Thursday, February 28 th, 2019—USSOUTHCOM, Mayport, Florida

"Can you believe this shit?" Sasha flashed her phone to Kara, allowing her to read the near dissertation she'd received from Danny that morning. Effectively a tantrum about being left off the roster for the upcoming operation, reasons he felt she was being unreasonable for benching him.

Kara's eyes rolled clean into the back of her head as she read it. They were in commissary, sat at a table by the windows lamenting the pig-headed men in their lives. "Sadly, I can." She passed it back and took a sip of her soda. "He just wants to be out there, I'm sure once he's cooled down you'll see an apology."

Sasha glanced in a way that let Kara know she was ok with it, more so irked over the situation. Resentments biting back over the events that led them both to this point.

"You're not going either—"

"No," Sasha quickly confirmed. "I want to, I won't lie, but it's too hot. They need a low profile." Broke off for a beat with a natural lull and pushed some salad around her plate. "You know Tom actually tried to argue that it was less of a security risk for him to go on this opp than me?" Brows raising to communicate the incredulous indignation over that point.

Kara shot her a look. "That surprises you?" Not believing Sasha naïve as to forget the Admiral's propensity for behaving like 'a body with a gun'.

Pulling a face, Sasha leaned back in the plastic chair and folded her arms. "Well no—but I can't believe he thought Reiss would sign off on it. Or that I'd back him up." Her head quirked at the absurdity of the notion.

With a small incline of hers in question, Kara pressed for more details. "Why would he need to go anyway?"

"He thinks he can flip Montano. They met at conference pre-plague." Sasha shrugged. "Maybe he can, but—going out in the field when he's leading our entire military? That's insane. Even for Tom."

Tom let himself into Sasha's office and caught her mid-stride with the landline on speaker. As he hesitated in the threshold he shot her an apologetic look for failing to knock. Intending to come back later, he turned but she motioned for him to stay.

"Si. Agradecemos su voluntad de asociarse."

A male voice answered and Tom listened. Only catching a few words every so often, his Spanish limited to extremely basic at best.

"Tu tambien mi amigo." Sasha pressed the handset, ending the call.

Taking her time, she pursued Tom's stance, sheepish, or as close to it as Tom Chandler would get, before tilting her head in a way that communicated she had no interest in speaking first.

With an inhale, Tom bobbed his own in acceptance of her deservedly frosty reception. "I was out of line."

She lifted her chin in silent agreement.

"I'm sorry."

The ice thawed a little. Sasha unfolded her arms while her eyes trailed over him, deciding just as fast that there was little reason to hash it out. The unprompted apology evidence of his self-reflection. Instead, she changed the subject.

"Did you see the text from the kids?"

He pulled his cell, noting a dozen notifications in their family group message. Some kind of argument between Ashley and Sam over where they would spend Spring Break. It seemed Ashley made plans to be in St. Louis with Justin, and Sam wanted to come to Florida.

Tom groaned. "Great."

'Both of you stop. We'll talk about this tonight.'

Sasha saw his response light up the cell on her desk. Casually, she suggested, "We could invite Justin too?" The side-eyed steely look she received indicating exactly what Tom thought of that.

"Even better." Dripping with sarcasm.

Though she maintained a neutral expression, the hint of amusement showed. In a way, she found his continued discomfort over Ashley's boyfriend sweet. Tom wasn't overbearing. He'd been polite yet reserved on the few occasions they'd met—just protective. Clear on the boundaries in the wake of their unfortunate tangle of on and off again drama. A perfectly teenaged mess.

"Oh come on, they love each other again—it's cute. Plus, it would make her really happy, and everyone gets what they want. It's a reasonable solution."

Tom pouted while he brooded and squinted in response to Sasha's overly serene and endearing expression. A look she employed to exhort her will over him. A modicum of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "She already called you, didn't she?"

A non-communicative smile and tilt of Sasha's head served as her response.

