Chapter 5: I Am The Fire

December 1st, 2013 - 0330 (3:30 am)

That night, despite being able to sleep in Tom's arms again, was worse than the previous.

Rachel was sure that it was because she had been so exhausted the night before; her body had been unable to do anything except sleep. But tonight, she struggled to fall asleep, and then once she had, neither she or the Captain slept soundly.

The third time she woke up screaming, she turned her body toward the wall, curling into a ball and crying out in frustration. Why couldn't she sleep? Why was she so OK during the day, and then when she tried to sleep, her body and brain betrayed her? Why was she so weak?

She heard rustling from the other side of the bed, and then felt Tom's arm wrap around her waist, his large hand splayed across her stomach. He pulled her against his body. She didn't fight him, but she curled herself tighter, her forehead pressing against her knees, as she wept.

"It's OK, Rachel," he whispered, his other hand rubbing her back. "Let it out."

"I-I... I'm sorry," she gasped out between sobs. It was hard to breathe, and her chest hurt.

Why did her chest hurt so much?

"Sweetheart, you're having a panic attack," Tom said, his voice soft and low in her ear. "Feel me breathing against your back? Breathe with me. My hand is on your stomach. Make it move. Breathe in deep, come on, you can do it," he coaxed her.

She tried. She tried to focus, to breathe in, but it was hard. She took a quick breath; Tom noticed.

"That was good. Try again, deeper this time."

She did; it wasn't much deeper, but it did deliver some oxygen to her brain. It loosened the tight ball of pressure in her chest a little. It was a good feeling. It made everything hurt a little less, made the fuzziness start to go away.

"Keep going, keep breathing," he said, his hand never leaving her back. His breath puffed out against her ear, warm and moist.

She shuddered and took another breath in, and then another.

When she was finally able to breathe normally again, she turned around and shoved her face into Tom's chest so that he couldn't see the tear tracks running down her cheeks.

"There you are," he said, his deep, rumbling voice comforting. "Hey, Rachel."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"'s OK," he mumbled tiredly. The hand on her back moved up to run through her hair. She relaxed into the feeling, her body melting into his.

The room was dark and comfortable, and she could feel her eyes start to close again. She didn't want them to. She didn't want to fall asleep yet, only to wake up in a panic again.

"Tom," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," he said, and while she didn't necessarily have the energy to argue, she felt that this was important.

"Yes I do. You have gone... way above the call of duty. What you've done for me... I can't thank you enough. You don't see anyone else lining up to let me sleep in their bed so I don't have nightmares. ... not that it's working tonight, anyway."

"Tex would probably jump at the chance," he mumbled, grinning.

Rachel scoffed. "He's a huge flirt."

"He means it."

"Yes, well," Rachel said, blushing in the darkness. She liked Tex, admired him, but ... as a friend. A close friend, someone she could trust. But she didn't like him like that.

"Rachel," Tom started, and the hand that was running fingers through her hair paused, his thumb moving to brush her cheek. "I should probably tell you something. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You won't," she promised.

"I might, but I want to make sure that there are no misunderstandings between us."

He knew that, if he wasn't sleep deprived, he might not be so easily able to mutter what was on his mind. What had been on his mind for a while now.

"I care about you. As... " he paused, summoning the courage to continue. "As more than a friend. I don't expect anything, God knows I'm still figuring my own shit out and am still grieving for Darian. I don't even need you to say anything, I just needed you to know because you said you feel safe with me. It would ruin me if you thought I was just doing this for you so that I could get something out of it. I'm not, I just want you to feel safe and to be able to sleep. I swear I don't have any ulterior motives."

Rachel froze against his chest, one hand tucked between them, and the other laying over his heart. She didn't speak for several moments, though she could feel the pulse beneath her palm quicken.

"I'm sorry. Do you need me to go to the couch?" he asked, beginning to move himself away from her. She grasped the material of his shirt in her fist, shaking her head quickly, to stop him from moving.

