Chapter 2: I Am The Fire

November 29th, 2013 - 0500 (5:00 am)

Rachel fell asleep on the ride back to the Nathan James, still held tightly in Tom's arms. He was holding the sheet around her body both to preserve her modesty and to keep the chill away. He sighed, tucking the edge of the sheet between his body and hers, holding her closer as she twitched restlessly in her sleep. She was mentally and physically exhausted, but he imagined that rest was not coming easy.

"She gonna be all right?" Tex asked quietly, casting a glance in their direction.

Tom sighed deeply, brushing her hair from her eyes. He didn't know how to answer Tex's question, so he stayed silent.

Would she be OK? Probably. Eventually. But he knew that she damn well wasn't OK right now. The only reason she had fallen asleep was because her body was simply too tired to fight it. The whole way to the R.H.I.B., she had cried, clutching at his shirt and whimpering words he couldn't understand (though he was certain he kept hearing the words "no" and "don't", and his heart hurt at the implication of what she was thinking of).

"How much longer?" he asked gruffly, turning to stare at Lieutenant Miller, who was manning the boat. "I want to get her to Doc Rios as soon as possible. I think she has a concussion."

"No more than ten minutes, Captain," he said, nodding toward where they could see the Nathan James in the distance.

Tom nodded sharply once, and then turned his attention back to the woman in his arms. He supposed he could have put her down at this point, but he was afraid that moving her would wake her up, and he wanted her to sleep through as much of the ride as possible.

When he had first received the news about Darien's passing, he had cycled through the stages of grief pretty quickly, sailed straight through denial (it was hard to deny death when over 80% of the world was already dead) and landed squarely in anger.

It's her fault! He had tried to convince himself. If she had told us what was happening, I could have warned Darien and the kids! If she hadn't kept the state of the world secret from the entire ship for four goddamn months, maybe Darien would be alive!

Of course, when he had finally calmed down enough to think about it (thankfully, before he had marched into Rachel's lab to yell at her) he couldn't blame her.

Would he have disobeyed a command to keep the mission a secret? A command from the president himself?

Never.

And even if Rachel had told them what was happening, even if he had warned Darien and his father, the outcome would have likely been the same, he'd had to admit to himself. Darien hadn't died in the beginning. She had escaped, and was safe for months. She had died later on, trying to find the necessary equipment to fix the FM radio so they could call for help.

Tom Chandler's knowledge of the situation earlier likely wouldn't have made a bit of difference.

So, really, he couldn't blame Rachel for following orders.

And now.

Now.

He was holding her in his arms because she had defied an order (his order to stay on the fucking boat). She had defied him and had gotten hurt in the process. And worse than cuts and concussions and scars, he knew that the mental toll would weigh far heavier than the physical one.

If those Russians were still alive, if their boat weren't in pieces, burning, he would leave Rachel in the care of Doc Rios and head right back there to -

"Penny for your thoughts, commodore?" Tex interrupted, tapping his fingers nervously on the side of the R.H.I.B.

Tom grunted again. "You don't want to hear them," he said quietly.

"I imagine they center around tearing people's heads - or their balls - off," Tex commented wryly, and Tom huffed.

"Something like that," he agreed, and then exhaled in relief as they finally reached the Nathan James.

"Someone call the doc!" Miller shouted up as he docked the boat and began motioning for Captain Chandler to climb the ladder.

Tom hesitated for a split second about how best to get Rachel up the ladder. In the end, he shook her softly to wake her.

"Wha… ?" she questioned sleepily, and Tom soothed her by running his large, warm hand over her back.

"Rachel, we have to get you on the ship. Do you think you can climb the ladder?"

She paused for a second, waking up, considering. Then she shook her head 'no', wincing as she did it.

"Dizzy. Tired," she whispered, and laid her head back on his shoulder.

"That's OK, Rachel," he said softly, and shifted her in his arms. "Put your legs around my waist. I can support you with one hand and get us up there."