Tom looked aside for a moment, internally begrudging how they so easily wrapped him around their conniving fingers. "Fine."

That smile became triumphant, pulling until it dimpled Sasha's cheeks.

"We're okay?" he clarified, undeterred from his original purpose. An action borne of the need to rectify his regretful decision to act like an asshole.

Sasha gave a languid blink before rounding the desk. There was a glint in her eye, subtle heat as she enticed him with a suggestive air. Tom's brow furrowed, peering down while she invaded his personal space and silently waited for him to submit.

Curiosity finally got the best of him. Tone warm rather than accusatory when he asked, "What are you doing?"

She gave him a coquettish grin. "Remembering."

Oh, he remembered alright. Visuals he needed to stop picturing or there'd be a problem leaving her office without letting things settle, so to speak.

"You're bad," he murmured against her lips. Caving for a moment and stepping closer until she was pressed firmly at his front. Familiar. Right.

"And you like it." Sasha ran a hand through his hair and deepened the kiss, enjoying this new phase where fights ended before they could start. Where resentments were let go before taking foothold or settling in. There was a profound peace in building a life together authentically, without the need to consider nor scrutinize the minuscule details in fear of being ousted. Ironic, in the sense that twice now, they'd spent their years together hiding from something. Be it the threat of ending both their careers or the threat of destroying hers. And now, for the first time in their cumulative history, they were almost normal. As normal as could be for two people in their particular circumstances. It felt different, and Sasha hadn't appreciated how much it would. Lighter. Good.

They weren't about to recreate the same wildness of their youth, not in the office at least, but there was a moment. A moment where things got carried away until the sound of Sasha's pens toppling broke the illusion.

Tom chuckled against her lips, breaking away to find her legs wrapped around his waist. "You did always like the desk." Pressed his mouth to hers again, but more chaste. It struck deeply that she didn't see him smile that way often enough anymore. Tom saw it, the reflective look in her eye, and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

His fingers traced the sharp line of her jaw. "What?"

How to explain without sounding like a hallmark card? "I like it when you smile like that." Delivered casually but communicative enough for Tom to read the subtext behind it.

He swept his gaze across her features again, boyish, every piece of that charisma he possessed shining through. "Noted."

Wednesday, March 13 th, 2019—Green Residence, Neptune Beach, Florida

"I'm getting sick of this shit," Danny said, throwing a tennis ball across his guest bedroom to Pablo, who caught it easily with one hand. The ball flew back, a little spin on it thanks to that baseball curl.

"That's what you get for being famous my friend—a desk job."

Danny hurled the ball back—hard—Pablo's lightning-fast reflexes the only reason it didn't land square in the face and shot him a distasteful look. "You really think people are gonna remember me? With gear and a helmet, I look like every other soldier."

Pablo shrugged. "Your wife seems to think so—and your boss."

"Coop just wants me to share in the misery." A little lingering bitterness in his tone while his lips puckered into a thin line. Knew it probably wasn't fair, but even he was human sometimes. Honestly, he was surprised she was dealing so well and maybe a little jealous, which was petty and wrong he knew, but it's how he felt. Like he was the only one who understood his perceived plight.

Pablo's credentials were in, security clearance granted, and he was currently packing up a duffel with the limited wardrobe he'd amassed for deployment. Generosity from his newfound crew that still gave him pause. Officially he was part of Cobra Team along with Burk, Azima, Miller, and the recently recommissioned Wolf. They were destined for Jamaica, intending to execute a good ol' snatch and grab.

"Thought you said you were getting out," Pablo reminded him.

Danny pushed his tongue behind his teeth. He had said that… but that was before. Before an entire war had broken out and he'd been forced to sit it out on the sidelines. A war he'd possibly started. Forced to stay home while his friends risked their lives. The response tasted sour on his tongue. "Yeah, well—it's a little different now."

Pablo zipped the duffel and shot his friend a cautionary glance. "Listen man—if I had what you had? I'd be more worried about staying home."

