Me: I have so much to write! So many things I want to get down in this story!
Also me: *writes 2,000 words about taking a shower*

Chapter 3: I Am The Fire

November 29th, 2013 - 0600 (6:00 am)

"The shower is through there," Tom said, pointing toward a small door in the far left corner of his stateroom. The main room of his cabin was shaped like a rectangle, a long couch along one wall and a desk and a chair along the other. The door to his bedroom was set opposite the bathroom door, and led to a slightly smaller room with a bed, a night stand, and a built-in closet and dresser in the back wall. It was simple, but it was private, and that was all he could ask for most days.

"I'll bring some towels in. You'll want to turn the exhaust fan on, we don't have great ventilation on this ship. It can get a little steamy in there."

Rachel nodded again, and shuffled off in the direction of the bathroom. She was quiet and hesitant, and that seemed wrong to Tom. He sighed, setting her bag inside the bathroom door and turning around to find her a towel. He walked into his bedroom, opening the closet and rooting around inside. He grabbed two soft, white towels, and walked them back to the bathroom. He was setting them on the small bathroom counter when he looked up to find Rachel frozen, not moving, just inside the door.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"No. I mean, I... " she paused, a trembling hand reaching out to open the shower door. "I'm not. But I will be."

"You will," he confirmed, reaching out, eyes meeting hers in silent question. When she nodded, he pressed his hand to her cheek. She sighed out deeply, relaxing into his large, warm hand. "You will. I believe in you."

"Thank you," she said again, quietly, as Tom backed out of the bathroom. She closed the door behind him, and he could hear the water begin running.

He was hoping she would feel better after her shower.

Breathing out deeply, he ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the bedroom to find an extra pillow and blanket for the couch.

November 29th, 2013 - 0610 (6:10 am)

In the shower, Rachel finally let her tears fall. She knew she had been crying, probably hysterically, on the Vyerni. But she hadn't allowed herself since she came aboard the Nathan James. In the med bay, and on the walk through the p-ways, she had held her tears in. But now, under the stream of water where they couldn't be seen or felt, she let them fall.

A sob burst from her chest, loud and broken, and she pressed one hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the noise.

She had felt out of control in her life before. This loss of control was not new to her.

Her mother's death, unable to do anything but watch her mum suffer and slip away.

Unable to grieve property as her father grew angry whenever she would cry.

Being a woman in her field (a smaller woman at that), she was constantly reminded of her size and gender as others, usually men, told her what to do and how to do it, and how she would never amount to anything.

Feeling out of control was something that was familiar. She had spent so long building walls, defenses, only for two Russian guards to shatter them in a single moment.

She slipped down the wall, landing hard on her ass on the floor of the shower. The water continued to pound over her head and shoulders, making her sputter as she cried. She couldn't hold it back any longer, her chest searing with pain as she tried to hold the sobs in. It hurt. Her chest, her head, her throat (raw from screaming).

Her hand moved from her mouth to grip her hair tightly as she gave in, letting herself sob violently. Her whole body shook, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Rachel?"

The voice startled her, muffled as it was from the other side of the door.

"Rachel? Can I come in? Eyes are closed, I swear I'm not looking," Tom said gently, his own heart breaking as he listened to the woman on the other side of the door fall apart. "Can I just sit with you?"

Rachel wanted to nod, but he couldn't see her. She wasn't sure she could speak; she tried her best, sobbing out a quiet "Please, yes," and slumping forward even more with relief as the door opened. True to his word, Captain Tom Chandler walked forward with his eyes closed. He felt with his hands, touching the shower door and turning his body around, pressing his back against the glass as he slid down to sit on the floor with her, her inside the shower and him outside of it.

"You don't have to talk to me or anything. I just want to be here for you. It's OK to cry, Rachel. It's OK to hurt. Let it all out."

She reached a hand out of the shower door (spraying water everywhere, she was sure) and groped for his hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held on tight as she broke down, hiccuping sobs wracking her entire body as she wept.

She had no idea how long they sat there, clutching tightly to each other. Tom was crying with her, more quietly, but unable to stop the tears from falling as he listened to her shattering.

She was so strong. So strong. She was the one who always had the answers, who wasn't willing to give up, who fought for what she believed in. Who strong-armed the white house into sending her and Quincy on what they thought was a fool's errand that was, in reality, going to save the entire world.

She was the one who was going to save the world.

And she was falling to pieces in his shower, broken by the actions of two men.

God, I'm glad they're dead, Tom found himself thinking, his chest tight as he gripped Rachel's hand more securely.

He was sure the entire floor was soaked from the continuously running water. He didn't care.

"You're safe, Rachel. You're safe here. I'm so sorry this happened to you. I'm here for you."

Her tears were slowly drying up, her chest hurting less and less as she let herself grieve. She felt a weight lift off, and took in a deep, cleansing gulp of air.

