Tuesday, September 6th, 2016 – St. Louis, Missouri

The coffee pot gurgled, almost splattering its contents over the counter through the spout as it filled the house with its unmistakable smell, mixed with toast. Sam's lively morning discussion contrasted with Ashely's sour expression – a morning person, she was not as they ate their simple breakfast at the dinner table. It was not unlike any other typical family morning, save for the fact that it was Sasha's first day back in the White House since leaving for Panama. Four months and two days had passed; had it really been so long? Vulture Team had always been scheduled for downtime until Labor Day following their expected return, and they'd arrived back late yesterday afternoon from Charleston. Tom thought it odd that while he'd simultaneously been acutely aware that a large part of him had been missing while she was gone, in some sense, it was almost like she'd never left. He wondered if this was the way Darien had felt. Like time had inexplicably slowed to a crawl without her yet flown by so fast that he barely remembered what it had been.

Tom leaned against the kitchen island as he waited, his mug from the James at the ready next to Sasha's simple white one. Vaguely wondered if she would be excited that they had actual fresh milk again rather than the powdered crap they'd made do with for months. He flicked through his personal emails – deleting no less than a dozen interview requests and "business inquiries" it had been like that ever since delivering the cure. Everyone wanted their piece of the story – to know the man behind the mission, be the first to get the exclusive outside of the official, White House sanctioned statements he'd given. He paused when he spied one from Mike, chuckling as he read the terrible joke it contained only to be distracted by the sound of heels.

Sasha paused, a curious but knowing smile gracing her features as she rounded the threshold, hadn't missed the way his eyebrows rose; to his credit, he'd tried to recover quickly. She narrowed her eyes at him slightly, a silent question on her face that asked – what?

"You look beautiful," offered quietly and simply because it was true. She was wearing clothes he'd never seen before, that she'd bought from her house – a billowing silk bow-tie neck blouse tucked in at the waist to some slacks that hugged all the right places and tapered just above her slender ankles. The shoes were new too, looked expensive – though he (or rather Darien) had never been much concerned with designer anything. Her hair was back to its usual sleek fashion, and she was wearing a little makeup and some sort of sheer frosty pink color on her lips that somehow made her eyes even brighter than usual. She was entirely out of his league, and he'd never been more acutely aware of it. Was still a little mystified by her sheer beauty, even now.

Sasha turned her head to the side, smiling warmly at him, little butterflies erupting in her chest because she'd forgotten that sometimes, unexpectedly, he could be very charming – usually when he least intended to be.

"The benefits of a good tailor and clothes that actually belong to me," she elaborated, coming closer to give him a quick peck on lips, her fingers lingering to smooth the collar of his service uniform skirting the four metal stars. His eyes tracked her movements as she traced them down his arm, following a particular vein to his wrist before linking her fingers with his. He was close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her skin, and she was trapped in the warmth and blue of his eyes, lost there; his own soft and subtle grin on his lips matching hers as he caressed the hand in his.

Ashely rolled her eyes and shook her head from the table, pulling headphones out of her backpack dramatically to plug her ears; she didn't want to listen to them flirt all morning. Sasha noticed it in her peripheral, and she bit her lip against the laugh but stepped back, putting a respectable distance between them again. It was ridiculous. She felt like a giddy teenager again, hadn't realized how different it might feel to be free of the weight, free of the burden of trying to keep certain aspects of her life hidden from him. To just simply be and exist and have someone to figure it out with. Perhaps it was the realization that this was finally their time. It was right – they'd found each other, for good. All she knew was that she'd never been more in love with him in her life.

Her morning had been spent catching up on everything she'd missed. Upon entering, she was pleasantly surprised to find that he'd stacked everything she needed neatly on the desk, organized in her system – alphabetically and by date. That giddy feeling intensified. They'd made a lot of progress in the last four months, identified several assets they could use to retrofit an entirely new destroyer if they'd wanted – in fact, there was a proposal to do just that. The Michener, her eyes softened as she read it – a name he'd chosen, she was sure. Another report detailing plans to get Southern Command back to its full potential in light of the fuel treaty. Discussions on how best to continue to monitor the 14.5 million square miles of interest within its area of focus and how best to protect the canal and surrounding waters.

