Character: Mike Slattery

Setting: Jacksonville, Florida - Post Season 5; Seven Years after the Nathan James originally left Norfolk; AU (specifically, the Crossroads universe although that much detail is not necessary to read and enjoy)

x

Captain Michael Slattery looked up from a stack of reports to see Thomas Chandler, Russ Jeter, and Rachel Scott standing in the door to his office. Mike set down the pen he was holding, waving them inside.

"Coffee?" He stood without waiting for an answer, hoping that none of them could see how badly his hands were shaking as he pulled out the pot. There was literally no good reason for Rachel to be here, especially escorted by both Tom and Russ. The only question was how bad the bad news was. And Mike was pretty sure he knew the answer to that question without having to ask.

Tom shut the door behind them. "Have a seat, Mike."

Apparently the bad news was "closed-door" bad. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to sit, Mike walked to the window, fiddling with his coffee cup. The one Lucas had given him years ago that said World's Bet Dad in his son's shaky print. A misspelling that Mike and Christine both found adorable. "I assume that you're here because the DNA results came back."

The DNA Project was the culmination of a five-year crusade, one that began within months of the Nathan James arriving in St. Louis. Unfortunately, it had taken years of fighting with Congress to get the project funded, and even longer to get the laboratory set up and running. Rachel and Tom had both thrown their considerable influence behind the idea, and Mike knew that was largely for his benefit. Not that the plight of the hundreds of thousands of regular Americans who had family simply disappear during the time when the virus was running rampant didn't weigh heavily on all of them. The anguish of birthdays and anniversaries and holidays passing year-after-year without closure was felt by all of them. But Tom and, to a less extent Rachel, also felt somewhat responsible for what happened to Mike's wife and daughters. Always wondering if things might have been different had the Nathan James returned to Norfolk earlier.

"They did, Mike," Rachel was the one to speak, her voice steady. "We confirmed that Christine, Whitney, and Hannah died of the virus and were buried in the mass grave at Deer Park. I'm so sorry."

Russ moved to stand next to Mike, setting a hand to rest on his arm. "They are in the arms of God, my friend. I hope and pray that this news can bring you some form of peace."

Mike nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, allowing the news to sink in. He knew, of course. After almost seven years the likelihood of any of his family being out there was so abysmally small as to be statistically meaningless. Mike actually smiled at that thought. Seven years ago he never would have imagined the words statistically meaningless being part of his vocabulary.

Since the day the Nathan James first arrived back in the States with the cure, Mike had searched every place he could imagine Christine going. Norfolk and Deer Park, obviously, but also both of their hometowns and each base where he had been stationed. He had spoken to every person he could find that knew Christine or the girls, even tangentially, going as far as reaching out to Christine's surviving sorority sisters. As that list dwindled, Mike began thinking like a teenage girl, imagining where his daughters might flee if they were left on their own, the way that Ray and his crew had been. That search led him all over the country, helping him reunite a few kids with their own folks, but never giving him the answer that he was hoping to find.

The discovery two years ago of a mass grave at Deer Park seemed to confirm what Mike already knew - that his family never made it out of the compromised safe zone - but doubts still lingered. Hope, Mike had discovered, was a funny thing. Even now, something in him wondered if Rachel could possibly be wrong.

Mike turned to face her. "You're sure?"

Rachel's face was sympathetic. "I double-checked the results myself. There is no doubt, Mike. My office will coordinate the return of the cremated remains to you whenever you feel ready."

Mike nodded, the pressure building in his chest making speech difficult. There was a difference between knowing and knowing, it appeared, the grief he was feeling right now just as overpowering as the day back in the Arctic when he learned that Lucas was dead. Mike looked over to Russ. "I would appreciate it if you could arrange a memorial service, Master Chief."

"I would be honored," Russ replied without hesitation.

Mike glanced around his office, feeling detached from the situation. "I think that I'll take the rest of the day. Tom, can you let the powers that be know that I will be unavailable?"

"Of course." Tom hesitated. "Are you sure that you want to be alone right now?"

Nodding, Mike gathered up his wallet and keys. "I'll call you later."

xxxxx

Two hours later, Mike stood on his back porch with a cigar in one hand. He really should have saved his last Cuban for a day when he would enjoy it, but he had felt the need to commemorate today in some fashion. This might not be the anniversary of the day that Christine and the girls died or the day that they would be buried or even the last day that he saw them, but today was the day when he knew, for certain, that they were gone. And that meant something, even if he didn't yet know what.