"Can... can you stay while I shower?" she asked in a quiet voice, forcing herself to let go of his hand as she stood shakily to her feet.

Tom nodded, and then realizing she might not be able to see him, said, "Yeah. I'll stay right here."

True to his word, Tom stared continuously down at his feet as he listened to Rachel shower behind him. He could smell her shampoo as she scrubbed it into her hair, and her body wash as she scrubbed her skin once, twice, three times. Her skin had to be bright red and throbbing.

"Rachel," he whispered. "Please don't hurt yourself."

"I can still feel their hands on me," she mumbled, her hands shaking as she made herself put the washcloth away. "I can't make myself stop feeling it."

"I know. I'm sorry," Tom said. "I'm sorry that they did that to you."

"I'm done," Rachel said, unable to respond to his words. She appreciated them, these gentle reminders that she was safe with him. But she didn't know what to say in response.

"OK. I'll be right outside," Tom responded. "Call if you need me."

Rachel nodded to herself, and took one of the towels that Tom had hung over the top of the shower. She began to dry herself off, noting that she really had scrubbed the shit out of her skin. Once dry, she reached for the clothes that Tom had collected for her, slipping the panties on and then the sweatpants over them. Finally, she slipped the t-shirt over her head and breathed a sigh of relief.

She was clean again.

Collecting what remained of the clothes she had worn aboard the Vyerni, she dropped them in the small trash can by the sink, and then tossed the towel over the rack before opening the bathroom door and exiting.

Tom was waiting on his couch, his hands pressed together anxiously. He looked up when she entered, and she could see that he had been crying, too. He held out his hand, and she nodded, whimpering as she allowed herself to go to him, to fold herself into his arms. To crawl into his lap and curl into a ball, her knees pressed to her chest, to rest her head on his shoulder. His strong arms came around her, holding her tightly as he rested his cheek on top of her wet hair.

Again, the tears started flowing.

"Rachel, I'm sorry," he sobbed into her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, pulling back just enough to look into his wet, bright blue eyes.

"It's not your fault. It's no one's fault but theirs. It's hard, and I'm hurting, but it's not your fault."

"I'm sorry you were hurt trying to save us. We weren't worth it."

She shook her head again, wanting to argue but honestly simply out of the energy required to do so.

"Tom," she began shyly, her hands playing with the hemline of his shirt. He still hadn't changed clothes, had blood on his face and on his hands. "Can you..."

She trailed off, but Tom nodded, taking her hand and entwining their fingers.

"Anything."

"Can you stay with me tonight? I know you said you were going to sleep on the couch. A-a-and maybe you don't want to, because I know you haven't shared a bed with anyone but your wife, and now she's- she's gone. And that's OK, it's OK if you don't want to or don't feel comfortable, I just-"

He cut off her rambling by pressing his cheek back down on her head. He huffed a small laugh, his warm breath displacing her hair and tickling her face.

"Yes. Anything."

"I just feel safe with you. I want to feel safe, and to rest. That's all I want."

"Let me shower first," Tom said, and wrinkled his nose at his current state. "You're clean and now I'm getting you dirty. Will you be OK out here while I shower?"

Rachel nodded, slowly untangling herself from the Captain. He stood to his full height, his hand lingering on her arm as he turned his head toward the bathroom.

"I'll be fast. Just let me grab some clothes and rinse off," he said, and squeezed her arm once more before moving toward the bedroom. He quickly grabbed sweats and a t-shirt, then went back to the living room, noticing that Rachel had already sat down on the couch and wrapped his throw blanket around herself. He paused, considering, before sitting beside her once more, a foot or so of space between them.

"Are you sure you're OK here with me? I know... I know that I can have a temper, and that I yell sometimes. Are you sure you feel safe here? I don't want you to wake up in the middle of the night and be scared."

Rachel smiled a tiny smile, nodding as she looked at him.

"Yes. I feel safe with you. I can't guarantee I won't wake up and not know where I am," she said. "But as soon as I realize I'm with you, I'll be OK. You believed in me, you trusted me, and I know you'll never hurt me."

Tom was astonished that she felt that way toward him.

He could still remember the first time they had really gotten into it, after the Russians had attacked for the first time. He had taken her sample case hostage while yelling at her, demanding to know what was going on. He had never felt so angry in all of his life. But, looking back, he realized that even then, she hadn't been afraid of him. She had yelled right back at him.

"OK. If you're sure," he said, and she nodded, snuggling further into his couch as he headed toward the bathroom.

"I am."

November 29th, 2013 - 0700 (7:00 am)

Ten minutes later, Tom was exiting the shower. He had meant to be quicker, to rinse off as fast as possible, but as soon as the hot water had hit his skin, he had relaxed instantly. He hadn't realized he was so tense, but the hot water of the shower (and cleaning the blood out of his hair) went a long way to helping him feel more calm.