After several minutes of reading, she rose an eyebrow, her stomach flip-flopping a little – it was a recommendation to re-establish operations at Northern Command, along with full recruitment efforts at the academy, and a directive to relocate, and establish all intelligence agencies there by the end of 2017. Sasha pulled an orange post it from the holder, deftly marking the page, and continued reading. A knock on her door drew her attention after thirty minutes or so.

"Come in,"

A young woman entered, one she'd never seen before – looked to be in her late twenties to early thirties if she had to guess, sandy blonde hair and slim. Sasha rose her eyebrows expectantly, awaiting her introduction.

"Ma'am – I'm Kelsi, Admiral Chandler's Assistant; he asked me to give you these," she stated, walking over to the desk to hand Sasha a few more files. She took them with a polite but reserved smile. She extended her hand in greeting, noting that the woman's handshake was not as weak as she'd expected.

"Thank you, nice to meet you – I'm Sasha," pleasantries for the sake of decorum, she was sure Kelsi already knew who she was; Tom had sent her here after-all.

"Likewise,"

Sasha narrowed her eyes slightly, a reticent expression upon her face, "When did you start?" her tone was light, casual.

"Oh, uh, almost four months now!" the way she fiddled with her hands, her stance and demeanor letting Sasha know she had a civilian background, in fact, she was a little awkward, and there was something about her that Sasha just couldn't quite place.

"Hmm. Well, welcome – please thank the Admiral for me?" the overly animated smile firmly fixed upon her face. Kelsi nodded, lingering for a moment before exiting the office. As soon as the door was closed, Sasha dropped the act. Brow furrowing slightly as she tried to decern precisely what it was that was so off-putting about her. Something in her eyes set her on edge.

She pulled out her phone to send a text.

Just met your assistant – where did you find her?

I didn't. Reynold's asked if I wanted one and gave me her. Why?

She chewed on her lip, considering whether it was rational to spend less than one minute in the presence of someone before determining with no evidence that there was something amiss, simply because she didn't like her eyes. The more she thought about it, it sounded ridiculous – perhaps it had something to do with James. If she was working in the White House, it meant Hughes had done a thorough background check. Still, her gut was telling her something – and she'd never been one to ignore her intuitions.

Just a feeling, how much access does she have?

Files, my office – I don't have her involved in anything personal. If you have a concern, talk to Hughes – I know they checked her, but I trust your gut.

It's probably nothing. I'll look into it.

Just be careful.

That sounds familiar.

A laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head, imagining the wry grin he was probably wearing right now.

You're not cute.

Yes I am, and you love it.

Goodbye.

Tom smirked and put his cell down; though he was teasing her, he noted her concern. He'd been careful, he thought, but come to think of it – she had a point. They'd been caught with their pants down once by Shaw, and it was probably best to err on the side of extreme caution with new faces. It was the reason he kept zero personal effects at his desk, no pictures of his kids, took personal phone calls away from prying ears, and kept his phone glued to him at all times. He never wanted to find himself in a situation again where his family was used as a bargaining chip against him.

Tom heard her car approach in the driveway and pushed himself up from the sofa – headed to the microwave to reheat dinner; it was a little after seven. Smiled when he felt her arms wrap around his waist from behind.

"That smells good," she commented, placing a kiss through his t-shirt between his shoulder blades.

"I'm learning," his tone playful, because between the two of them, neither could be called skilled in the cooking department. Darien had always prepared his meals, and she lived on expensive take out or meal services.

"You're going to be an amazing housewife,"

"Ouch"

Her laugh filled the space, and he turned her so they were face to face, "How was work? You find anything on Kelsi?"

The slight pout and subtle shake of her head, giving him her answer before she spoke, "No. Nothing, has a sister – originally from Florida, used to be a teaching assistant, no partner, no criminal record, social media checks out. She's squeaky clean." She rose her eyebrows and pinched her lips, eyes watching the timer on the microwave.

Tom turned his head to the side. His eyes narrowed in pondering, "But something's off?" she glanced at him then, making eye contact. Shrugged her shoulders and ran her tongue over her teeth as she thought.

"Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm being overly paranoid – I just – there's something about her. Her eyes." She trailed off, licking her lip and looking down because she wasn't making sense. Tom studied her for a few moments more, gaze flickering up and down her face.