Danny's eyes cast downward, appropriately admonished and humbled for a moment, though the burn remained. Simmering in his frustrations and feelings of uselessness. The guilt. He was a SEAL, not some god-damn pretty boy to be paraded in his Dress Whites. A duty he'd come to despise over the recent months. Had his fair share of unsolicited bicep grabs and blatant solicitations that he could do little other than politely decline, sometimes while his wife looked on. Didn't know how Kara did it. Stayed so calm and patient when the whole country knew they were married at this point and people disrespected her like that.

"Plus," Pablo continued, "is this one really gonna be so bad? That dress Kara got looks hot… and Coop? Martinez wouldn't shut up about the one in Panama. Have to be honest, I kinda wish I could see it. Even with Chandler there."

Danny rolled his eyes. He had a point. The upcoming event was a little different from the high-teas and luncheons that plagued his schedule of late. They'd be attending as 'honored guests' of the President. Mr. and Mrs. Green. Got to ditch the uniforms for the night in exchange for being pictured supporting the cause. Still didn't understand how they'd become this hot celebrity couple overnight. "I thought you and Brawler were a thing?" he deflected instead.

"I can still look and appreciate the female form." There was a defensiveness. Expression calling his friend stupid for suggesting otherwise.

Danny shot him a sardonic suffering glance. "I don't need to look at anyone besides Kara."

Pablo grimaced. "Who are you and where did my wingman go?" Before breaking into a wide grin and approaching. He laid a hand on Danny's shoulder, slipping back into seriousness. "Don't sweat it. You'll be out there again when the time's right. Just enjoy your downtime and don't waste a hot date at Reiss' expense with your wife."

Friday, March 15 th —Epping Forest Yacht Club, Jacksonville, Florida

Danny stood dutifully at a white linen-clad table observing his surroundings. It was a beautiful setup, no doubt. Sprawled out in the expansive gardens overlooking St. John's River. Found it odd, though. Thought the whole point was to raise money, yet given the level of extravagance, the impressive guest list made up of senators, foreign dignitaries, and wealthy benefactors—no expense had been spared. A large marquee structure adorned with sheer curtains spread below the mansion's rear steps. Open canopied and hung with string lights gleaming in the beginnings of sunset. There was tasteful music, played by a String Quartet, the sounds floating throughout the gardens from the rear patio. He'd made it down to the lower elevation, gave polite smiles, and shook hands with those that approached. And now he finally had a moment to himself, mind wandering and longing for the distinctive smell of gunpowder. Metal. Adrenaline. War. The tactile nature of mechanical perfection under his fingers over the flimsy, fragile stem of a Martini glass.

Admiral Chandler was there, playing his part to perfection in an official capacity, unable to skip out on this one. Slattery, Meylan, and Master Chief too. Absently wondered who the hell was monitoring command if they were all here while Cobra Team was on the frontlines. Sasha was late. Maybe that was why… hoped the team was ok. And where the hell was Kara? What was delaying her? Glanced at the ridiculously expensive watch the Admiral given him for the night—gifted by a General as thanks for bringing the cure. If he was going to play the part, may as well look it too, Chandler had informed after dropping the box on his desk that morning. Details. Danny had the sneaking suspicion Coop was behind this one. This type of affair was her forte after all. Slipped just as easily into a political ego-fest in heels as she did the jungles of South America with an M4.

Goddamn spooks.

A floating server passed. Danny grabbed another appetizer from the tray, some kind of Crostini drizzled with balsamic and tomatoes. Wasn't a big fan but needed something to distract. Admiral Chandler sauntered over, joining his lonely table, and Green straightened reflexively.

There was a knowing gleam, perhaps a hint of enjoyment on the CNO's part. "At least act like you're enjoying it."

Danny shifted on his feet, expression becoming somewhat sheepish. The Admiral's tone was light, choosing to err on the side of humor rather than reprimand, but the subtle correction was noted. "Sorry, Sir. Just thinking about the team."