Tom dragged his sweatpants on, pulled on his t-shirt, and ran a towel through his hair as he exited the steamy bathroom. What he saw on the couch made a tiny smile pull at his lips.

Rachel had fallen asleep sitting up, her head leaning up against the back of the couch. She was still cocooned in the throw blanket that he normally left on the couch for cold mornings.

He was glad to see her resting, and picked her up as gently as he possibly could, one hand supporting her neck while the other went under her knees. He lifted her, settling her weight against his chest as he turned toward the bedroom. She snuggled against his shoulder, but didn't wake.

Once in the room, Tom faced another dilemma. What side of the bed would she want to be on? The outside, in case she wanted space or to get away from him? Or the wall, to feel secure between it and him? He absolutely wasn't going to wake her to ask, so he made his best guess and settled her against the wall. He pulled the blanket down with one hand, and gently laid her head on the solitary pillow. She shifted, puffing out a breath of warm air, but again didn't wake. He was glad; glad she was getting some rest, and that she was comfortable.

He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and gingerly laid down beside her in the small bed, trying to make himself as compact as he could. He lay on his back, his ankles crossed and his arms on his chest.

"Goodnight, Rachel," he whispered, and then reached over to turn off the light on his bedside table.

November 29th, 2013 - 0950 (9:50 am)

It felt like only seconds later that he was jerking awake to a loud scream, but a glance at the bedside clock told him that they had slept peacefully for almost three hours. It was honestly a lot longer than he expected before the first nightmare began.

"NO! No, please, no," Rachel whimpered. She kicked out both legs, trying to get the blanket off of her. One of her slim hands rubbed at her face and the other reached out and hit Tom in the chest. "Stop, stop, stop…" she whimpered.

Tom reacted quickly, reaching over to shake her awake.

"Rachel," he said in a low voice, touching her as lightly as he could. He shook her arm. "Rachel, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Wake up," he crooned softly, and felt his own heart rate begin to slow as her eyes fluttered open slowly. "That's right, sweetheart," he coaxed, moving his hand to run his fingers through her hair. "Wake up. It's OK, you're safe. You're on the Nathan James, in my cabin. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

Rachel stared at him for a moment, her eyes moist with tears. Then, with a loud sob, she threw herself into his arms. He caught her, his arms quickly going around her back to hold her tightly as she cried again.

"I'm safe," she sobbed, and he nodded, pressing his chin to the top of her head. He breathed in her vanilla shampoo and exhaled roughly, his heart hurting as she continued to cry.

"That's right," he said. "You're safe."

It took several minutes for her to calm down enough to back up out of his embrace, to meet his eyes shyly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shrinking in on herself.

"Whatever for?" he asked. His knee jerk reaction was to tell her that she had no reason to be sorry, but he also wondered what she could possibly be apologizing for this time.

"For being weak. For needing you. I know … I know you're hurting right now, too, and I know what happened to me isn't as big a deal as … as losing someone you love. I should be stronger. I should be comforting you," she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes now.

Tom was shocked to silence. That's what she was apologizing for? She thought she was weak? She thought that what happened to her wasn't important?

"Oh, Rachel," he said, and reached for her again. She clearly had a quick, silent battle with herself - let herself be held (which was what she so desperately wanted) or try and be strong? She gave in quickly, folding herself into his arms again. He rubbed her back for several seconds before speaking again. "You are not weak. And please don't ever say that what happened to you isn't a big deal. Someone hurt you. You're allowed to be hurt. And yeah, I'm hurting, too. I miss Darien every day. But I know that my kids and my dad are safe because of what she did. I know that she is in a better place now. She's not suffering. She's probably looking down on me from Heaven right now cursing at me for letting any of this happen in the first place. But just because I'm hurting doesn't mean that you're not allowed to be hurting, too. We can hurt together."

Rachel sniffled and nodded, letting herself take comfort in his arms.

"Let's try and get some more sleep," Tom suggested after several more minutes.

He shifted to lay down, but Rachel stayed sitting up, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. He could tell there was something she wanted to ask, but after she had revealed what she thought she should apologize for, he wasn't sure she would feel like she could ask for anything.

"What do you need?" he prompted, and she deflated a little.

"Can you hold me?" she asked tentatively.

Tom smiled and nodded, holding out his arm for her to curl into his side. She did, resting her cheek on his chest and her hand over his heart.

"I haven't… I don't let myself get close to people very much. Not like this, not just for comfort," she admitted quietly as Tom tucked the blanket around both of them. "It's nice to hold someone."

"Yes it is," he agreed, turning his head to breathe in her sweet scent. "Go to sleep, Rachel. I'll be here in the morning."