"So, I'll get a new assistant," it was simple, and her eyes snapped up again, a curious expression coloring her features.

"Just like that?"

He made an expression to downplay his part, similar to how he had in China when he'd told her he simply drove the ship – not that he'd saved the world. "I trust you," his tone light – easy, and her expression went soft.

"You need to stop being so charming – and don't do anything yet, let me sit on it." She pushed herself up on tiptoes and kissed his lips just as the microwave chirped. He was smiling, the twinkle back in his eye, and she could feel herself blushing because she could see where the rest of this night was going, and it was marginally ridiculous that she could want him so much just because he was near. Tom let her go, moving aside so she could retrieve her dinner, fingers itching to take her out of those fancy-ass clothes, but he refrained, shoving them in the pockets of the sweatpants he'd changed into.

A while later, they settled on the couch, her feet in Tom's lap. He absently massaged them as they watched an old show. It wasn't that great, and she'd seen it a million times anyway – her eyes wondered instead, leaving the TV to watch him. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, and she smirked.

"You don't like the show?"

Her reply was nonchalant, "I've seen it." He inclined his head as an answer and turned his eyes back. Acutely aware that she was still staring at him.

"So, North COMM, huh?" she asked after a time. His mouth quirked downward.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to bring that up," he turned his head to look at her.

"You wanna go back?" it wasn't an accusation, far from it – rather an open, honest question.

He took a moment before answering, "I've thought about it," and she tipped her head, silently letting him know that his answer wouldn't suffice. His expression became somewhat sheepish, "Yes – Norfolk is home," he admitted. Sasha inhaled, raising her brows slightly.

"That's um – to your old house?"

Tom frowned and quickly shook his head, "No. You said it was gone – and frankly, it's time to move on. I thought maybe we could find a place," he searched her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction, but she was keeping it perfectly vague.

"Have you asked the kids what they think?" she asked, and judging by the way his eyes narrowed, the answer to that question was a resounding no. He sighed.

"I know what Ash will say, she loves it here – but neither of us is staying here long term, can't keep running everything out of the White House forever – you know that."

"I do – but there's a difference between having a conversation and informing everyone where they're going to live after the fact," her pose was careful and considered, her body language trying to communicate hope that he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

"We're moving?" Ashley asked incredulously from the landing of the stairs; they hadn't heard her approach thanks to the TV.

Both Sasha and Tom closed their eyes at the same time as they cringed.

"Ash," he warned, turning and leaning over the back of the couch to face her. She was indignant, arms crossed, and the beginning of angry tears already pooling in her eyes. She scoffed and shook her head.

"You always do this! Every time I make friends, we have to move!" she spat, turning on her heel and running back upstairs.

"Hey, come back here – " he called, but she ignored him, the slamming of her door echoing down the hall. Tom sighed heavily, mouth hanging agape, and Sasha looked regretfully down at her feet; she hated the expression of failure he wore every time he thought he'd let someone down. Not been good enough.

"I'll go," already pushing herself up and ignoring the protest that was about to leave his mouth.

When she reached Ashely's bedroom, she knocked once to announce herself.

"Go away!" she called; the sound muffled by what sounded like a pillow.

"It's me, and no – we need to talk," Sasha replied, pushing open the door to find her lying on the bed, face buried as suspected.

"No, we don't." came her snarky retort.

"Ashely," Sasha warned, her tone letting her know this was not up for debate as she settled herself next to her on the bed. "First, no one has made a decision about anything yet. Your Dad and I were just talking about the fact that he would prefer to go home to Norfolk." She started.

"You know he always does what he wants!" she fired back, still refusing to lift her head from the pillow.

"That's not true – and I'm going to argue that living in St. Louis was never part of his long-term plan, yet this is where he was needed for a while." She explained calmly. "The plan was always to get our bases in working order again, and then disperse personnel to them accordingly – and the way things are looking, it's either going to be Florida or Norfolk."

"Why does everything have to be about your jobs!?" she exclaimed.

"Ash, that's not fair, and you know it. You encouraged him to go back, remember? This is part of that; we don't always get the luxury of choice – much less when we're still trying to rebuild the country." Sasha frowned slightly; there was something else to this.