Mike gazed out at the marsh. Watching the reeds bend in the wind. Listening to the hum of the frogs and the cry of the birds. One of the things that he liked about Jacksonville was how it reminded him of his family. He had been stationed in Florida years ago, his first assignment after officer candidate school, and Christine had loved it here. She had been pushing him to take a desk job in Miami, in fact, before the world went to hell. Mike had been on board with everything except the desk job part, imagining lazy afternoons out on the boat, holding fishing poles as Lucas chatted about alligators and turtles and manatees. Whitney, on the other hand, had been horrified by the thought of starting over at a new high school, leading to almost constant fights between her and Christine. Not that Whitney needed a reason to start a fight. Those had been a constant since the day his oldest daughter turned thirteen, as though a light switch flipped and his sweet baby girl went from Dr. Jekyl to Mr. Hyde in an instant. Mike had even joked to Christine that he was going to ask to deploy just before Hannah turned thirteen in an effort to escape the mayhem.

But Hannah never saw thirteen, always staying his precious little girl.

She would be eighteen now, his Hannah. An adult. Whitney would be twenty-one. A college student, probably, able to legally drink. Even Lucas would be in high school now, and Mike and Christine would be thinking about retirement. Anticipating becoming empty nesters in a few short years. Mike found it harder and harder to picture his children the way they would be now, always reverting to the memories of how they looked the last time he saw them, waving goodbye to him in Norfolk. It struck Mike that Lucas would soon be dead longer than he was alive, and the thought was a stab to the heart. A reminder of how little time his children were given on this planet.

Mike didn't turn when he heard the front door open, or when he heard the sound of rustling in the kitchen, or even when Sasha appeared with two glasses of whisky. He took one of the glasses. "I assume that you heard."

"A benefit to working in the intelligence business. I have sources everywhere," she replied, and he didn't need to look to know that she was smirking.

"So Tom called you," Mike said wryly, taking a sip of the whiskey. Top-end, of course. Sasha hated cheap booze.

"Naturally," Sasha replied, before her voice grew quietly. "I'm sorry, Mike."

They stood in silence, drinking their whiskies, watching the sunset over the mangrove trees as Mike puffed on his cigar.

"Neither Hannah nor Lucas ever went to Disneyworld. We didn't want to waste the money going when they were too little to enjoy it. We made that mistake with Whitney. Planned a whole trip for her second birthday. Both Christine and Whitney spent most of the time in tears." Mike chuckled at the memory. "Now I live within spitting distance of the place and I haven't gone a single time."

"You aren't missing much," Sasha replied. "I went with the team for Frankie's birthday last May. Pretty sure that everyone cried at some point, including Danny."

Mike chuckled. "Memory is a funny thing. At the time, you want to tear your hair out but now..."

"You would give anything to do it again," Sasha finished for him. She paused before pointing out. "You could, Mike. Christine and the kids are gone, but you could start over. I'm not saying that you try to replace them, but you could build a new family. Have some of those moments again."

Turning, Mike swallowed the last of his whisky, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Sasha's face. "I have built a new family. You. Tom. Danny and Kara and their ever expanding rat-pack."

She gave him a meaningful look. "You know what I meant. Children were never never something that I wanted. So.." she paused, considering, weighing her words. "So not having them in the picture doesn't change my future the way that it changes yours. Taking away all the experiences - the graduations and weddings and grandchildren that you would have otherwise had."

Mike understood what Sasha was really saying. She didn't, had never, wanted children. It was a decision made long before Sasha and Mike fell into their rather unconventional affair. Hell, it was why Tom and Sasha went their separate ways so many years before. But it also meant that a choice to continue down their current path was a choice to give up on many of the things that, before the virus, Mike had blithely assumed were in his future.

"I have no interest in starting over." Mike shook his head. "I don't begrudge anyone who feels differently. Liam's birth was the best thing that could have happened to Andrea. But it's not for me. I had my children and now they're gone. That's just the way it is."

Sasha's hand reached out to touch his cheek. "I wish that things had turned out differently, Mike."

"Me too."

Mike took a deep breath, setting down the stub of his cigar. "So is there any food in those bags I heard you carrying? Or just booze."

"You know me better than that, Michael Slattery." Sasha reached out to squeeze his arm. "We need something to sop up the whisky."

Nodding, Mike looked back out at the marsh. And, for just for a second, he could see them at the edge of the water, backlit by the sunset. Christine holding Lucas's hand as he wadded through the water, searching for fish. Smiling as she listened to him chatter about alligators and legos. Whitney and Hannah sitting in lawn chairs, heads bent over a magazine, giggling over the articles on finding the perfect boyfriend. The scene so real that Mike felt himself take a step towards them.

"Mike?"

Sasha's voice broke the spell, and the vision disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Leaving only the marsh - and a feeling. A feeling that Christine and the children were together. Perhaps not here, where Mike wanted them to be, but still together. And finally at peace.

With a last lingering glance at the now-empty marsh, Mike wrapped an arm around Sasha's waist. "Let's go eat."