Rachel shakily rearranged herself so she could wrap her legs around Tom's waist. The sheet fell away, and she quickly grabbed at it to keep herself modest. Tom helped her, tucking it around her knees and thighs.

"If you're uncomfortable or need to stop, tap my shoulder to let me know," he said, and then reached out with his left hand to grasp the first rung of the ladder. It was more weight than he was used to carrying, but not considerably so.

She was so small.

And normally she didn't seem as small as she physically was, because her presence was so commanding. But at the moment, holding onto him and sniffling onto his shoulder, she seemed small, and the fact that those men had made her feel this way made his blood boil.

"Doing OK?" he asked, and she nodded against his shoulder. He reached for the next rung on the ladder and kept going. When he made it over the side of the Nathan James, he helped Rachel untangle herself, setting her gently on her feet and holding her shoulder and elbow to make sure she didn't collapse.

"Do you want to try and walk?" he asked.

She huffed a small laugh, her lips lifting at the corner ever so slightly (though the light didn't reach her eyes). "If you carry me, we may start some rumors," she said quietly, and Tom found himself smiling as he put his hand on her back to guide her forward. "But I'm fine, Captain," she continued. "I don't need to go to the med bay."

"Yes you do. You are absolutely going," he said firmly. "At the very least, you have a concussion, and some of the cuts on your leg are going to need stitches."

She was about to argue, but a well timed tremor raced through her body, causing her knees to buckle under her. She grumbled quietly under her breath as she grasped the Captain's arm to steady herself, but didn't argue any further as he led her inside and down the p-way to Med Bay.

November 29th, 2013 - 0535 (5:35 am)

"Tom."

At the sound of his name, Tom looked up from where he was sitting on the bed next to Rachel's. As payback (he was sure), she had thrown him under the bus the second they had reached the med bay, telling the Doc that Tom was probably suffering from dehydration and possibly second degree burns from his time in the sun. As much as he wanted to be indignant at the situation, he was just relieved that she was feeling well enough to sass him. Rios had strong-armed him into sitting in the next bed while he looked over Rachel, but promised that he would be back to poke at the Captain, too.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to catch her gaze. She wouldn't look at him, however, and continued to play with the edge of the sheet she was still wrapped up in.

"Can you… I want some clothes to change into."

He nodded immediately, standing from his bed and taking a step toward her.

"Anything specific?"

She shook her head, and then paused.

"Can… what about two sets of clothes? I don't know how long the Doctor is gonna keep me here, but I want a shower. I just don't want to be naked while I'm waiting, though, and I don't want to put the same clothes back on after b-because-"

Her words hitched as she fought back a sob. She hated feeling like this, but she just wanted to be covered, and not in this flimsy sheet. It didn't feel like enough. She felt naked, like she was on display. She kept nervously pulling the sheet tighter around her, but it was small and sheer, and didn't cover much.

"Hey," Tom said softly, approaching her slowly and then kneeling down so he was below her eye level. He attempted to speak quietly, to make himself small so as not to scare her. "I'll get you anything you want. I'll also force the doc to go quickly so you can get cleaned up. If you want… "

He paused, wondering if what he was about to offer would be appropriate or not, but decided to push on anyway. She seemed comfortable with him, and didn't shy away from his touch or scream when he came near.

"If you want, you can shower in my cabin. It's private, and I remember enough of my days before being Captain that the communal showers can be … unpleasant."

That little smile was back, and Rachel nodded almost imperceptibly. "Thank you. That would be… thank you."

Tom nodded, and then stood up quickly.

"I'll be right back," he said, and as he started to walk away, she shot out a hand and grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

He looked questioningly back at her, and noticed that her hand was shaking slightly.

"Sorry, Captain," she whispered, pulling her hand back and tucking it under the sheet. "Sorry. I just," she paused, and laughed a little hysterically. "I am the one who asked you to get my things, and then I freaked out when you tried to leave. I'll be fine. I'm sorry, I'm using you as a sort of security blanket. I apologize," she mumbled.

