an. Part 2 of the first entry, 1997 which has been posted separately.

Still toying with the name of the new fic/universe but I believe it will be called 'The Dossier' - Original I know lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

2012

.

.

The sheer number of hours Sasha Chandler had spent planning and preparing for this day rivaled the creation of a brand new non-official cover identity. Sure, the plan had always been to host Christmas, their first in the home that they'd built, but Sasha had taken for granted the guarantee of her mother-in-law's expertise and absolute grace in catering to their vast extended network of family and friends. A guestlist that had become decidedly smaller. Instead, Catherine Chandler had died. Her loss, like the significant rupture ripped through mantle upon a violent tectonic shift. The immovable bedrock of their family unit—quiet in her strength in ways Sasha was still yet to fathom—had been taken from them in the comparable blink of an eye. The cancer came back. A diagnosis that she'd forbidden Jed from sharing with the kids. 'No need to worry them,' she'd said. Not when there was nothing to be done. She'd been given six months. She was gone in less than eight weeks, and Sasha had missed all of it.

Calling this day important was a poor adjective to use.

Sasha glanced at her wristwatch, the dressy one that Tom had gifted her a few years ago on her birthday. "Did you check the turkey?" It was partially yelled, her eyes never leaving the assortment of food before her, and she had no idea where in the house Tom was.

She heard the door to their patio, a draft of cool air hitting her bare feet on the tile, and she was still lamenting opting not to go with the underfloor heating.

"I did, and it's still dead."

Without moving an inch, she merely brought her eyes up, fixing him with a glare that appeared to be exactly the reaction he'd desired if his grin was an indicator.

"It's fine. Not burned. Smells great, and the temperature says exactly what it's supposed to."

Satisfied, she went back to the task at hand. Replicating this damn thing she'd seen on Pinterest, and trying to figure out how she was going to pull this off in the forty-five minutes until Katie and the kids arrived when she hadn't even so much as done her hair.

"What about the gifts? Did you put them under the tree?"

"Yes."

"What time are Mike and Christine coming?"

Though she didn't look, in her peripheral vision she saw Tom check his cell phone. "They just got done with gifts, said he'd be here in an hour."

"And you got the firewood?"

"I got the firewood."

Sasha glanced up while in the process of arranging a stem of rosemary just so. "What?"

Something handsome lit Tom's eyes, the way it did when he was both admiring and yet teasing her. "Thank god you left the Navy. The thought of you outranking me is truly terrifying."

"Oh, I outrank you." She raised her brows, done with scrutinizing the rosemary and moving on to adjust some grapes. "You just don't know it."

He smirked. "Is that so."

"Think about it—I tell you to do something, and you do it. That's generally how it works, no?"

Tom made a face, jerking his head back.

"Like right now, I need you to go to my car and get the serving dishes I bought."

With a slight flare, Tom pushed himself away from the counter and approached, stepping well into her personal space, which forced her to stop fussing over the charcuterie board.

Leaning in, Tom stooped, their noses close to brushing. "Only because I love you."

Sasha grinned. "Whatever you say, Commander—they're in the William's Sonoma bags, my keys are in the drawer, and if you touch that board—I will shove your hand up your ass."

Tom beamed, halting the arm that had been sneaking toward the cheese. "Yes, Ma'am."

x x x

"It really is beautiful," Katie said, a distinct wonder encapsulating her tone.

Sasha peered up and behind her, the warm white lights of their Christmas tree twinkling and framed by vast windows. They'd bought the land years ago during the crash, an acre on a peninsula overlooking the Lynnhaven River. Some developer had gone bankrupt, and Sasha had suggested putting their many years of near-zero living expenses between basic allowances, hazard pay, deployments, and re-upping (or in her case, a quite substantial sign-on bonus) to good use. The rest, she'd told him, they could figure out in time. Like when and what to build there.

