an. *sigh* I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Anyway, spurred on by a little conversation this week, and the fact that I've drafted more than 10,000 words of scenes for this, I'm sharing some more. I don't know why on earth I am simultaneously writing three different fics about one couple, but here I am.

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The time it took for the ruckus applause to abate, and the crowd to leave the overstuffed conference was maddening. Captain Chandler watched like a hawk as their President sat in that chair wearing a tight, almost constipated expression until Sean's men led him offstage and behind the curtain. Tom wanted to be behind that curtain, but there was no way he—or his team—could get within twenty feet of it without blowing their fragile cover. Sasha stood at his side, taking his non-verbal cues, and assimilating perfectly into the scenario. Played the part of the reverent follower while counting the number of guns she was up against. They were instructed by their 'savior' to enjoy the refreshments supplied in the lobby, and when the doors behind them were swung open, they both shuffled out with the rest of their section, Tom's intense eyes catching hers when he motioned for her to go first.

How the hell was she alive?

Couldn't help but stare at the back of Sasha's form, still not believing. Reeling in shock. Had she been sent by a central authority? Was she on a mission? Or was it just pure dumb luck that landed them in the same spot? Maybe she had intel—something he could use to fight. She stopped, in no place more extraordinary than any other, but Tom noted it provided an unobstructed view of the entrances and exits into the lobby, in addition to avoiding its choke points. And the level of comfort that brought was intense as it was unexpected. Sasha did nothing without purpose. At the very least, it confirmed the skills he'd taught her were still sharp, and he could use all the sharp he could get right now.

Free of prying ears, her expression finally morphed—got softer and more revenant from its docile state—as much as Sasha would get to that. Her lips parted and her head shook in subtle wonder, brows raised. "How?" That's all she managed.

"I could ask you the same thing." It sounded lame, but it was all his mind supplied. And it was all they managed before Ravit and Burk lingered at her six and in his direct line of eyesight. They were unsure whether to approach. Didn't want to blow their cover, but strategically lingered in case the Captain needed backup. Tom inclined his head to signal his ok, and after briefly looking at one another, joined the huddle.

All eyes fell on Sasha. "This is Ravit, Burk" Tom's gesture in their direction was subtle and they each nodded when their names were announced. "They're part of my crew—"

Sasha snapped her head to him, away from his operators, interrupting. "You have a ship?" Spoken quietly as not to be overheard but the surprise was there.

Tom nodded once. "Nathan James. The cure too, but for some reason, these folks don't want us to spread it. Was hoping you might know something about that…"

He watched as the reaction played over her features, though didn't react with the level of shock he'd expected. Tom filed that away for later, intending to dig on it. "Your guess is as good as mine. I was in a safe zone. Heard about a group of survivors looking to re-establish a central authority… I haven't been able to connect with anyone from command since July—"

Carlton made an expression of interest, perking up and thawing a little. His lips quirked while he clarified, "You're Navy?"

Sasha's eyes snapped to his, and she gave a curt nod. "Sasha Cooper."

Tom hoped she hadn't seen the lightning-fast furrow of his brow, but the equally fast bounce of blue back to his signified otherwise. Cooper. She was married then, she'd found someone. Wasn't self-absorbed enough to believe she'd spend her life alone—but—the stubborn, egotistical part of his brain was already wondering who this guy was. Where he was. Unconsciously, he looked at her hand. She wasn't wearing a ring. Was he dead like Darien? His heart sank. Was she okay? Was it even reasonable to think anyone was at this point?

Burk gave a polite nod and extend his hand. "We can use all the help we can get."

Sasha took it and attempted to warm her features in return—been a while since she'd done that—felt unnatural and probably looked it too. "You guys really have the cure?"

Tom chimed in. "We do—and we were trying to spread it, but they bombed our labs—killed our scientists too."

Her lips pursed into a thin line. "Probably because they're all immune."

"And you?"

Sasha gave a small nod, and Tom noticed the way she carefully kept her features, tone, and stance neutral. "I found out when the safe zone I was in failed."

Tom tucked his chin a little. At least they were all on the same page regarding the larger facts. The minor details they could cover another time. Right now, none of this solved their most pressing issue—securing their Commander-in-Chief. As if on cue, a cacophony of applause drew their attention.

Jeffrey Michener, accompanied by several of Sean's men, emerged from the conference room and were heading their way. They each donned neutral expressions and started to clap, following steps behind the group once they'd passed. Careful to go unnoticed as they followed the "President's" victory tour through the lobby and into another section of the hotel where most folks were congregated.

Tom looked on. Watched him shake hands with the people. How they waved with broad smiles and cheers, the pit of ill-ease widening in his gut. Sasha noticed he was keeping his back to them—making sure only his profile was seen from their angle, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Was about to ask why, but the one he called Ravit spoke up.

"Six commandos in here. I counted four in the hallway."

She hadn't excepted the accent.

Tom, knowing Sasha's question though she hadn't asked, elaborated. "That goon over there in the blue shirt"—tilted his head in the direction—"with all the scruff looking around? He was on Solace. He recognizes me, we got problems."

The Solace? Last she'd heard they were dead in the water. Overrun by the virus, much like everything else on the planet.

Burk spoke up, disbelief evident. "Sir, is that really the President?"

"Well, if everyone in the bunker's really dead, yeah. He was next in line."

"They're dead," Sasha confirmed. Tom drew his eyes back to her slowly.

"Looks to me like he's playing a part." Ravit started. They all turned to observe. "His body language, expression—the way the two guys are up against him—he's being held against his will."

"If they have him, and they can somehow piece the country together, get communications up—they'll control everything. The federal reserve. The military," Burk said.

