an: I have a love-hate relationship with Season 4, overall, it's my least favorite season but there were some great moments from the crew. I didn't care for the wacky crazy doctor mental castration storyline. The Vellek's were a total drag and I never bought them as a realistic threat to a crew as skilled as the James'… Like Lucia and Giorgio really could have orchestrated so much chaos for them all. I think they missed a trick with the James/Sasha storyline that could have been more compelling and more realistic to push her to the brink of breaking down. Also felt there were quite a few scenes missing in Sasha and Tom's relationship to explain how they decided to move forward with a fresh start.
Anyway, here is my version of Season 4, a continuation based in the same universe as my first story "New China." Though this can be read as a standalone, parts will be unclear without reading that first. – Enjoy!
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James Fletcher knew he was out of his league the second he'd seen them together in Greece. The way they moved together in battle was like a dance. The minute they'd all three been stood in the same room, James Fletcher recognized he was the third wheel. The caustic nature in which Tom Chandler had asked, 'who are you?' not bothering to wait for his response before turning to the only person he seemed willing to hear, and demanding 'who is he?' had more than set the tone.
He understood it very clearly now.
Sasha Cooper was in love with Tom Chandler and probably always had been. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place, James put it together. Briefly, she'd mentioned their history. A failed relationship—nothing too serious—back when they were young, but Tom had been the sole surviving person from before. Naturally, James understood that it would be hard to lose your last human connection to the pre-plague world. And that was the reason the crew avoided Tom's name around her. Because she was heartbroken that her friend, and their brilliant leader, was likely dead.
Obviously, there'd been a lot more to it, and while James felt for Sasha, they'd only been dating for four months. His interest had been almost immediate, hers slow, only coming after moving past Tom's uncharacteristic exit. And though James was under no such illusion that she was in love with him, he'd hoped that one day she might get there... had Chandler not returned. A future that seemed sunk, and became evident when James registered her barely controlled anger. Watched the way she snapped at Chandler when he tried to take control. Silent when they kept sharing looks—oblivious to everyone around them. And yes, she'd tended to him in the Helo bay while Chandler loomed, but now? Now she stared at the former Captain, so hard James wondered if she was listening at all. But more than all of those questionable observations was the softness in Chandler's eyes when he stared back. The regret. The love.
Before, James felt like he was competing with a ghost. Now? He was competing with the man in the flesh, and he'd never seen Sasha behave this way. Like there was a side of her that was out of control. That there existed someone on this Earth capable of unsettling her carefully distant exterior.
"It's a crazy idea," Sasha said as they stood in the p-way.
"Tom Chandler didn't seem to think so." The wrong thing for James to say.
She blinked. Rapidly, clearly triggered by just the sound of his name. Her mouth opened as if to say something before settling on silence instead. The whites of her eyes started to turn distinctly bloodshot, it looked like she was about to cry. James was taken aback, he only knew her to be collected and controlled at all times. Almost clinically devoid of deeper emotion.
"I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, seeing him after all this time," he sympathized, attempting to offer comfort.
Sasha looked down and shook her head, re-enforcing that wall she always kept up. "What I'm feeling is that we have the seeds. We just need to get them to Naples. Then if it comes to it, we'll deal with mad Doctor Vellek… on our terms." It was clear that the subject was closed. She attempted a smile at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm going to get a coffee."
James sighed and watched her go.
It was a move made without thinking. A mistake. He was still in there, of course, because he had nowhere else to go until they made up a room. Sasha's face fell, nostrils flared slightly as their eyes collided. They stood in awkward frozen silence and Tom could feel the heat coming in waves. Visible anger now focused solely in his direction. Something sank internally. Slowly Tom lowered his cup to the table, fingers splayed around the rim evenly before clearing his throat. This was a better time than any to rip the Band-Aid off. Above all else, this was still a Destroyer, and they were in the thick of a mission. This needed to be addressed before it affected the crew.
"Are we gonna talk about it?" The words were hesitant. Arms folding cautiously across his chest while he leaned against the wall. Sasha hovered in the room's threshold, hand still on the door handle, considering him for long enough that he wondered if she somehow hadn't heard.
"About what?" She challenged, pursing her lips into a thin grim line as she fixed him with an unforgiving stare.
Tom swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing prominently. "You're upset with me…" he responded softly.
Her lips twitched, a small 'hm' sound reaching his ears. 'Upset' as he'd described did not begin to express what she felt. Her head tilted left, venom steadily swirling before stepping in and closing the door behind her.
That was a 'yes' then.
"Where would you like me to start?" She made no attempt to hide the sarcasm. Rhetorical, of course—his gut filled with dread at the words to follow. "The part where you slept with me, kissed me, and then walked off the ship? Or the part where you dropped off the face of the planet for sixteen months?" She was appalled that her eyes were already starting to water. That her voice had wavered and become tight against her will, betraying the level of pain she was attempting to hide. How the torrent of emotion she'd been suppressing burst from its Dam and rose firey in her throat.
Tom's lips parted, and he inhaled slowly, shame washing over his features, and she was satisfied that her words appeared to hurt. Good.
"Sasha—" it sounded like a plea, and she shook her head sharply.
"Don't you dare," she warned. Biting out the words between clenched teeth. Fuck you for making me care.
He hung his head then, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to figure out how to make this right. Tom knew he'd hurt her, would be stupid not to realize that, but he didn't think it was this much. The Sasha he knew barely shed a tear when she'd ripped him apart. And now she was standing before him about to openly cry, and deep in his soul, the hollow pit opened. In all their years he'd never actually seen it. Never seen Sasha cry, and the knowledge that he was about to witness it over something he'd done hurt more than he could describe.