"Hey," Tom said, kneeling down again and reaching a hand out. When she didn't flinch from him, he pressed two fingers under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. "You don't need to apologize," he said firmly. "Nothing, nothing about this is your fault. You don't have to apologize for what you're feeling, and you don't have to apologize for what you need. Got it?"

Rachel nodded, comforted by how sure he sounded. "Got it. Thank you, Captain."

He nodded again, and then stood slowly to his feet, walking away from her bed. This time she didn't stop him, and he moved quickly out of the med bay and through the p-ways. Her quarters were close to the lab, which was near enough to the med bay that he was able to make it to her room in less than two minutes.

He opened her door, ducking inside and grabbing a small bag that was hanging from her bed frame. Without thinking too much about the fact that he was basically rifling through her underwear drawer, he grabbed two pairs of panties, two t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants (comfortable would probably be important). He also tossed in a large sweater and a pair of thick socks. She seemed to have a lot of warm clothing; she probably got cold on the ship.

Bag zipped and tossed over his shoulder, he moved next to the small sink and cabinet at the far end of the room. He packed her toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush. He also grabbed her small toiletries bag, thinking that the familiar scents of her shampoo and body wash would probably comfort her after her shower.

He took one final look around the room, double checking to see if there was anything else he could grab for her, when his eyes fell on a well worn book sitting beside her bed. Jane Eyre. The spine was cracked in several places, and it had been left open to a page in the middle. He carefully bookmarked Rachel's spot, and added it to the bag. Just in case. He wasn't sure how long Doc would keep her under watch because of the head injury.

Then he paused right inside the doorway, wondering. Could she read if she had a concussion? Or would it make her sick and dizzy?

He shrugged; if she couldn't read, he could read it to her.

And then that thought caused him to pause again as he closed her door behind him.

When had he gotten so involved?

Why did he care so much about this woman? The woman who went head to head with him, giving as good as she got, and didn't believe just because he was bigger than her that he could boss her around? Despite the enormous difference between them in both rank and size, she spoke to him and interacted with him as an equal.

And he liked it.

He liked that she didn't cower under him, or give in to him just because he spoke loud or loomed over her (which, he had to admit, he did sometimes to intimidate people).

She was fierce.

She was strong.

And she had gotten hurt trying to save him.

Tom shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face as he started walking back toward the med bay. So what if he was thinking about reading the book to her if she was too sick or dizzy to do it herself? She was hurting, and he cared about her.

Tom skidded to a halt in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the surprised squeak of the ensign behind him as he stopped suddenly in the narrow p-way.

Holy shit.

When had he started caring about this woman? And what kind of caring was it? Like a friend? Or more? (And dear goodness, was he in grade school? Was he going to ask himself if he like liked her?) He had never thought about reading books to his friends while sitting at their sick beds, and he certainly hadn't felt this warmth in his chest when he thought about her in a long time.

Could he even... was it OK to care for someone else yet? Shouldn't he still be grieving?

Tom grunted in frustration. Now was not the time to be worrying about this. He had been away from Rachel for over fifteen minutes now, and he needed to focus. In all likelihood, Doc Rios was already done with her, probably already had her patched up, and she was waiting impatiently for her clothes so she could take a shower because she probably felt uncomfortable after those men had touched her.

Now Tom had to take a breath to hold back the anger.

Holy fuck, his emotions were all over the place. He had to get a hold of himself. He shook his head at himself in frustration and continued on his way back to the med bay.

November 29th, 2013 - 0555 (5:55 am)

"She has a concussion, as you thought," the doctor informed him as Tom handed Rachel her bag. She eagerly rifled through it as he listened carefully to Rios's instructions. "She needs to be woken up every few hours for at least the next 12-24 hours. Ask basic questions to make sure she's not developing confusion or memory loss. If any of her current symptoms get any worse, or any new symptoms appear, make sure she comes back here."

