an. Guest review replies below:

Luna ahhhh you're too cute with your fav lines and chapters. You should make an account so we can waste time PM'ing about our fav Chandler tropes cause I think we're pretty darn aligned LOL.

Guest I thank you so much! I'm glad you liked all the different takes on how Danny & Miller being missing is pushing everyone to their end. Hopefully, this chapter does that all justice!

Guest II I always feel like it's the biggest compliment anytime someone says they wish I could have written something for the show. Thank you, and to your question about an AU where Tom and Sasha never broke up... short answer, yes. Yes, I would write the shit out of this because it's been something I've wanted to approach for a while!

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Friday, April 19th, 2019—0423 Hours

The first thing Sasha registered was darkness, the second that someone was in the room, and third, the oppressive ache over-torquing her bones.

"It's me."

He said nothing else, voice low as is spanned the distance between them. Nothing had changed then during her period of blissful ignorance, and as much as Sasha didn't want to unload on Tom, terrified that her grief was too much for him to shoulder, those two words sent it hurtling. Shock and anger had evaporated—stopped being an adequate inhibitor of the foundation beneath, and there was nothing left to protect her. The mattress depressed near her waist; curled with her back to the wall in a fetal position, facing outward toward the small settee. Tom's fingers started soothing by her temple, though she chose not to move or react physically.

There were words on the tip of her tongue.

Eugenio's family had died, and then he'd killed himself.

The amount of sense that made would scare Tom shitless if he knew. Precisely why he wouldn't. People had limits, and she was highly aware of his.

"He's right."

If the room hadn't been dead silent, Tom would have missed it. His fingers froze, the following syllables drenched in hesitation. Tension tight like a steel cable about to zing. "Who is?"

"Montano." She couldn't see, but his cheeks had hollowed. Cotton in his mouth while the apathy emanated from her in droves. "Taking that canal was no one else's idea but mine—"

"That's not true," he cut off. Quiet, but insistent.

"It is, Tom." Flat. Like she was recounting in tedium the steps of an uneventful day. "You were sitting right there with me when I thought of it. In my office—"

"Stop—"

"No." He was looking at her, could feel it, though the room stayed steeped in shadow preventing her from seeing his face. Just the silhouette of his body against the light leaking through the seams of the cabin door. "I didn't care when Oliver raised his concerns. I didn't think about what it would do if they found out we pushed Arias into power. I didn't listen to you when you tried to tell me you couldn't be here again. I don't think I even understood it—I was just so focused on trying to make everything go back to how it was… I never even stopped to consider that maybe it shouldn't."

"This isn't your fault, Sasha. We're not the bad guys here," Tom breathed.

"No? Eugenio didn't think so."

His entire frame stiffened, and his breathing became measured, artificial compared to its natural cadence.

"You can't tell me you disagree. I saw it, Tom. The way you looked at them… after… Guillermo. His wife. I guess it's better that he killed himself, right? So you didn't have to. Because he almost shot me, and you would have killed him for that—like you tried to kill Martinez—and then what would've happened? Would you have snapped again?"

"Sasha—" The word was patient and steady, and she didn't know how Tom could keep doing this. Keep finding more ways to deflect and keep going without losing control. "Nothing good will come of blaming yourself for this—"

Her scoff was soft but audible. The way her head shook despite the pillow reverberating up Tom's arm through the hand that still cradled it. "Says the man who believes every shitty thing that's happened since delivering that cure belongs to him?"

"Not everything," he whispered. "But enough."

She'd said too much, but the words wouldn't stop, something entwined within them, something more than chilling apathy. "And how are we supposed to live with that? Huh? It's not the same as it was before. We're not just following orders cooked up in an ivory tower, Tom! We make the decisions now!"

He shifted, leaning over Sasha to the extent that his injury would allow. The hand clutched around her head, persistent in trying to make her yield and turn. Trying to make her hear him. "By doing what we can to make it right."

"I don't think I even know what that is anymore."

"You do." The thumb resting against the curve of her cheek began stroking again. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be in this much pain."

Her next breath came shaky and fast, along with the wilted words. "They're dead." She finally turned, moving so her face was no longer half-buried but directed toward the ceiling, everything crumbling now. "Danny's dead."

