an. Thanks for the reviews, one of the things I hated about Season 5 was the writers arbitrarily turned Tom into a dick for no reason *shrugs* so that's not a thing in my verse. Personally, I think people can struggle without being assholes, and I think Tom's struggle is that he refuses to let anyone help until he's at breaking point. A long-winded way of saying this will read as OOC compared to what was canon for the Tom portrayed on the show but that's what fanfic is for after all!

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Monday, January 7th, 2019—Florida Rental, Mayport, Florida

Sasha cursed under her breath as a box full of silverware toppled off the counter spilling across the tile floor with a harsh metallic clatter. In her haste, and with their new kitchen being unfamiliar to her muscle memory, she'd clipped it attempting to salvage her burning bread. Burning in a toaster oven that was apparently a little overpowered compared to their one back in Norfolk.

"Fuck." The shrill noise of the smoke detector pierced any semblance of peace that remained, and she pulled the blackened bread out, hissing when it burned the tips of her fingers.

Tom might have been concerned had he not smelled what was happening, nor recognized the sounds of Sasha attempting to kitchen, but he did, and so he rounded the corner casually. Reaching up to shut off the alarm while she threw the charred remains of her food in the trash.

"This is going well."

Sasha glared up at him. "Shut up."

Tom schooled his features into a small smirk, in part following her terse directive, and stepped forward to help her pick up though the mirth still shone in his features. When he placed the box back on the counter, in a more diplomatic turn, he spoke again. "Would you like me to make you some breakfast?"

Sasha sucked on her cheeks in an effort to remain unamused, but she'd never been able to withstand that particularly charming look he tended to give whenever he was teasing her.

"I know how to cook, Tom," she said, raising her brows at him.

"I can see that," he drawled without missing a beat, and his grin was spreading into a full-fledged smile. Tom reached for the coffee she'd made him, ring catching the china with a soft clink, and used his other hand to pull her closer. "Morning," he mumbled against her lips.

Sasha hummed in acknowledgment. "I'll get something at work, I need to go over the intel from Swain anyway, and we're kind of late. Reiss will want a briefing, you're sure you can't convince him to go back to St. Louis?"

Tom smiled again at dry pleading in her tone. "Tried and failed several times." Tom sipped and put the mug down again while she clutched at hers, resting herself against the counter. "You look pretty," he said. Been a while since he'd seen her dressed up in her suit, months actually.

Sasha wrinkled her nose. "Mmhm, you're cute." Deflecting.

Tom quirked his head. "And you can't take a compliment."

The phone in her pocket vibrated, interrupting her response, and killing the light banter. With a sigh, Sasha set down her drink so she could retrieve it. Checking the ID to make sure it wasn't that overzealous reporter.

"Mike," she acknowledged, phone clutched between her ear and shoulder while she picked up her coffee again.

"Think I've found something on the feed, you're gonna wanna see this."

Sasha straightened, and the last of Tom's softness evaporated from his features while he waited. "On my way, give me twenty." Sasha hung up and addressed him. "Found something on the video feed." She tilted her head and quirked a brow.

That was too good to turn up, and Tom quickly downed the rest of his brew in three large gulps, before putting the mug in the sink. "I'll drive."

"Right… here," Mike said, stopping the video playback. Sasha squinted and shifted closer, frowning somewhat. She glanced at Mike from her peripheral, gave an expression which asked him to elaborate. "I almost missed it too, but it's a different guy, same name tag."

Tom leaned closer too, comparing the two stills of the Janitor who cleaned overnight. It was hard to tell; they were a close physical match, and the cap hid most of the face, but the second guy was shorter by about two inches. Could tell by the signage in the corridor relative to his position, and the uniforms most definitely both read 'Reyes'.

Tom clapped Mike on the shoulder. "Outstanding."

A slow smile spread across Sasha's face. "Once a cop…" she started, trailing off because they all knew the saying.

Mike grinned back, an unmistakable look in his eye that communicated what they all knew. It was time to go hunt.

The war room bustled, dozens of khaki-clad personnel all milling about while they poured over seemingly endless mountains of paper. Contingent war plans for invading countries, hundreds of them all cooked up over the two hundred plus years of the Navy's existence. As Tom approached, the Master Chief and Vice CNO straightened as was customary, and Tom relieved them with a small nod of his head.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, coming to stand at the head of the table—eyes surveying the disarray of maps and Manila files upon the main console. "What are we looking at?" Tom asked, moving something to reveal a map of Jamaica. His eyes narrowed in question.

"Sir, we're cross-referencing the intel from the codebooks with everything we'd already gathered. Looks like Tavo's primary focus is four choke points in Cuba, as well as an asset in Jamaica. Analysts aren't sure who or what that asset is yet, but, we do know it's high value," Meylan answered.

"What about the satellites? Have we made any progress?" Tom rasped, rolling his wrist slightly until it cracked as he drew his arms folded against his chest.

Meylan made a regretful expression and shook his head. "No. Of the ones that weren't repurposed initially for global communications, there are only three left that we could get access to that weren't affected by the virus, and we're still trying to locate resources that can repurpose and encrypt them, Sir—it's gonna take months."

