an. Hope those who celebrate thanksgiving had a good holiday! I went a bit crazy with the Christmas decorating and my back isn't thanking me for it. Anywho, thanks again for the reviews, and sticking with this. It will be a year on the 10th since I published the first chapter, can't believe how time flies.

Luna: I was so excited to read your comment, total agreementon all your points, though with this next Chapter I'm interesting to see what you think! Don't want to spoil so I will leave it there. I'm trying so hard not to draft any scenes for that AU the other guest suggested because I want to tie up these stories first, but I already have so many ideas. *facepalm* and I need to put something together for the holiday fic fest on Dec 22nd! If you have any requests let me know! I think I can handle a couple.

Guest: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the turn of last chapter, I have to say for a while I considered actually killing Danny & Miller but I felt that would be too depressing for an already pretty depressing story. And you're right, ultimately my interest lies in the relationships and how they're all supposed to deal with the world around them. I wish the show had explored that more.

.

.

Sunday, April 21st, 2019—USS Nathan James, 30 NM Offshore, Cayo Frances, Cuban Straits

"POTUS wants us back in Florida. Well, Tom, Mike and Montano, at least."

Danny turned the good side of his face toward the chair, occupied more than it was left vacant by either Kara, Pablo, or Sasha. "That's nice. What's the actual plan?"

Sasha smirked. "Un-officially, we're trying to get Armando and his guys into Rubi for some recon. Montano gave us what he could, but Gustavo upped his defenses. They're trying to make it across the border on foot."

"Cut the head off the snake?"

Sasha nodded once. "We'll need to find the Generals too, especially Salazar. Montano thinks if we don't, he'll just assume control of the armies and continue the agenda from there."

Danny shifted in the bed, pushing himself higher on the pillows and leaning on his left cheek rather than right. "How many are we talking about?"

"Six." Sasha made eye contact with him before she continued. "All spread out across South America. All paranoid and ready to go underground the second they think we're coming for them."

An awkward silence descended between them. A silence that Danny recognized where Sasha avoided direct eye contact in favor of picking at her nails. "What?"

When she spoke next, her tone was muted, and she'd glanced beyond his bed into the adjacent room housing Miller. "You need to tell Kara about Panama." His jaw tensed, and before he could protest, Sasha continued. "Montano knows… it's only a matter of time—"

"I know," Danny cut her off, expression resigned.

A deep crease formed between her brows.

"The Admiral stopped by."

Quirking her head, Sasha blinked. "Tom?" Montano's statements in Cuba had not come up in discussion between them. Nor had Tom disclosed that he understood this was now teetering beyond his scope of influence. Danny confirmed nonverbally, prompting Sasha to dig. "Did he say anything else?"

"Glad you're alive. Never agree to kill my wife again, and I should tell Kara before she hears it from someone else."

Though he'd rattled it off casually, Sasha still went stiff and then straightened, mouth parting as if to protest but stopping when Danny peered at her.

"Considering this is Chandler we're talking about, I'll take it. I was expecting him to hand me my ass. Or at least throw the book."

"You really think I'd let him when it was my idea in the first place?"

"Does he know that yet?"

"Not exactly—but he grounded me."

"He grounded you?"

The look Sasha threw his way was long suffering. "Don't change the subject. I don't know why you're still keeping this from her—"

His heavy sigh interrupted Sasha, and he turned toward the ceiling, studying the intricate pipework supplying air, lubricants, and fuel throughout the Nathan James. "I don't… have a reason."

"Exactly. So tell her."

"She's gonna be pissed—"

"With good reason." Her damn brow was lifted, and it distinctly reminded Danny of being scolded by his mother. "The longer you wait, the worse it will be. You do not want her to hear it from anyone else. Pablo was there, he overheard, imagine if he asks her the wrong thing, and—"

"Okay I get it, just—" he shifted in the bed again, peering around the room as though expecting Kara to appear without warning "—I want to wait until we get home. We can't keep him quiet until then?"

Sasha's neck quirk was exasperated. "Tom can only throw up so many excuses before Reiss figures out something's up, and if we're really gonna do this, offer a pardon in exchange for helping us end the war, they're going to talk…" Sasha dropped eye contact, focusing on her lap for a moment. "I'd give it less than a week before Reiss gets us back at SouthComm. Or worse, shows up here."

If possible, Danny felt as though he'd grown paler. "What about the Admiral?"

Sasha wet her lip but didn't answer, offering a small shrug. "What about him? Reiss is right—it would be a morale disaster to implicate him in any of this."

"But I thought you said he'd go public—"

"That was before Montano. He can't. Can you imagine what people would do back home? There's already too many sympathizers, the last thing we need is more of them on our own soil."

Danny went mute and tried to quell the feeling of suffocation, an odd paradox considering he'd survived just that buried twenty feet beneath a collapsed church not two days prior. This felt equally terrifying.