"Not one word, Tom. Not a single fucking thing for sixteen months. I get that you needed to leave, but to completely vanish?" she gestured aggressively between them. "Did I miss something here!?" Tom stood speechless, sheepish, his brows set in a deep furrow of regret and apology. "I thought you were dead. We looked for you and the kids for six months before we gave up. We even stopped by your house and it was trashed!"
News to him. Everything had been fine when they'd retrieved belongings before escaping to Greece.
"Do you not realize how much these people love you?" She choked on the word love, voice breaking. "How much I love you?" she rasped. Fight suddenly vanishing as quickly as it had come. It was replaced instead with a heavy sadness that seeped through his bones as it radiated from her. Thick, heavy tears spilled down her cheeks in silence. Burned his insides. Made it hard for him to breathe.
Tom's eyes faltered and he let his arms fall to his sides, pushing himself away from the wall slowly—she backed away, the action alone like a sucker punch to the gut. His heart wrenched in his chest.
He saw it now.
If he were honest, he'd known all along, and it was the reason he'd never let go. Rather accepted they weren't meant to be, and he could only love her from afar. Just as he'd done in the past. Used their history as a way to justify his choice and convince himself that he didn't need to worry about her because she'd move on. She'd be fine. Sasha always landed on her feet. Tom recognized it for what it was now—an excuse—something to make him feel better about breaking her heart. He was a coward, and he owed her an explanation at the very least, though he was sure it would remain inadequate.
Tom shook his head, his eyes glassy. "I'm sorry..." for everything. It wasn't enough, he knew that, but where else could he start?
She closed her eyes and folded her arms, wiping furiously at the tears that stubbornly crept through her lashes. At the snot that was dripping from her nose. Hadn't cried a single day since he'd left, too broken to do it. And now? Well, she couldn't stop. It was like he'd shocked life back into her.
"I was lost, Sash—I am lost," he started. "Every time I thought about reaching out, I kept thinking about who would die next. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep being responsible for sending people to their deaths. I sent you into the White House with no backup against twenty-plus men. I saw the hole in your vest Sasha—two inches higher, and you'd be dead. I would have killed you." There was a pain in his expression, in his voice.
"The longer it went, the more I was convinced I'd call, and someone would tell me that you, or Mike or Green or Burk were dead… and I wasn't there with you. I left." Imploring her to understand what he was failing to adequately explain. Sasha's eyes fell to the floor, remembering their last conversation, how this sounded exactly the same. "I couldn't stay and keep ordering you to court death."
She was regarding him, grinding her teeth to keep from crying more. He was still a mess, that much she could tell. "But I'm not dead, Tom. I'm here. I've been here the whole time and so has everyone else. We could have helped you. I would have gone with you—if you'd asked!" Her voice was hoarse in its quiet passion.
"I already tried that once!" he fired back and the moment it slipped out, Tom regretted it immensely.
Sasha visibly recoiled, mouth hanging agape. "Wow," she breathed, unprepared for how deeply it struck. Didn't think they were going there, but apparently, they were. "So I guess we're even then? You got your payback?" she sneered.
There was a darkness in her eyes, a hint of hatred he'd never seen directed toward him before. Nausea rolled in his gut as her lips trembled. Her brows contorting as the spike of fire extinguished under cold pain that stung through her entire body. She sniffed, more tears pouring down her cheeks that she'd given up on trying to stop.
Tom slumped over with a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh, fists on the table between them to hold himself up. "You didn't deserve that. I shouldn't have said it." He lifted his head until he was looking at her with such regret it made her insides twist. "I'm sorry, Sasha. I'm so sorry I hurt you."
Those eyes that had ruled her heart for most of her life were imploring her to believe, but she didn't know what to say in response anymore. They'd hit rock bottom a few times throughout their spotty history—but this certainly felt like the worst. To know he'd been in Greece after everything they'd sacrificed together as a crew, content not to reach out to any of them, even if just to say he was okay, burned.
"I just wanted peace," he added weakly, a distinct air of hopelessness permeating the words.
Peace.
Sasha wanted to scoff but refrained. Settled for biting down on a nerve in effort to distract from her pain.
Recovering himself slightly, Tom stood again. Looked like he'd just gone for twelve rounds, and it made her soul cry. This man was far from the Tom Chandler she'd known, and maybe it was time to accept that. To accept that she had been wrong, that whatever lay between them had run its course years ago, and she was holding on to a person who didn't exist.
They regarded each other for several long moments, neither one having the courage to say more, and it slammed Tom then. The epiphany that Sasha was one of the most beautiful things he'd had, and he felt his bones ache in response. She was stronger than him, always had been, and he'd managed to reduce her to this.
He hated himself.
"How can I fix this?" He spoke with humility, voice strangled. No attempt made to hide the glass of his eyes, and it almost broke her again.
The tears she'd thought were under control came surging back, and Sasha had to look away to prevent the sob from escaping. "I don't know if you can, Tom." It was an honest admission, struggled out. There was no anger left, just loss and a decade of regret that lay between them.
Tom sniffed and swallowed, his throat screaming from holding it back. Unable to find his voice, he simply nodded, accepting defeat, and Sasha used the opportunity to leave.
He stood there for a long time staring at the spot where she'd been—had no place to go, no one to see. No one wanted him here.
He hated himself.