Sasha cherished that summer. She'd returned after serving her first official assignment as a Case Officer in the Middle East. Received a unanimous assessment of 'outstanding', and then been approached to consider becoming an entirely different class of Clandestine Operative. A move that left her state side for twelve months, enrolled in a postgraduate to become her identity. The timing had been almost perfect, Tom was on shore duty, he'd served his last deployment with the USS Pickney, been promoted to Lieutenant, and found approval to transfer back to Norfolk. To this day, Sasha could still picture his content when they'd slept under stars. Went camping in their future yard and made plans together. That was the moment Sasha carried when she needed to feel home. To remember who Sasha Chandler was, and Alexandra Cooper not.

"Thank you. It took a while, and it was more than a project but I'm glad we did it. It was a long time coming—we needed to put down roots."

Katie smiled and took a sip of her wine, studying the flames before them. "She would have been so proud of you guys."

Sasha wasn't prepared for how emotional Katie's anecdote made her and used the action of taking her own sip to find control. "I just wish she'd had the chance to see it finished. We wanted it to be for everyone." Pausing, Sasha twirled the stem absently between her fingers, watching the way the liquid swirled. "How's he been?"

Katie sighed and made a head gesture intended to downplay the emotional weight behind that inquiry. "Doing the best he can considering. Being around the kids helps, but you know how he is. Thinks he can pretend it didn't happen. Sometimes I think he does convince himself it isn't real." The tug of Katie's lip was sad. "Nothing Dad loved more in this world than Mom."

Sasha knew that to be true; Jed's rough edges had always been softer where Cathy was concerned, and it was more difficult than she'd like to know the only reason the Chandler's were spread between Vermont and Virginia this year, was because of Tom. They settled into comfortable, companionable silence. Most of Ashley and Sam's chatter with Mike and Christine's kids dulled by the healthy crackling of the log fire, and Sasha took to watching the flames, content to be mindless for the minutes.

"I tried to talk to Tommy. About Dad." Sasha lifted her head, Katie's hesitation clear. "He shut me down."

Blowing out a breath, Sasha leaned forward and put the glass down on the concrete edge of the firepit. 'Shut me down'—an understatement, she was sure. She sighed. "I know she's rolling in her grave over this, but the only thing that's going to change it is time."

"Or you."

Sasha kept her response diplomatic. Katie was a notorious straight shooter, the thing that made her relationship with Tom at times volatile. Often lacked the ability for tact. They either adored each other or ended up on either side of an impasse that only resolved itself with flames. Matt, conversely, was docile, and Sasha often wondered how he was related to the Chandler's at all. "Katie, I have to be honest with you—I think this is something he needs to choose on his own, and until he's ready, I think I need to defend it."

While she was glad that Katie's expression was more wry than frustrated, Sasha still felt the tug of war between competing loyalties.

"Is that your unbiased opinion or your opinion as his wife?"

Sasha smiled softly. "Both." Katie looked away. "He got six hours with her. Six. And she wasn't lucid for any of it—I know Jed was only doing what she asked, and no one expected her to turn so fast, but that is a hard thing to accept."

"Hindsight's a bitch. I do understand, Sasha—we all made a huge mistake when we thought she would make it two more weeks. We should have just called you both home, but Dad's killing himself over this. I have never been afraid for that man in my life until now."

Sasha ducked her chin, her lip curling regretfully. "It's not," she stopped. Reconsidering how to tackle what seemed impossible. "It's just hard, Katie. I don't know what to tell you." She swallowed. "He's angry and I think he has a right to be. He needs time—"

"It's been six months and they haven't spoken since the funeral."

Sasha tilted her head. "Time isn't the same for him, you know that. So does Jed. He's spent most of that at sea. He doesn't process when he's on duty." She paused, weighing the benefit of her next words. "And to be honest, it's not just Tom." There was a beat of silence. "I didn't get to say goodbye either," she breathed, the words thick on her tongue. "I didn't even get to hold his hand when it happened. I wasn't there with him when his mother died—I won't pressure him over this."

She could see Katie was getting agitated. "So why the hell do you let that firm keep you in Asia for most of the year? I don't understand. I really don't. I know they pay you crap tons of money, but you could make that in D.C. They have offices everywhere, you could transfer. It's insane. Tom was in the middle of the freaking ocean and the Navy got him back in forty-eight hours. You should quit. And I don't get how he's fine with you not being there, but he refuses to talk to Dad."