Tom's free hand cupped the other cheek. "I know, baby." Her skin stung when she clung to his wrist. Had forgone the bandages offered by Captain Aguilar's medic. "I'm so sorry." He was wiping her tears, and that seemed just as futile to Sasha as everything else.

0630 Hours

"Admiral Chandler on the bridge."

Mike turned away from the sunrise, eyes dry with fatigue when he blinked. Twenty-eight hours and counting since he'd slept. At least Tom had come around fast after being pumped full of antibiotics and having that wound sutured and cleaned. Still a couple shades paler than he should be given the tan he'd acquired in Cuba. He was dressed in Digi's, no idea whose he'd borrowed, and stopped beside Mike in the center of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back.

"I came to relieve you."

That fatigue flared again, the image of a mattress forefront in Slattery's mind, even if said bed was little more than a recently vacated bunk on the senior officer's deck.

Mike inclined his chin a fraction, acknowledging the statement. "How's Coop?" He'd kept that quiet, for their ears only.

Chandler swept the pilot house, briefly acknowledging Gator when they crossed focus, and jerked his head toward the bridge wing. Once they'd stepped out, Mike received an answer.

"Blaming herself."

"For what?"

"Taking the Canal in the first place—" Mike had squinted and intended to respond, but Tom continued, gaze firm on the horizon though the tension in his neck was visible. "I'm grounding her."

Mike sat with that information for several seconds. Weighing it against the things he knew. "You don't think that'll make it worse?"

Tom swallowed, chin lowering toward the deck before squaring himself again. "She's not in a good place, Mike… and the last time I ignored that, she committed a war crime." He was no longer avoiding eye contact. The opposite, in fact.

Mike bobbed his head, expression melancholy. "You tell her that yet?"

Tom's lips bunched together when he shook his. "Wasn't the right time. Took me an hour to get her back to sleep." Mike was surprised that he'd chosen to disclose this much. Surprised, and worried, because Tom shared nothing without motive. He was done being open, though. His features set back into that over benign way when he changed the subject.

"When's the last time you checked on Kara?"

Kara. That was the second time he'd heard Tom refer to her informally. Wondered if it was because he was avoiding saying Green, or because he felt responsible. Likely both. "Few hours ago. Burks on the sofa. Didn't think she should be alone. Said she—" uncharacteristically, Mike struggled with finishing his statement. Tom turned, waiting with rapt attention. "He said she knows we're lookin' for a body."

Stillness filled the space. Chandler's gaze got lost somewhere on the sea again for several long moments.

"Fuentes is due at o-nine hundred. They were planning on catching a ride over with Brawler."

Tom acknowledged Mike's statement with a nod, still focused on the soft pink hues breaking the sky.

Amending his posture, Mike turned and stepped back through the outer hatch.

"Attention in the pilot house this is Admiral Slattery. Admiral Chandler has the ship."

1100 Hours

If only looks could incinerate. If they could, Tom would be ash right now and Montano thereafter. Grounded. 'CO's orders' she'd been told upon trying to retrieve gear. And of course, there was no time between commanding the James without an XO, meticulously keeping watch for that elusive Destroyer and Slattery catching sleep to air her very arduous grievances. It wasn't the place, nor time for their drama—he might think her crazy, but she could identity that. If they made it home, though, Sasha intended to lay it out straight.

"My intention was to recruit you," Montano said. His hands rested on the wardroom table; fingers interlaced while addressing Eduardo Fuentes. The Jamaican Prime Minister shifted in his seat, along with Captain Aguilar. Tom remained silent at the head of the table, observing with his left elbow leaned against the armrest.

"After securing an agreement with Jamaica, I would assist you in liberating Cuba, and then we would collaborate to remove Gustavo from power and assume control of his armies."

"And then come for us?" Tom asked, voice flat.

"No, Admiral. Camp X was designed not for invasion, but to convince two leaders of its importance. Gustavo considered it an essential asset toward his goal. As did you. In reality, it is neither."

Tom's nostrils depressed when he inhaled deeply, though he gave no other reaction. Not even a blink. "Well, you blew it early. I'm still here—and Gustavo didn't seem to get his RSVP."

Sasha's lip curled unpleasantly, and she took to watching tiny bubbles break the surface of her water glass. Studying next its slick exterior coated with a fine sheen of condensed particles.