"No. No, sorry, please don't leave. It's not a bad silence. I just... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Tom whispered, breathing out a sigh of relief as he let himself relax again. It didn't matter if she didn't feel the same, now or ever, as long as he hadn't broken her trust or scared her away. "You are important to me, and I think I'm falling for you. That doesn't come with any expectations or requirements. I just wanted you to know."

"I've already fallen for you," she whispered, her eyes darting up to meet his in the darkness. She couldn't see much, but she could see his lips turn up in a small smile.

"No expectations," he repeated. "Not now, not ever. But maybe it'll help you make sense of why I want to do these things for you, to take care of you. It's not a sense of duty, it's not because I feel guilty. It's because it's you."

"'k," she whispered, her hand unclenching from where she had been holding his shirt so tightly. "Maybe one day, when we're both ready, we can have this conversation again."

"I'd like that."

"Me, too," she said, and then moved the hand that was between them to take his larger hand into her own. She entwined their fingers, and rested their hands on her chest.

Tom smiled into the darkness. "Let's try and get some more sleep," he suggested.

"I might wake up again," she cautioned him warily.

"I'll be here if you to."

She nodded and rested her head on his chest, her ear where her hand had been, listening to the thump-thump-thump of his heart and letting herself be lulled to sleep by the comforting rise and fall of his chest.

December 1st, 2013 - 0500 (5:00 am)

Early the next morning, Tom and Rachel couldn't stop grinning at each other, despite the exhaustion lingering around both of their eyes. They hadn't managed to sleep for more than an hour at a time since they'd first laid down, but each time she woke up, he had been there to offer comforting words and to hold her while she cried.

"I have to go meet Quincy in the lab," she said, after helping him tuck the blankets of his bed back in place. She watched him straighten the pillows, and hoped fervently that she would be able to come back here to rest when the trials were over.

"I know. You have to choose volunteers," Tom said, handing her the bag he had packed for her. She had taken it to her quarters the night before and had added some more clothing for this morning.

"I don't know how we're going to choose. How are you supposed to pick the people that you might have to watch die?"

Tom reached out to squeeze her hand once, encouragingly.

"You do what you have always done. Apply reason and rational thinking. You choose the people who best fit your criteria, regardless of who they end up being."

Rachel nodded, smiling. "When did you get so smart?"

Tom shrugged as he tucked in his t-shirt and pulled on his navy issues jacket. He buttoned each button carefully, tugging on the bottom when he was finished to make sure it sat correctly.

"Have to be, or they wouldn't let me be the boss. Now, I know if I let you go to the lab before breakfast you won't eat. Tell me what you want and I'll bring it to you." He could tell she was gearing up for an argument, to tell him that she wasn't hungry, and he quickly added, "Not optional. You barely ate last night - no, tea and chips to not count - and you'll not be any use to anyone if you collapse during the trials."

She knew he was right, but it didn't calm the feeling in her stomach as she thought of food.

"Will tea and a muffin make you happy?" She compromised.

Tom smiled. "It's a start. I will also be making you eat lunch, because once the trials start I have a feeling that you will be skipping more meals than you eat."

"I can live with that," she said, and cast him one final smile before making her way to the bathroom to get changed for the day.

December 1st, 2013 - 1800 (6:00 pm)

"Now we wait."

While Tom had never been a particularly patient person before, he had a feeling that today was going to test his limits. The six subjects - Maya Gibson, Lieutenant Miller, Kara Foster, Tex, Andrea Garnett, and Russ Jeter - had been injected both with the prototype vaccine, as well as the virus. They were resting comfortably inside the plastic lab, while Doc Rios, Dr. Tophet, and Dr. Scott rotated through them, taking vitals and watching their progress.

Tom waited outside the lab with Mike. They were both here for the duration of the test, for support and for morale.

"Think it'll work?" Mike asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the doctors begin to insert IVs for medication and hydration in case it became necessary.

"I pray it does," Tom answered. He didn't know what he would do if it didn't. He didn't know what Rachel would do if it didn't. He knew that, because of what had happened, that she was emotionally fragile right now. Losing six subjects, six friends, would likely be more than she could bare.