Something softened in Sasha's features, her careful mask of indifference slipping into something more emotive. "I'm sorry, Danny. You have no idea what I'd give to go back and undo it, but we can't run anymore. Reiss will find out, and if justice is what Montano wants in exchange for putting an end to this, then we have to let it happen."

A silence descended upon them again, broken only by the mechanical sound of the James, and Miller's soft snoring in the adjacent cabin. After a while, Danny shook his head. "There's no way Admiral's letting you go down for this."

"He doesn't have a choice anymore." Something about her tone rubbed Danny wrong, a kind of pacifism he wasn't used to hearing from her that made his skin crawl.

"There has to be something we can do. Maybe we can get to Montano and convince him—"

"Danny." She placed a hand on his forearm, insistent but resigned. "It's over." This time, her eye contact was un-yielding. "Tell her—before it's too late."

Both Admirals were on the bridge wing when Kara arrived with Nishioka in tow.

"Gentlemen," she greeted. It seemed like just yesterday they'd been patrolling the Yucatán Straits hunting Gustavo's frigate, and now they were back, looking for one of their own. A problem, she and her TAO may have found a solution to.

"Captain," Admiral Chandler rasped in response, while Slattery opted for a simple nod.

Kara looked toward Nishioka, silently giving permission for him to share his findings.

"Sirs, my team finished analyzing the combat data from the Cook, and I believe I've isolated the satellite they were using. There's definitely some extra code, but I think we can either reverse engineer it or retrofit their systems into our own to gain access to it."

"That's outstanding," Slattery affirmed.

Nishioka gave a rare look of excitement. "Yes, Sir, but that's not all. We were able to confirm the ID of the other ship, you were right, it's the USS Farragut, and they're using the same satellite—we were able to uncover several pings—" he produced a clipboard, which Admiral Chandler took, scanning down the coordinates and notations while Slattery did the same over his right shoulder "—there appears to be a pattern, Sirs."

Captain Green couldn't suppress the pride shining through her features.

Chandler bobbed his head, inhaling while a familiar fixation seemed to spark in his eyes. "This is great work."

"Thank you, Sir."

He turned toward Gator. "Gator, I want you to plot these coordinates and be ready to brief in an hour." Chandler handed him the clipboard.

"Aye, Sir."

Next, Chandler drew his focus to Kara. "We're gonna sink that Destroyer, Captain." And by God, if it didn't remind her of a time long ago, where Chandler had sauntered into her Combat Center and declared they were sinking a submarine that day.

To that effect, they'd gathered in the Wardroom an hour later. Slattery, Chandler, Cooper, Captain Green, Burk, Captain Aguilar, Fuentes, Montano, Nishioka, and finally Gator to brief on the intel garnered from the Cook's navigational, communications, and weapons systems. It was Montano's belief that Salazar would attempt to sequester transport out of Cuba to intercept with the Farragut. The ship was Captained by a former Brazilian Rear Admiral who'd survived the plague at sea, they'd learned and in another great irony, Tom was fairly sure Captain Rabello had also attended Doctor Manuel Montano's conference. Maybe even crossed paths in Norfolk during the OpSail festivities.

"Why stay in Rubi if you know your location's compromised?" Sasha asked. "Why not come here? Every leader he needs to eliminate is sitting on this ship. Why not refocus everything he's got at Nathan James?"

Montano considered Sasha in silence before answering. "Gustavo is fixated to the exclusion of logic. I do not doubt that he is planning an attack, but for him there can be no victory without the Admiral's surrender."

From the corner of her eye, Sasha caught the amusement on both Green and Slattery's faces. In effort to stop her own smirk, she curled her lips down and observed the folder before her. "So blowing us out of the water means he doesn't get to meet his idol?"

Slattery cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh, while Aguilar and Fuentes exchanged bewildered, if disbelieving, looks. Tom was maintaining an even keel, chin braced between his thumb and forefinger, and weight leaned against the armrest as his eyes slowly drew over Sasha's frame. She could feel him looking at her, the pulse in her throat ticking up, and she pulled her lip between her teeth but continued staring at the dossier.

"As I said, Gustavo is blinded by his hate and ignores the advice of those whom would steer him to victory. His weakness is his ego, but he will endeavor to exploit yours."

"Which is?" Slattery chimed.

Montano focused his attention toward him. "Arrogance."

Appropriately admonished, the comment settled amongst the table and while Sasha disagreed; she was picking her battles.

"All he needs is the right leverage," Montano continued, drawing his eyes back to Sasha. "Every leader has their price."

"And what is his?" Tom asked, drawing his hand down and pressing his thumb against his middle finger absently.

"His wife Conchita, and his son, Simon."

Sasha shifted in her seat, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, conspicuously avoiding all eye contact. Didn't mean she missed the way Slattery glanced at Tom, though.