Tom was quick to shut that down. "That's not gonna happen. One way or another, we're getting our Commander-in-Chief out of here."

Sasha was trying to keep her expression neutral but was fairly sure a smirk was imminent, wanting to laugh at the sheer improbability that she'd not only found Tom but a mission as well. There was a hint of amusement at play in his brilliant eyes—eyes that seemed intensely blue in the Florida hue—as Tom peered at her.

"You up for a fight?"

That smirk came, along with a kind of purpose Sasha hadn't felt in months. "With you? Anytime."

Tom's lip quirked as he fought to suppress his natural inclination to jump on that remark, very aware that Burk's brows were almost at his hairline while discretely trying to catch Ravit's attention. Sasha's amusement deepened, along with the dimple of her cheek, and she tilted her head. "I have a couple weapons stashed in my room. We can game plan there."

And she might have imagined it, but his voice came deeper than it should have been when he responded. "Lead the way."

They were back in the lobby, lingering by the elevator doors while Burk and Ravit did recon. Needed to know what floor they were keeping him on. Tom leaned against the River-Rock wall, arms folded across his chest next to Sasha, who rested her back against it too.

"So—you're a Captain now?"

"Commander," he corrected easily. "Nathan James is my first command."

Sasha tilted her head a fraction, a little ironic curve adorning her face. "Hell of a way to start."

Tom didn't disagree. "What about you? Still intelligence?"

She wet her lip before answering. "A form of it—different, though."

"Above my pay-grade?" There was an easy smirk over her guarded response. One that sent touches of warmth through her soul that she'd frankly forgotten were missing. With a half shake of her head, Sasha realized notions like security clearance were at this point redundant in the absence of a central authority. And if Tom had survived this long, as to have a cure, and if they somehow made it out of all this—well—his pull would vastly eclipse the likes of her.

The tension in her body loosened a modicum. "I moved to D.I.A for five years before I was recruited to go off-book, so to speak."

"So you're a spook," he surmised. A level of fondness lurking in his tone that gave her pause.

Her lips pulled into a small smile. Couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled so much within a single hour. "I guess you could say that. Navy still signs my paycheck though."

Tom smirked and inclined his head in knowing before turning back to scan the throng of bodies in the lobby. There was a comfortable lull in conversation before Sasha spoke again.

"I was supposed to go to Asia in May to investigate the outbreak. I was briefed about Doctor's Scott and Tophet. I didn't know it was your ship, though." Her clarification was quick as it was earnest. "They kept that classified—you should know, if I had, I would have reached out. At least given you a heads up to get your family safe."

Tom frowned at that statement. Clearly, she wasn't in Asia and she'd known as early as May that this level of catastrophe was coming? An entire month before they'd set sail... "You knew this would happen?"

She shot him a sardonic look. "You don't need a science degree to figure out there's a problem when they're talking about sending two scientists on a secret mission and kitting out the Presidential Bunker, Tom." Sasha blinked a few times scolding herself for being so terse when she hadn't meant to. She inhaled and continued in a more reasonable tone. Reminded herself Tom had no way of knowing half of what went on logistically behind the scenes. "The decisions from the top moved too fast—didn't make any sense. My orders changed three times overnight. They wanted to send me to Cairo, then Japan, and then settled on Hong Kong at the last second—never seen that before, not on my desk at least, and certainly not over the flu."

"Is that why you didn't go?"

She shook her head, swallowed visibly enough that Tom was about to ask if she was okay, but stopped when her eyes cast off toward the elevators. There was pain there. Could hear it when she answered, despite her attempt to mask it. "Failed pre-op medical—old injury flared up."

He swept his gaze down her form on reflex. Trying to reconcile the way she'd zoned out with the words given. Sasha watched cautiously from her peripheral while he scrutinized. Seeing the exact moment his expression morphed, features and stance softening intensely.

"Sasha—" he breathed.

She cut him off. "Leave it alone." It was blunt, straight to the point, and clipped in delivery.

Tom held her gaze for a moment, in a way that left her feeling exposed before he complied. Let it go and turned once again to observe the milling crowd. "Darien didn't make it." Shared quietly, the pain sharp in his chest at the mere mention of her name.

"I'm sorry." She hesitated for a second, scared to hear the next answer. "Your kids?"

"Safe. With my father in Virginia—"

Sasha perked up a little then, inhaling as she clarified, "Jed's alive?"

Tom couldn't stop the way his lip curled. For the three years she'd known his father they'd meshed—too well—much to his dismay. Most of theirs and his siblings' banter made at his expense.

There was hope in her voice, which stung when she clarified. "What about Katie and Matthew?"

Tom shook his head, heaviness settling again. "No news. Dad couldn't get them in time—your parents?"

She tightened her lips, peering up at him. "Dad died a couple years ago. Cancer. Mom—" She broke off and raised her brows somewhat. Choosing sarcasm instead. "Well—you don't figure out you're immune because your family survives."

Tom tucked his chin in a show of respect. Hands clenching unconsciously at his biceps. "I'm sorry." Echoing her words and sentiment. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

"Lot of people…" she trailed off and he watched the various emotions pass before her expression settled into something distant. Haunted. "It's a lot of people, Tom." Not having a way yet to express further than that. He was lucky. Lucky not to have been on the ground. Hundreds, sometimes thousands of bodies out there in failed safe zones. In houses and on streets. In cars and buildings, all rotting where they lay. The earth stank of death these days. It permeated her dreams.

Sasha inclined her head, dropping her arms from where they'd folded across her chest and pushed away from the wall. "There he is."

Tom rectified his posture too, only then realizing how close he'd leaned—mere inches of space separating them as he drank up her presence. Still in awe over the improbable level of circumstance that left her not only alive but immune.