Both men turned their heads as a rustling noise from the lab caught their attention. Dr. Scott and Dr. Tophet had just exited the decontamination chamber.

"Any news?" Tom asked, though he knew it was likely too soon to know much.

"Not yet," Rachel said, running her fingers through her hair. It was sticking up in several places, staticky from the removal of her bio-hazard suit. "Tex, Kara, and Lt. Miller are all running low grade fevers, but that's to be expected at this point as their bodies develop antibodies to the virus."

Tom nodded, and then took a step toward Rachel as she began to move to her desk in the corner of the lab.

"What would you like for dinner?" He asked, following her back to her table.

She sighed, but offered him a small, tired smile.

"I could try tea and something light. Maybe soup?"

Tom nodded, but made no move to leave just yet.

"I'm worried about you," he said plainly. "You only ate half of your muffin at breakfast, skipped lunch, and ate almost nothing yesterday. Rachel, you can't keep this up."

She absently brushed some hair behind her ear and fiddled with some papers on her desk. Tom was having exactly none of her avoidance tactics.

"Tell me what's wrong," he begged. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he new he couldn't. Not right now, in front of everyone, while they were working. He had to maintain some boundaries, after all.

Rachel bit her lip. "I don't know. I just know that the thought of food makes my stomach churn right now. I feel nauseated every time I even think about eating."

Tom didn't like her answer at all, but wasn't sure what he could say or do to help at this point. There wasn't anything physically wrong with her that was keeping her from eating, he knew. And he hadn't expected food avoidance to be a lingering effect of the trauma she had been subjected to. Maybe he should talk to Rios, see if he had any insights or ideas.

"All right," he acquiesced. "Tea and soup it is. For now. But, Rachel?"

"Mm?"

"Promise me you'll try to eat more regularly," he implored her. "Please?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes, and could see the worry there. He was concerned about her, she knew, and she felt terrible that she was adding on to that. But she truly didn't know why the thought of eating made her sick. She'd managed a few bites at breakfast, because he'd asked, but the muffin had sat in her stomach like a heavy weight. She had wanted to throw up, to get rid of the sickly feelings plaguing her, but she had managed to keep it down.

"I'll try," she relented.

"Thank you," Tom said, and he reached out to briefly grasp her arm, squeezing it encouragingly. "I'll be right back."

Rachel nodded, and Tom turned to start his journey. He nodded to Mike on the way out; his XO gave him a knowing grin, which he ignored, instead opting to walk over to where Dr. Tophet and Doc Rios were standing.

"I'm grabbing dinner. Any requests?" he asked the two men. Quincy, still nervous around the commander despite their delicate truce, shook his head. Tom made a note to grab him some soup or a sandwich, anyway. He might still have lingering hostility toward the man, but he wouldn't let him starve.

"Doc?" he questioned, turning his attention to Rios. Quincy took this opportunity to sneak way, wanting to be further away from the intimidating commander. Tom saw this as his chance, and took it. "I'm grabbing Dr. Scott come soup. Not that I'm sure she'll eat it. She hasn't been eating, says it makes her feel sick. Any thoughts on why that might be?"

Doc Rios looked contemplative for a moment. Then he nodded once, and sighed. "Often trauma victims exhibit symptoms of eating disorders, either excessive eating, or not eating at all. Research isn't clear why, but I would posit that Dr. Scott is battling a lot of anxiety right now. Anxiety can lead to upset stomach, loss of appetite, and weight loss. I wouldn't be too concerned yet, but if it continues, please do let me know."

Tom nodded, a little relieved to have an answer that wasn't a worst case scenario.

"I will, Doc. Promise. In the meantime, can I grab you anything for dinner?"

"Yes, thank you. Just whatever they're serving. I'm not picky. Thank you, commander."

"You're welcome," Tom said, and then cast a final glance around the helo bay and the makeshift lab before leaving to find dinner for his scientists.