"I did not blow the tunnels. That decision came from Salazar. When you launched your attack, he forfeited the Camp and every soldier within it—along with me. Gustavo believes I am expendable now, that the plans I redesigned upon my capture lead to victory."

"If not victory, then what?" Tom prompted.

"A stalemate."

Sasha wasn't able to stop her eyes from rolling. "I don't buy it." Every pair in the room settled on hers, though she held only Montano's. "How does such a brilliant strategist end up played by a janitor?"

Montano's grin was smug if knowing. "A person's skill in leading does not lie in strategy alone—your Admiral is a prime example of that. The people follow charisma, charm, force of will—" he leaned back in the chair, briefly turning his focus toward Chandler "—it is why he hates you so much. Because the people believe if you do."

Slow, and with her lips pursed, Sasha dragged her eyes across Tom's profile who remained impassive.

"I first heard Gustavo speak in his hometown of Rubi. A man of humble beginnings—" he dragged his gaze back to Sasha, who met it defiantly "—speaking of hope, belonging. Listening to Tavo was a revelation. He put words to the pain and the shame of the South American experience… all we'd been feeling for so long. The plans we made together were meant to liberate our nations. They were going to do great good—"

She quirked a brow. "Really?" Deadpan and cold. "Bombing a dock full of civilians is what you consider good?"

Didn't know how to take his apparent discomfort. "That was not part of my plan. The cyberattack was meant to limit your technology. It is a mistake to believe America's freedom stems only from the will of its people. Your technologies have divided the continents long before you or I walked this earth. Asturias did not believe in our vision of a United Latin America. He wanted to rule in the same manner as your leaders, with an iron fist gripped around resources that are not his to take… I only underestimated your team's skill in escaping from Panama."

The air got heavy in her lungs, and it was not the discussion, but Tom's subtle but noticeable shift from leaning to sitting straight which caused it. Montano had noticed, evidenced when he quickly switched gears.

"I did not plan, not condone your wife's execution, Admiral." He held Chandler's gaze in an intense exchange. "Believe me—I do not care for theater—and I did not deem it wise to give a man reason to commit his very being to revenge."

Sasha swallowed, eyes darting between both men while the entire table waited in the thrumming tension.

"I only intended for your team to answer for their crimes. My expectation was that they be prosecuted, but Gustavo is not wise. He is angry—petulant. He does not know how to trust or accept guidance from those who would steer him best… and anyone who fed into his paranoia fell victim. Soon it was no longer rebels that he slaughtered, but entire villages. Anyone who did not see the world his way. When he learned that she is your wife, he saw it as an opportunity to break your will—"

"So you're saying he changed?" Sasha asked, very much trying to continue steering away from the subject of that video broadcast.

"Or he finally stopped hiding his true intentions." Montano brought his gaze back, though Tom continued burning holes through his temple.

"And so you started planning your own revolution—while he was obsessed with destroying us."

Montano gave a single but deep nod.

She bounced her brows, the action anything but interested. Bored even. "Well here we are." Sarcastic in her tone. "Gustavo knows we have you, that Jamaica has joined the fight… he knows the Admiral's in Cuba—who's he got left to send?" She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table.

"There are Generals still loyal to him—"

She looked up when the door ripped open and Tom swung his chair around with a deep scowl, intent on obliterating whoever had violated his order to remain undisturbed.

It was Slattery, eyes still bleary, uniform thrown on. "They found something."

Mike walked the length of the deck topside toward the bow of Nathan James. The breeze was light, licking at his skin and breaking the humidity into what he considered to be a beautiful night. The sun had slipped beneath the horizon within the hour. The sky not pitch dark yet but growing deeper with every passing second. He made his footfalls known as he approached. Her previously hunched form stiffening, and a hand attempting to mask itself as merely tucking errant strands, but he knew better.

"Figured you'd be up in sick-bay celebratin' with everyone else."

Sasha bobbed her head, starting first in a nod before becoming a shake, and then she shrugged before fixing her gaze back out to sea and swallowing hard. He felt his shoulders sag a little, air escaping his lungs in a sigh when he rested both hands on the railing next to hers.

"I uh—owe you an apology."

Her head jerked left a fraction, cautious as she peered through her peripheral.

"I was angry… bout a lot of things. Not just about what happened, but Tom too, and I think I focused it all on you and Green… That was wrong. Should have talked to you—I'm sorry for that. Panama could have been any one of us, you know that, right?"