Tom's acknowledgment was non-verbal, a knowing clamp of lips and small nod. He'd been about to respond that as of two hours ago, everything was going as planned. His mouth had even opened to deliver the update, but movement caught in his peripheral. People were turning heads, he followed the distraction until he found the source.

Sasha.

Descending the stairs gracefully, one hand lifting the hem of her dress and the other lightly gripping the stone banister. Vibrant red, slim fit, high-necked, and sleeveless, hugging all the right places with a sweeping train that pooled and tumbled like water on the steps. She scanned the crowd, a small smile playing at equally red lips when she found them.

Danny's brow barely lifted, attempting to hide his bemusement over the Admiral's reaction. Rare to see their CNO speechless or anything but discreet—barring a life-or-death situation—about his feelings. But Danny had the distinct thought that Chandler looked exactly how he'd felt seeing Kara walk down their makeshift aisle. Had to admit, Cooper looked great—still no Kara though.

When she reached their table, Sasha placed a light kiss on Tom's cheek, careful not to transfer her lipstick. The reason she'd gone for a matte finish and not glossy, details. He recovered enough to place a hand in the small of her back, finding bare skin and realizing her dress was backless. That discovery very much leaving him struggling for thought, and he felt it prudent to tell her how stunning she was but couldn't find words that fit or didn't feel like a canned, expected response.

Sasha gave a knowing look and turned her attention to Danny. "Kara says she'll be here in ten—something got flagged last minute on repairs."

"Figures." Danny twirled the stem of his glass absently just as Mike joined the table.

Sasha's expression subtly faltered, a reaction Tom witnessed because he'd still been unashamedly staring, trying to remember the last time she'd worn her hair like this. It was enough to break his focus, and he turned slow, cautious eyes toward Slattery.

Mike shifted his own gaze lighting quick to Tom's before snapping back to Sasha. "You look beautiful," he offered with a small head nod.

Her response was polite but reserved. Automatic. "Thank you."

Tom's hand at her waist tightened while he scrutinized the frosty response, unaware that they hadn't spoken a word to each other since he'd laid down the law regarding Panama.

Green sipped his drink, peering between the three. Had the sinking suspicion this involved him in some way because Sasha had that look on her face. After contemplating it for a moment, Danny quickly realized what was going on.

Fuck.

Slattery knew. Green hadn't been in the room when Martinez placed him at the camp too, kept guard just outside—had no idea anything was wrong until both Admiral's burst from the observation room, and Sasha had not disclosed what Martinez had said. Danny tried to quell the surmounting fear, but it was there, like an alarm bell steadily growing louder, and where moments before he'd been lamenting Kara's late arrival, he was acutely grateful she wasn't here.

"Ah, Admiral Chandler."

They all redirected attention at the sound of the President's voice who approached with the Jamaican Prime Minister. Sasha easily slipped into character again, affixing a perfectly serene expression and turning to face their guests.

Tom extended his hand.

"Admiral, what an honor to meet you."

Sasha wondered if Tom was tired of hearing that by now. His response was the same as it always was. A humble tightening of features, a simple nod. A canned pleasantry, this time with gratitude.

"Thank you for making the trip." Tom turned his body a little, "My wife."

The Minister took her hand, the one she'd extended very delicately with a big flashing smile. Details. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine. "The minister laid his other on top of hers and lingered for a moment. "Forgive me, I must steal your husband."

With faux docility, she answered earnestly, "Of course." Having expected nothing less. She was there to be seen and not heard. Not tonight, at least. Reiss was churning PR like never before, and while Sasha was not fond, she had to admit it was working. The country was united and mobilized, doubts about her past put to rest. Ironically adored in the wake of that article, and Sasha hated it. Hated that suddenly she was liked because people felt sorry for her. Only played along for posterities' sake. Tom's fingers brushed the dip of her spine and he shot her a tender glance before attending to his duties.