December 2nd, 2013 - 0820 (8:20 am)

"Kara's fever is higher than I would like it to be," Dr. Scott reported several hours later, once again emerging from the decontamination unit. "103 and rising steadily. We've given IV acetaminophen to try and reduce her fever. If it gets above 104, she'll be in danger of seizing."

Mike was quick to ask the question that was on everyone's minds.

"Is it the virus?"

"I don't believe so. I truly believe that she is reacting to the vaccine, and will continue to treat it that way unless something changes. I-"

Rachel was quickly cut off by the sound of Rios yelling from within the lab.

"Dr. Scott, she's seizing! And, ah shit, she tore out her IV!"

"Oh, bollocks," Rachel cursed, and quickly turned around to put her bio-hazard suit back on, shouting commands the whole way. "Quincy, give intramuscular Valium, and start a new line, now!"

While Rachel frantically readied herself to re-enter the quarantined bio-hazard lab, Tom and Mike stared on in terror. Was this it? Was it the beginning of the end? Had the vaccine failed; were they going to have to watch their friends die, one by one?

"Seizure is approaching the 3 minute mark!" Quincy called out as Rachel fastened her helmet on and bolted into the chamber. "She's febrile to 104!"

"How's that line coming, Doc?" Rachel inquired as she ran to Kara's bedside. She dropped to her knees next to the cot. "Give me some room," she demanded, pulling the cot away from the wall to have more room to work.

"Working on it," Quincy said, trying to reinsert the IV needle into Kara's arm where it had come loose during her seizure.

"Well work faster or give it IM, the Valium isn't working."

"I'm in!" Quincy called triumphantly as he taped down the IV, his hands on either side of the needle so she couldn't pull it free again.

"60 milligrams Ketorolac, IV push," Rachel ordered.

"Seizure is 3 minutes, 30 seconds," Rios updated them, as he kept a close eye on her vitals. "Pulse ox down to 82%."

"We've got to lower her core temperature," Rachel said frantically as she took a new temperature - 104.6. "I need ice! Quincy, get me an NG tube."

"Approaching 4 minutes!" Quincy announced, as she inserted the NG feeding tube into Kara's slack mouth.

She was just about to turn around to see about getting some ice when Quincy held out a full bucket to her.

How did he...?

She spared a brief moment to wonder how in the hell Quincy had gotten the ice so fast. Suiting up and getting into the lab was quick, relatively speaking. Decontaminating, getting the ice, and then getting back in should have taken much longer. 4 minutes, minimum, for the decontamination process, if they didn't want to expose anyone outside the lab to what was happening inside.

"Temp is 104.8, Doctor!" Rios called frantically, and Rachel snapped back into action.

"Pour the water over the ice and bring it here," she commanded Quincy, shoving the ice back into his hands.

He did, and then handed the jug of ice cold water back to her. She immediately plunged a syringe into the water, sucking up as much of the life saving liquid as she could, before inserting the end of the syringe into the NG tube and depressing it quickly, hoping the icy water would be able to bring Kara's temperature down to a reasonable level.

They all waited with baited breath as Rios took a new set of vitals.

"Temperature is 103... 102 and dropping."

Rachel dropped back to sit on the cot behind Kara's, breathing a sigh of relief. She was panting, her heart beating out of her chest.

"Everything's all right. It was just the fever," she assured everyone as Kara's eyes slowly begin to open.

The room was silent, and it was then that Rachel realized that something was terribly wrong.

"Quincy," she inquired cautiously. "How did you get the ice to me so quickly?"

Quincy shifted from foot to foot, not wanting to answer her. He bit his lip, and then cocked his head toward the door of the lab.

Standing there - on the entirely wrong side of the plastic that was containing the deadly virus - was Captain Tom Chandler.

He offered her a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. He knew what he had done, what the consequences would be.

"Looks like I'm volunteering after all, Doc," he said, and Rachel felt her heart plummet.

Oh God, no, please no!

But pleading with a higher power was pointless.

He had already been exposed.