Tom listened intently, nodding along as the doctor spoke. Did Rios think Rachel was going to be staying with him? Shit, should she stay with him? He knew that if he let her our of his sight, she'd be back in her lab before he could blink. Short of physically forcing her away from the lab, Tom didn't think there would be anything he could do if he left her alone. She certainly wouldn't just listen to him. And the thought of forcing her to do anything made him nauseous. Also there was still the slight problem of her currently not letting anyone touch her (except for him). Tom had walked in on her flinching away as Doc Rios had tried to touch her leg to stitch it up. The situation had been resolved quickly as the doctor had stepped back, apologizing for not asking permission.

"Can do, doc. How are we going to handle these injuries?" Tom asked, gesturing to her leg. He noticed that while he was gone, Rachel had been given some scrub bottoms to put on with her tank top. He should have thought to ask about that instead of leaving her in the first place.

"Rachel has asked not to be touched. I respect that. I will give her some butterfly bandages to apply to the deeper ones after she takes a shower. Captain, can I speak to you about something?" Rios asked, nodding his head to the side.

Rachel glared up at both of them. She clearly knew that they were going to be talking about her, but either didn't care enough or didn't have the energy to yell at them.

Tom nodded and moved several paces away from Rachel's bed. The doctor followed.

"I did a basic examination," he began. "But because she doesn't want to be touched, I can't check her over in depth. Tell me, do we need to figure out a way to do a rape kit?"

Hearing the word rape made Tom's blood freeze. He swallowed, suddenly fighting a lump in his throat. He knew, he knew that was what the men were trying to do, what they would have done if he hadn't arrived in time. But hearing the doctor speak about it so plainly shocked him.

Tom shook his head. "No. No. It ... it didn't get to that. She probably has some bruises to go along with the concussion and cuts, but as far as I know, other than that she's OK. Well, physically. She's ... not doing great emotionally."

Doc Rios nodded. "That's to be expected. Just keep reminding her that it's OK to not be OK. Trauma like she went through, it won't be resolved or forgotten so easily."

Tom nodded again, running a hand through his hair.

"She needs to be watched over?" he asked again, just to make sure. He was willing, more than willing to take responsibility for his scientist. But the feelings that had roiled through his body as he had walked down the p-way were threatening to resurface.

"Yes, and if I may speak plainly?"

Tom nodded.

"I would prefer it be you. Several others, men and women both, have been through the med bay. She has reacted to all of them in the same way, except for you. She sees you as trustworthy, and she is likely to feel most safe and relaxed in your presence. With anyone else - me, Tex, Miller - she has flinched and watched their every move."

Tom nodded again. "Got it. Thanks, doc."

The doctor nodded and walked off to find the bandages for Rachel as Tom made his way back to her bedside.

"Ready to go?" he asked softly. Then, realizing that she probably wouldn't appreciate being told what to do right now (did she ever? She seemed to thrive off of doing the exact opposite of what he asked), he said, "Do you want to stay in my cabin to rest? I'll take the couch."

"I don't want to be a burden," Rachel said, looking away from him as she fidgeted with the drawstring on her scrub pants. "And I should probably get back to the lab anyway. I have some more tests to run."

"You're not a burden. And I'm not even going to address that comment about the lab," he said. "Considering you have a concussion and don't even have any more monkeys to test on right now. Honestly, Rachel," he said, and reached out again, slowly, to steady her as she stood up. "I want you to stay. I ... I'm so sorry about what happened. It would make me feel better knowing you're there, knowing you're safe." Knowing I'll just have to look through the doorway to see you when I wake up in the middle of the night.

Slowly, Rachel nodded. "Then... yes. I would like that."

All right then.

"OK. Right this way, then, Dr. Scott," he said, smiling softly as he gestured toward the door.

"What took you so long in my quarters, anyway?" she asked, holding her bag to her chest as they walked through the p-way. Tom walked slightly in front of her, not wanting to freak her out by walking behind her, where she couldn't see him.

I was having an existential crisis.

"Couldn't find your toothbrush," he grunted.

"Thank you," she whispered, and without looking behind him, he knew that she wasn't just talking about the toothbrush.

"You're welcome."