She'd turned her head back, eyes closed, with lips pursed to stop their trembling though still listening.

"When we were in Nicaragua, huntin' damn monkeys, of all things, there was this piece of shit scumbag, El Toro." The name still elicited a sour taste against his tongue. "Sent a man's teenage daughter across river to die with the infected—all because she asked for help."

Sasha opened her eyes, peering toward him again, the ship's lights glinting off the moisture.

"Then he takes her sister, young. Around Hannah's age—not much older than Ashley back then. Twelve, maybe thirteen... said he'd be keeping her in his tent with him. His companion, but we were free to go back to the ship with those monkeys—I couldn't live with it. Tom was willing to walk away, he was thinkin' bigger picture… but I couldn't. Made him turn around, Master Chief too. And the whole ride back to that camp, all I could think about was skinning that son of a bitch alive." He let that comment rest between them while Sasha quietly processed. In a self-deprecating way, Mike's lip quirked. "And that was before I had any idea how bad it really was out there."

Her vocal cords were strained when she murmured, "Why were you angry with Tom?"

"For being stupid enough to think alienating himself would solve his guilt. Specially when he walked away from you to do that."

She made a valiant effort to pretend she didn't hear the double-edged message, but Mike could tell his point had been made. "So, you wanna tell me why you're down here when Green's asked to see you no less than five times."

The soft laugh Sasha exhaled was watery and her chin dropped to the deck. Head hung while both braced hands supported her weight by the heel of her palms, to avoid the blisters. "Because I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Sasha whispered.

Mike bobbed his head, leaning closer and enacting a tone as though he were sharing a secret. "None of us do."

"And yet, not all of us needs to be grounded." It was bitter.

"Because he loves you, and you've had a rough few days. Not because he doesn't trust you."

Her tongue darted between her lips before she bit the bottom one, contemplating for several extended seconds before responding. "Yeah… well maybe he shouldn't. Maybe he's right." Sasha broke off, losing some of the stoicism in her features. "I was so sure about that Camp… about Cuba… I walked us right into a trap and now Miller's lost his legs—" the words were too constricted to continue, a few tears spilling down her cheeks that she wiped vigorously.

Mike reached out and rested his hand on top of hers. The action prompted her to turn her head toward him fully for the first time since he'd approached. "And he's up there right now with Burk, talkin' about that stupid documentary of his, and how he's gonna propose to that girl he met—"

"Courtney," Sasha finished for him, a small smile dimpling her cheek despite the tears.

"Yeah. Have to tell ya, I'm lookin' forward to meeting the girl who can put up with him." Relieved when he was able to elicit another laugh, if feeble.

"No one blames you—and I think you're forgetting if your gut hadn't kicked in on those tunnels, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all. You saved as many lives as you could. And we can still hope on the Doc and Toone—parently' miracles seem to be a thing around here."

He squeezed her hand while she took several steadying breaths. Her expression sincere and he was surprised by how emotional it made him when she spoke next. "I missed you."

Found he could do nothing more than offer a nod of agreement, squeezing the hand once more before letting go and stuffing his fists into his pockets. "Me too—" he started turning, pausing before he did "—you know where to find me."

Sasha watched him retreat toward the lower decks hatch.

By the time Sasha reached medical, it was past darken ship. The p-ways and rooms dimly lit, and their bridge completely dark as not to be targeted by that Destroyer. The Mexican fleet patrolled a tight perimeter around the bay, and last she'd heard, they were pulling the satellite systems from the one they'd skunked to retrofit into the James. Apparently, the code had sandboxed and repurposed one before taking the rest offline. It offered an answer for how their enemy was so easily out maneuvering them. She'd taken a shower, stitched enough pieces together as not to appear so shell-shocked, and even picked at some food before working up the courage to heed Danny's requests.

"Freakin' finally."

Sasha unfolded her arms as she stepped through the door, noting Kara must have recently vacated the chair beside his bed because it was still askew.

"Was starting to think you wanted me gone, Coop."

She sank into the seat, precedence heavy in her tone. "Don't even joke about that."

It seemed to sober him, and he became more serious. Through the connecting door, she could see Miller asleep on his bunk, Burk dozing beside it with his feet propped on the bed. She brought her focus back to Danny, looking over the wires and deep bruising marring most of his features. His left eye was almost completely swollen shut.