"What's this really about?" she asked softly, and Ashely sniffed.

"I don't want to leave!" she wailed, and Sasha narrowed her eyes.

"I know that, but why? What's so special about St. Louis that you can't find in Norfolk? You grew up there, don't you want to see your old friends?"

"I like my new friends," and suddenly two and two equaled four. Sasha rolled her head backward and clasped her hands in front of her; her expression morphing into understanding and softening.

"Is this about Justin?"

Ashley's soft sob and silence all the confirmation she needed.

"You love him," it was a statement as much as a question, and Sasha sighed, settling herself back on the bed to lay next to Ashely as she continued crying into her pillow. Remembering the innocence of love in her teens, when she'd had her first serious boyfriend and been convinced that they would run off and get married together as soon as they turned eighteen. Sasha smiled fondly at the drama of it all. How the entire world had revolved around him and she'd thought no boy could ever compare – and she'd been right because then she'd met a man and realized what love actually was. The man that was currently beating himself up on the sofa downstairs.

"Listen, you're a smart, beautiful young woman – and I know you think nothing will ever compare to how you feel right now, but I promise you – you have your whole life ahead of you. Everything will work itself out. No decisions have been made, even if we do end up moving – it won't be for a while, probably until next year sometime, and if you and Justin are still a thing, then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." She paused, letting the words sink in. "Okay?" she asked.

Ashely sniffed several more times, hiccupped before calming down somewhat and nodding.

"Okay," mumbled and muffled. Sasha smiled and patted her softly on the leg. Sitting up and heading towards the door.

"I'll give you some space – but you need to talk to your Dad about this,"

"I can't tell him I have a boyfriend," she said, exasperated.

"Yes, you can. And you will – because I will prepare him for it."

That got her attention, and her head snapped up. Eyes red-rimmed and still teary, though her sadness had been replaced with abstract panic.

"You can't!"

Sasha inclined her head, "Ashely, I've never treated you like a child, and I'm not going to start now. You're a young woman, and you're going to have feelings, and if you want your Dad to consider your input – you need to communicate with him and be honest."

"I'm not going to give him details. I'm just going to suggest that at your age – he shouldn't be shocked if you find someone you like," her expression was kind, a knowing smile on her lips as she delivered it. "And I'll also remind him that he can't keep you forever – but you need to be patient with him too. He loves you; you will always be his little girl, and he only wants the best for you. There are so many people who don't have that anymore." Her words colored with sadness at the end, and she could tell her words hit their intended mark as Ashely's face softened, and she nodded regretfully.

"Okay, but can you wait and not do it tonight?" she asked cautiously.

Sasha nodded, "Not tonight – but soon," she agreed, giving her one last encouraging smile before closing the door quietly and heading back to Tom.

He was still sat on the sofa, no longer watching instead staring despondently ahead – and he'd gone to grab a beer. He looked defeated, and it made her heart ache. He glanced at her as she came to stand before him. "She hate me again?" tone sullen and withdrawn.

"No. It will be fine, I promise – she's just worried about losing friends and reacted poorly," she settled next to him, drawing his head toward her and placing a comforting kiss on his cheek, fingers caressing the skin there.

"Can we go back to the part where you were undressing me with your eyes?" she teased lightly, glad that it elicited some warmth in his expression, a small pull at the corner of his lip. He wanted to; he really did – but the larger part of him was drowning in feelings of inadequacy. Sasha was the glue holding them all together, and she'd only known his kids for nine months. Didn't know what he was supposed to do or how he could try harder to get through to Ashley, he was at a loss for how to make her happy. How to be the one to comfort her when she got in these moods, moods that almost always seemed to be caused by him.

"I don't know how to make her happy. Everything I do is wrong," he said, drawing the bottle up to his lips. Her heart clenched, and she drew a hand through his hair.

"Tom, you're trying your best. I told you – I get to play good cop. It makes it easier for her to tell me things, but she needs you. Just be patient. We've all been through a lot. Normal might not ever happen, and I think at this point, that's okay."

He blinked and swallowed heavily against the lump of emotion that had lodged itself tightly in his throat. Considering her words for what they were – he didn't have the answers any more than she, none of them did. They were all just figuring things out, and maybe she was right. Maybe that's all he could really ask.