Inhaling, Sasha shifted in the seat. "Because he understands not being in control of my schedule. My assistant screwed up. With the time difference, the language barrier, and the deal I was working on, I didn't get your message for a few days. I was on the next flight as soon as I heard it... it was just... shitty timing."

Five days. It had taken five days for the message to reach Sasha. The number that Katie believed went to her desk was in reality routed to her handler, and while Tom at least knew she was CIA, having been thoroughly vetted himself when she applied, even he couldn't just call. It had taken days to clear and then scramble an acceptable story that wouldn't blow years of careful identity creation so she could return. By then, Catherine Chandler had been dead for three.

Katie shook her head and drained the glass. "You guys always did remind me of them. Mom could ask Dad for anything and he'd do it. Look how it turned out."

Sasha sighed. While it was different, in her opinion, she could see that Katie was scared. Scared her father's bad heart might give out without Cathy and scared that his stubborn son would resent him into an early grave. But Sasha was scared too, scared if she pushed Tom before he was ready, he'd double down and never speak to his father again, and that would be the nail in Jed's coffin.

"Look, I hear you—and I don't disagree with you. They need to talk. But if I push him when he's this hurt, he'll just re-direct his anger back at Jed, and that won't help anyone."

She'd barely finished speaking before Katie was onto her next thought. Never did stay on track too long. "How did you get him to tell you about Bosnia?"

Sasha frowned, the turn in conversation catching her off-kilter. "Bosnia?"

If possible, Sasha's confusion only deepened by the look of skepticism on his sister's face. "His knee?"

Though she had no idea the relevance of an issue from over a decade ago, Sasha went with it. "I didn't. I never asked, I saw the scars, obviously… he just decided to tell me about how that all went down." Katie looked dumbfounded, and Sasha couldn't say she wasn't perplexed too.

"He wouldn't talk to anyone about that."

Generally, Sasha knew that Tom loved her—the fact that they'd been able to make it work for fifteen years with such demanding careers said a lot—but what she often lacked was context. Be it her preference to mind her own business unless asked, or the fact she was rarely around for such gossip, or intricacies, somehow, she didn't know that.

"You didn't know?"

And apparently, it was written all over her face. "No. Why would I assume that?"

"Everything we knew came from his Commander, the Doctors, and the article—"

"Which is why you think I can tell him to forgive Jed?"

"You have a better chance than anyone."

Sasha sighed and leaned back in her chair, tucking one foot up and under her other leg.

The stubborn determination yielded a little when Katie realized she wouldn't agree. "Can you at least think about it?"

Sasha worried her lip between her teeth, focus veering off across their yard and onto the river which was resting calmly. "No promises."

Shrugging, Katie drained the rest of her glass. "I'll take what I can get."

It was either perfect timing or bad, depending on the point of view, when Sasha heard footsteps behind her. Ones she recognized; leisurely paced upon the wood decking, and seconds later, a blanket draped around her shoulders.

"I'm getting a refill," Katie announced, pushing herself up from the opposite chair, but not before fixing her brother with a glare. Sasha didn't need to turn to picture Tom's response. She waited until the patio door closed again before tilting her head back.

"Hi."

Despite the tension in his neck, he softened. Acknowledging her greeting by brushing his thumb against her nape where his hand still lingered. "She was grilling you about Jed, wasn't she?"

Jed. Not dad. That was a thing since Cathy passed.

"She's just scared, Tom. But to answer your question, yes—and I told her I'm not passing along messages or—trying to make you change your mind." He didn't like that at all. Sasha pivoted in the seat, the action causing his hand to fall, and she grasped it, tugging slightly. "It's Christmas. Play nice in the sandbox—please?"

"Uncle Tom!"

Tucking her chin, Sasha smiled and counted down the seconds until the patio door was ripped open by Sam.

"Mike said to get you, we're starting the game and it's us against him and Lucas!"

By the lick of surprise coloring Tom's features, Sasha guessed this was news. She squeezed his hand and tipped her head in Sam's direction. Thankful that an eight-year-old couldn't pick up on his reluctance. "Go. You've been summoned."

Gaze lingering for a few seconds more, Tom inhaled and turned. "Tell Mike I'll be there in a second, Buddy."

