heat in his gaze very purposefully staring at her before he spoke.

"You never seemed to mind my hands before," his voice was deep, it reverberated through her body.

Her mouth went dry, and she held her breath as his comment shot right to her core. Specific memories of his hot breath in her ear, hand down the front of her fatigues as he held her pinned against a wall, his chest at her back, telling her to let go as he pushed her to climax arose. When they'd stolen moments in supply closets every chance they got, so close to being caught. He drove her fucking wild.

She put her glass down and crawled over to him. Captured his lips hungrily as he all but welcomed her into his lap.

"Oh my god!" Miller slurred loudly, standing up and pointing excitedly in their direction, causing the entire room to pause and pay attention.

Tom reluctantly pulled away from her, moving his head to the side to frown directly at Miller, who sheepishly raised his hand.

"So…sorry Admiral," he bowed, allowing Carlton to pull him back into his seat.

He shook his head at the stupidity, taking a second to glance around at the smiling and laughing faces of those left in the room before he turned his attention back to Sasha.

"I think that's our cue," she whispered, still staring hungrily at his lips.

"I would agree," he confirmed. Helping her right herself gently before grabbing his crutches.