When she turned back to the table, Sasha caught Danny's expression. Tight enough to know he'd figured it out, so she wasn't surprised when he offered an excuse and bailed. "I'm gonna head to the front and meet Kara."

Finding herself standing alone with Mike, she placed her clutch on the table, taking a moment to brace herself.

He peered at her regretfully. In no way had he intended to let resentment linger for so long. Instead, it had crept up and festered in the wake of taking over repairs on the Michener. How he saw that dock every day and spent every night supporting Andrea while she ran the gauntlet of recovery. How he lived through every tear, every out-pouring of grief, every moment of uncertainty and hopelessness as she re-learned to walk. It wasn't fair, and in his heart he'd reconciled that he didn't blame them. Danny nor Sasha. It just hurt. Never been great at tough conversations, especially not ones that involved his emotions, and so the days had stretched into weeks. Weeks into months…

Sasha wet her lip, avoiding eye contact. Watched instead the sizeable crowd of guests milling about the gardens and cocktail tables before beginning quietly. "When I went to wipe the footage that day, it was already gone. Tom said he did it but..." her mouth twitched, and she found the courage to look at him. "I think he lied."

Mike nodded almost imperceptibly.

Shame burned hot behind her eyes. "I'm guessing you and he had a conversation?"

"We did."

Cautiously, quietly, with fingers worrying at the clasp on her purse, Sasha asked the million-dollar question. The one that had been plaguing her steadily, and especially when he'd been the only one not to reach out in the wake of that article. "Is that why you haven't spoken to me for two months?"

Mike gave a heavy sigh, accepting that he needed to come clean. "Look I don't blame you—I just—It's a lot to process. With Andrea."

She worked her jaw, staring now at a napkin on the table. Andrea. It cut like a barb—he held her responsible and in her mind, he was right. No matter how many times Tom tried to convince her otherwise. Nor how vehemently he insisted that the rebels had always intended to attack the States after securing the canal. Then and now. That she'd merely delayed an attack that was inevitable, and she knew why Tom chose to live and die on that hill. He loved her and was terrified of losing her to guilt again. Something she found hard to fault him for. Tom had always been simple and transparent in that regard, all he'd ever wanted was for her to be ok and he invested everything within his power to ensure it.

Either way, her actions had consequences. And to Hector Martinez, they were real. Had inspired hate in the minds and hearts of an unknown number of soldiers aligned against them now. The facts were irrefutable, and she was fully aware of her part. Her features were twisted when she looked up again, and Mike was taken aback by the outright display of such potent emotion from her. Used to the usual attempts and successes in suppressing or hiding that with a practiced exterior.

"I'm so sorry—I know it doesn't…" She bit on the inside of a cheek, nostrils flared for long, dragging seconds as she stared at him. "I'm sorry, Mike."

He nodded softly. His own brow furrowed in conflict. Heart heavy and burdened, stuck between competing loyalties and muddled confusion. This wasn't about punishing her though, he hoped she could see that. And he missed her. "Me too."

There was a finality to that statement that had a lump swelling painfully in her throat. Stalled at what felt like an impasse. Nothing she could do to take it back, she knew that. This was another consequence of her choices and the hurt she had caused. Sasha gave him a tight smile, eyes round and sad. Her hands beginning to shake.

"I need to check in on the team."

Mike tightened his mouth, moving his head down in a small sharp motion. Caught in his conflict as he watched her hasty retreat up that staircase and toward the Mansion.

On the upper patio, Tom stood engaged with arguably their most important guest. Jamaica was currently neutral, a stance which at a minimum needed to stay that way. Better still if the US could draw them into the alliance with Mexico. An objective upon which he and Reiss completely agreed. Tom may despise the pomp, but in this case, it was invaluable. Still, his ever-knowing eyes hadn't been capable of ignoring the red. Nor the affliction of his wife as she went inside, and he fought the need to excuse himself. Trying hard to put out the spark of ire over who he believed responsible for that.