Sam beamed. "Okay!" His excitement so profound he almost ran into the door. Sasha couldn't help but smile. She had a soft spot for Sam. Ashley was a little more challenging, not a bad kid, polite, but more reserved and difficult to connect with. More so since Katie and James concluded their divorce.

"We can talk later," she whispered. Easing that particular look Tom gave when he wanted to be in two places at once. He sighed and leaned down, stealing a brief kiss before following Sam.

x x x

"Babe, I'll get it tomorrow."

Their kitchen was a bomb, and not for the first time that day did Sasha wish for Catherine Chandler. Hell, even her own mother would have a system that made dishes, Tupperware, and serving plates her proverbial bitch. Evelina Kunić was traveling in St. Johns, however, with her latest conquest, Philippe. That suited Sasha just fine. The woman had given new meaning to life after widowhood and while she'd been polite in an extending an invitation; Sasha had to admit, there'd been a sigh of relief when Eva declined. That's just what happened, Sasha supposed, when you spent forty years married to a man you couldn't stand.

When her scrubbing didn't stop, Tom stilled her hands with his own. The heat at her back, and his breath against her neck eliciting the same tingle down her spine, even now.

"It's not a competition, Sash," he whispered.

She stopped. Dropping the sponge in the sink before bowing her head. For a moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel. Let her weight sag against Tom's chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. With a sigh, she shifted, deciding to tilt her head back to rest against his lower cheek and jaw instead.

"I'm not—I just—I just miss her, Tom."

She felt and heard him swallow. His answer no more than brushing his lips against her temple.

"Katie asked about my job. Why I didn't quit or transfer."

Tom stiffened, and before turning so she could face him, Sasha dried her hands on her jeans. "Don't get mad at her—"

"She needs to worry about her own damn life instead of messing with mine." He bit out before clamping down on his own bitterness. His palms were now resting on either side of her hips against the edge of the sink counter. "You know I don't blame you for that. They waited days before they called us—"

Sasha placed her hands on his chest. "I know," she soothed. "No one knew it would go so fast, but she still has a point. Even with no idea what it is that I actually do." She glanced beyond Tom's shoulder, into their living room where the kids were engaged in the iPad Mini's Aunt Sasha and Uncle Tom had bought them for Christmas. Gifts their Mom couldn't afford this year with the divorce. Satisfied that they couldn't be overheard, she continued. "There's a rumor going around that Reiss is vying for a promotion—which means the Director spot would be open… and it's based in Langley."

He studied her features. The set of his jaw softened now that they'd moved beyond Katie. "Sash, you don't need to do this. And I don't want to you do something because you feel guilty when you shouldn't."

"I'm not. I've been thinking about it for a while. Before I heard about Reiss, and before your Mom." Tom's brow creased a little. "I miss you." Her nose scrunched, and she blinked away moisture which sprung from nowhere. "I love what I do—but I don't love it more than you."

A slow, soft smile began painting his features. "It is my last tour for a while."

"It is—and I want to come home and be normal. At least for a few years. Granted, he still has to get the promotion, and I still have to apply, and I don't have a dick, so—" she shrugged "—you know how that goes."

His grin became lopsided. "But you do have bigger balls than any man I've ever seen."

She tilted her head, pondering the unique mixture of awkward and funny he'd just pulled off. "You're right, I do," her tone saying 'but'. "But now I have questions about how many balls you've seen and why."

Tom's entire expression was a regretful 'yeah'. "I didn't think before I said that."

She laughed softly and shook her head. "No. You didn't, but I still enjoyed it."

He did something with his eyes, a charisma behind them that still took her breath away. "Glad I could be of service."

She rose to her tiptoes. "Ma'am." Corrected in a breathy wisp, while brushing her lips against his. Tom closed the remaining inch of distance and kissed her. Hints of the scotch he'd been drinking from Mike mixed with his taste when she framed his jaw.

"Eww." There was giggling behind them. "Gross!"

They broke away, though Tom kept her pressed against the counter between his arms.

"Is it bad that I'm not regretting our lack of kids yet?"

Tom leaned in again, this time running a hand up her arm, and across her collarbone before cupping the back of her neck. "No—and I enjoy giving them back."