"You look like shit."

He smirked. "So do you."

Sasha chuckled softly, picking at her thumb nail, focused intensely upon it. "I'm sorry it took me a while. I was... I had to think. And after I did that, I realized I was wrong." She paused briefly before elaborating, "When I acted like I only need Tom."

He frowned over that, or as much as his injuries allowed.

"I need you too, Danny. You're my best friend." The words were breathed.

When he didn't respond, she looked up, fighting the lump because he seemed to be moved.

What he said surprised her, though.

"Does this mean we can get matching bracelets—or you think Chandler would lose his shit over that?"

It took a second for her mind to catch up, but once it had, she snorted. Loud and undignified and enough to rouse Burk, who jerked awake in the chair. Danny was grinning, but there was sincerity ringing behind the greenish-blue of his singular functioning eye.

"I told you Coop, you're family."

Sasha smiled softly. "I don't think Tom's who you need to worry about getting jealous…" she let it drag while Danny tried to unravel that comment, her grin spreading further under his confusion. "Rambo."

His head went deeper into the pillow. "Pretty sure if you get Brawler to agree to a date with him—he'll buy you a bracelet of his own."

The sound of steps behind her caused Sasha to turn, finding Kara approaching. They exchanged warm smiles, and Sasha stood. Kara was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, obviously intending to spend the night in medical.

Turning back toward the bed, she peered down at him, features soft. "I'm glad you're okay."

Her hand hung limp close to Danny's, and he reached over to squeeze her fingers. "Me too—and I'm glad I was wrong—about that whole avoiding me thing."

She rolled her eyes, releasing their fingers. "Goodnight, Danny."

Kara's expression lifted into something hopeful as she listened to their exchange. An air of disbelief still surrounding all of them, Sasha supposed. The whiplash of one emotional extreme to the other leaving them all a little off-kilter.

"Sasha—" she twisted back on her way to the door "—my Cabin's free if you don't feel like sleeping on a cot in the hanger bay. Sheets are fresh."

"Think I'll take you up on that—thank you."

"You're welcome. Fair warning, Admiral Chandler's using it too."

Ah. Kara's expression was subtle, if knowing, and it didn't surprise Sasha that her frosty exterior toward Tom had been picked up on. In times of hell, any distraction was welcomed fuel.

Sasha's blink was slow, and the quirk of her lip small. "Have a good night, guys."

She heard their echos of 'goodnight' while she rounded the door. The halls between sickbay and the officers' deck were mostly empty, her journey marked only by a few sporadic encounters with sailors who gave her authority over the p-ways. The light was dimmed when she entered, the door to the bed cabin left marginally ajar. She sighed, pulling the main one closed and toeing off her shoes before removing the fresh set of pants she'd found and shirt.

He wasn't asleep yet, could tell by his breathing, but he spoke first before she called him out, eyes opening and staring up at hers.

"I know you're upset with me… and I'm not saying you don't have a right to be, but I did it because I love you. And because I shouldn't have let you go to Panama when I knew you weren't okay." His gaze flittered up and down her features, everything about it trepidatious as much as sincere. "I'm sorry, Sasha... for a lot of things."

She held Tom's eyes for several seconds, some of the potent anger freeing its grip under the woeful way he was regarding her. Mindful that a week ago, she'd been willing to remove her own arm for the chance to see him again. Of the chasing panic that she might feel that again churning in her stomach. She swept the shelves, filled now with pictures of Frankie and Danny, Debbie too. Then over the nightstand which housed an iPod, Tom's meds, and her wedding band. The small gold circle caught the light spilling in from the desk lamp, and she picked it up. He'd been shot out of a plane, almost died, spent six days in Cuba, and somehow that ring had never fallen out of his breast pocket and been lost. Sasha had never been big into 'signs' or any kind of spirituality—but it still felt important. Important like the way she'd be driven to check the radio one last time in Asia.

Sasha pushed it onto her finger, twirling it absently while considering the newly formed scabs marring her upper palms before establishing eye contact again. "I love you too Tom… and I am only going to ask you this one more time."

The prominent bump in his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

"Will you please go and see Grantham with me when we get home?" She'd whispered it, and her entire neck was thumping to the beat of her heart while awaiting his answer.

"Okay."