Tom's only reaction was a blink. "Guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way, huh?"

"Yes, Sir," Master Chief answered, producing a stack of files. "So far, I've compiled everything that could be relevant. Plans to invade Cuba and Mexico—cooked up during World War II." Jeter placed the files on top of the maps before his CNO.

"This could work," Tom affirmed, thumbing through the papers. "We may have had a breakthrough, with our other problem," he said under his breath and lower so they would be the only ones to hear, never drawing his focus from the plans before him. "I'll keep you both in the loop."

Tuesday, January 8th, USSSOUTHCOM Parking Garage—0200 hours

"This remind you of your days in Chicago?" Sasha asked, elbow leaning against the blackened SUV window. Her eyes were scanning the garage for any sign of movement, glanced at her watch to confirm that Reyes was due to be off soon.

Mike chuckled a little next to her. "Never thought I'd be sittin' in a parking lot on a stakeout again, but here we are—minus the donuts."

She didn't turn to him, but a small smile formed. "Ninety percent of my missions are spent sitting in a car, on a rooftop, or in the jungle on a stakeout—also sans donuts."

Mike quirked his head in a sarcastic manner. "Why exactly are you a spook again?"

Sasha scoffed and dropped her arm, adjusting herself in the seat to be more centralized. "I'm not—anymore." There was a clear implication in her tone, a hint of bitterness that surprised her, which Mike dissected with ease.

"Press is still hounding you then." It wasn't much of a question, and there was an air of empathy laced in with regret for how it had all gone down.

Sasha's response was non-verbal, a subtle inclination of her head as she put that elbow back and drew her right knee up to rest her foot on the leather seat beneath her. Absently, she drummed her fingers against the leg. It shouldn't really bother her, it's what she'd intended after all—to go public with Tom, just not so explosively, and not in such a way that they didn't control the narrative.

"Everything happens for a reason, right?" She sighed.

Mike didn't have an answer for that, because he couldn't think of a good reason for any of this, but he understood the need to verbalize it. However cliché. Sasha, like most of them, didn't do well with things beyond her control. "Right," he affirmed.

"I've been meaning to—" she broke off, deciding directness was the best option. "Tom told me about Andrea." Unsure why she should feel so nervous in discussing this with him when he'd seen it for himself on the James all those years ago.

"Oh, you guys talk? I thought you just screwed all the time," he fired back easily, using humor to avoid the sore topic. For a second, Sasha could only blink in shock before she snorted. Beside her, Mike flashed a shit-eating grin.

"Wow." He could hear the smile in her voice, still attempting to recover from her slight embarrassment when she added, "not the response I expected. But for what it's worth, we thought the snoring meant you were asleep."

Mike gave one brash laugh. "The snoring was to block it out!"

"Duly noted."

"You guys owe me new sheets. I can't look at those the same way anymore."

Without missing a beat, Sasha answered. "Particular color you'd like?"

Mike was still grinning wide. "White is fine."

Sasha schooled her features, but not before catching his eye and shaking her head at him in amusement before becoming more serious again. Glad that the dingy lighting of the parking lot hid the blush that colored her cheeks. She knew what he was doing, she'd been around him long enough to learn his tricks. "I'm here too. If you need to talk—Tom probably told you this already, but… I kind of have some… experience with that."

Mike sobered up and squinted a fraction. "He hinted—but only because he needed me to listen."

Sasha's face turned soft. "It's fine, you don't have to cover for him. I'm okay with you knowing. You saw how I was when he left—I know this is different to that. More. But I've been there too…" she paused to swallow, wet her bottom lip, an aura of sadness descending upon her. "I can't even count how many hours he spent just sitting with me, making sure I wasn't alone. It was days, and I just—I couldn't do anything. I couldn't respond." Mike was looking at her now, very intently. Listening to every word. "Just know that what you're doing helps. It matters, and when she's feeling up to it, you'll know."

Mike's response wasn't much more than a small grunt of acknowledgment because his throat was suddenly thick. Didn't trust himself to speak, not fully. After a few moments, he gave a curt nod. "Preciate that."

Her eyes scrunched in response, a tiny reciprocal motion and sad smile while she squeezed his arm in a comforting gesture. "Alright, I'm done. We can go back to our girl talk about my bedroom habits if you like."

Mike laughed, watery, and shook his head before clearing his throat and blinking away the distinct moisture. "No—no, I think I got the gist."

Sasha gave him a knowing soft sort of look, but there was still a heaviness in her expression. He thought to ask, but she started speaking before he could get there. Apparently, she had some things she needed to get off her chest too.

"I'm worried about him, Mike." Spoken quietly into the still air. "Ash said something during a fight that she really shouldn't have, and he's been quietly hating himself again ever since." She'd turned away, eyes scanning the parking lot instead for any signs of their target.

Mike frowned, as far as he was concerned, they had the picture-perfect family life, or as close to it as a post-plague family could be. "When was this?"

"In July, about Darien and not being there when she died." Sasha sighed. "She didn't mean it, but you know how he is, especially with that. And now with everything that just happened…" she trailed off and looked down. "I don't think the mission comes first anymore, and I don't know how to help him because I'm the problem this time."

Mike looked solemn as he stared at her profile, waiting patiently while she worked through her thoughts.

"I'm scared for what happens if the wrong person dies," she mumbled, fingers muffling her voice as they rested against her lips.

"You mean you?" Mike clarified, frowning.

There was a pause before she answered, a small and sharp exhale that was close to a soft scoff. "No." It was breathed, barely audible in the space between them. "The person he sends in my place because he's too scared to lose me." There was a darkness in her tone that he hadn't quite heard before, laden with regret. "He was gonna pick up that radio, he admitted it."

Mike's lips stretched across his teeth in a regretful grimace because he believed it. In the moment he'd thought it, waited for it to happen, and in the aftermath, he'd realized he couldn't fault Tom. After all the losses, everything they now knew, Mike wasn't sure he'd be able to choose differently if put in Tom's shoes. "Can you really blame him?"

Sasha worried her lip between her teeth and shook her head. "No. I can't. That's why it's so hard because I don't think I could choose to let him go either." The confession rested between them. "He means everything to me, Mike," the simple statement was quite profound coming from Sasha, not one to wax lyrical to other people about her feelings. "And every way I look at this, I can't find the answer." Her voice was tighter than usual, shoulders moving in a helpless shrug. "I just… I can't shake the feeling that I'm gonna lose him, and I don't mean dead."

A worried hand scrubbed down her face, a heavy exhale as she removed her leg from the seat and stretched it down again. "I can't undo it. I can't get him back across the line. I was selfish when I came back, I didn't hear it when he tried to tell me that he couldn't be in this position again. I don't think I even really understood it—but now we're at war and none of us can walk away, and he's incapable of being impartial with me, Mike. Something's gonna happen where he has to make a choice that he can't live with either way and I won't get him back when he does that."

Mike caught her expression when she looked up, brows set into a deeply guilt-ridden line.

"I kept telling myself he's just overcompensating because of Darien but it's not—it's me—I'm the problem. When we were in Kosovo, he got his whole team pinned for five days because he couldn't leave me and they wouldn't leave him—"

Mike interjected, seeing that this was going down a path of self-blame that wouldn't amount to anything of value. "He ever tell you about our talk after you guys rescued us from Takehaya?"

Sasha's lips quirked as an answer, prompting him to elaborate.

"I told him not to let his chance with you go because of the rules, and I'd gladly say the same thing again. The world is different now. There's no point in sacrificing if it isn't to live, or love, and be happy, and I don't think there's a single person who faults you guys for making that happen."

Sasha considered him, evidently touched by his words.

"Even Foster and Green—the whole crew stuck with em'—and they almost got us all killed in Gitmo," he quipped, quirking his brow and tipping his head toward the end of that sentiment.

She'd been about to respond, but movement caught in her peripheral, a figure emerging from the service door. "That's him," she uttered, any hint of emotion gone, and the conversation tabled.

Mike straightened, zeroing on their target who shuffled toward a beaten-up Sedan. They waited an appropriate amount of time before Mike started up and began their clandestine pursuit.

Sasha shouldn't have been surprised that Tom was awake when she slipped in around o-four hundred. He appeared to be very deeply engaged in watching whatever show was quietly re-running on the TV except there was that vacant distant expression. Something he did well at masking when he knew she was around, but he hadn't registered her arrival. She made work of removing her shoes, intending for the sound to be louder than usual so he'd know she was there. Didn't miss how he stiffened before figuring out it was just her.

By the time she reached the living room having discarded her jacket, Tom was already standing and pressing the remote. "Hey."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Yeah," he deflected. "You guys find anything?"

Sasha tilted her head left because that was a bald-faced lie. Could tell by his eyes that maybe he'd tried but hadn't been able to. "We have an address, I'm gonna run it tomorrow, but—he's our guy. Once we figure how he's connected and to whom, we'll have everything we need."

He'd reached out to curl a lock of hair before tucking it behind her ear. "Good," he acknowledged, but the look on his face showed he was only half-listening. Regarding her instead with the sort of reverence he usually reserved for when she was about to go on a mission or leave… or when he'd been stood at the ready tables in Asia unspokenly begging her not to get hurt.

The pad of his thumb passed over her cheekbone and he hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it tumbled from his lips anyway. "You're so beautiful."

Her lips parted as she inhaled, leaned into his hand but peered with a troubled expression. "Tom, what's going on?"

"Nothing." Everything. Every time I close my eyes, I see you dead. The thumb stroked, working back and forth in an attempt to soothe the worry from her face.

"Then why do I feel like you're saying goodbye to me every time we're together?"

"Maybe I just want you to know how much I love you," he countered, the vibrato of his voice warm.

Sasha narrowed her eyes, stepping forward until there was no more space between them. "I know you do," she assured him, "and I'm right here."

Saw the flicker pass over his features and knew that she'd hit the nerve. Assumed correctly in part what was plaguing him, though she had no idea what had triggered it tonight, and sighed. Tiptoeing to embrace him while he buried his face in her shoulder.