"We don't do that here," Tom's voice seemed to carry despite its quiet conviction.

"I am merely providing the answers, Admiral." Montano laced his fingers together atop the table. "Gustavo knows that you will not cross that line, it has also instilled him with a confidence that he has nothing to lose."

"Then we can use that to our advantage."

Sasha stopped avoiding the eye contact, locking focus with Tom and quirking her head in a near imperceptible gesture. It sounded progressive, but in the absence of being able to read his mind, something twisted in her gut.

"We'll set a course for Guantanamo and hold the base in formation with the Mexican fleet. If he wants a surrender, he's gonna have to work for it. In the meantime, Jamaica will assist in the search for Salazar, and our analysts back at SouthComm will work on the satellite. I'll inform POTUS," Tom pushed himself out of the leather seat, the action prompting the rest of the table to follow, barring Montano and Sasha, who remained seated. "Dismissed."

They filed out with affable responses of 'Sir' muttered as was customary when they passed, Tom choosing to linger for a few moments while Nishioka did his best to remain studious in packing up the dossiers he'd prepared. After sparing her a rather long-suffering look, Tom exited, leaving Sasha playing with a pen, turning it end over end between her fingers, aware of Montano watching. It took Nishioka maybe thirty seconds more to finish securing the materials before he excused himself and made haste back to CIC. With a muted thud against the leather mat, Sasha let the pen fall to the table, finally lifting her chin to make eye contact with Montano. He had a way of scrutinizing that felt uncomfortably similar to Tom's, too close for her comfort, and despite herself, Sasha sucked on her cheeks a fraction.

"Does he know?"

She wanted to blink but refrained, lashes narrowing before forcing them to stop. "What difference does it make?" She countered.

A slow, subtle grin played at Montano's lips though his eyes remained hollow, and he chose not to answer. Fighting the inclination to roll her own, Sasha took a breath and removed her hands from the table. "If you want someone to blame for Panama, you're looking at them. That operation was my idea and mine alone. He was done, he was out. Didn't want to fight anymore, but I did, so whatever it is you're going to ask for, you should know it was my choice. All of it."

Montano's guard entered to escort him to the confines of his stateroom, and Sasha pushed herself up from the seat. Montano rose, waving off the need for restraints, and after glancing at Sasha for confirmation, the guard rectified his posture to stand at attention instead.

"He has changed since we met." Marginally, Sasha inclined her chin, and Montano continued. "Haunted."

Her swallow was visible, and the way her lips pressed into a line accentuated the scar on the top left side. "Show me the person who isn't." The look she threw was cold. "Either way, he's not the one who fell for an egomaniac's lies, and he's only fighting now for peace, not power. That much never changed."

"I heard the Doc let you out." Kara quipped, closing the door behind her and sauntering over to Danny with a smile. Her expression faltered, however, when she took in his own. The swelling around his eye had eased enough for him to open it at least, but the bruises had taken on a putrid shade of yellow. She watched him visibly inhale, head bobbing to acknowledge her comment, and the pit in her stomach grew.

"Kara, I need to tell you something."

She blinked, boots loud across the floor of her cabin as she approached the seating area. "Well, that's never a good start."

The seconds that followed seemed to stretch an eternity before he mustered up the courage to start.

"I lied to you. About why I was so messed up the first time, after Panama."

Exhaling through her nose, Kara sucked on her cheeks, blinking, and trying to will her heart to calm. "Okay?"

"The war crimes? It's true. I did some stuff and it was—" he broke off and swallowed. "It was bad."

Nodding, while her mouth went bone dry, Kara sank onto the settee adjacent to Danny and after the silence became unbearable, while he looked everywhere else but her; she couldn't take it anymore. "Whatever it is you can tell me."

He rubbed his hands together, and then tracked them down his thighs, blowing out a breath and clearing his throat. "They do all this shit to people out there. Set em' on fire, dismember them, shoot them and leave all the bodies in a pit."

Unconsciously, she shifted closer, brows set into a deep, empathetic line while Danny stared hard into a non-existent middle distance, a glaze she recognized well.

"There was this kid that they hurt." When he stayed quiet for several moments, Kara put a tentative hand on his knee, ignoring the jab it sent through her heart when he stiffened rather than relaxed. "They cut off his hands and feet and then left him like that." He paused again to collect his thoughts. "I was so angry. I wanted to make them pay, so when we took the rebel's camp I did it to them." He drew his lip between his teeth, nose scrunching before he got control again. "Everything they said we did is true."

Her hand tightened over his knee, taking measured breaths while processing. "We? Vulture Team?"

He glanced at her. "No, it was just me and Sasha."

Kara fought hard to keep her reaction impassive, but a plethora of emotions were spiraling. "Does the Admiral know?" In her gut, she knew the answer to that question, dozens of moments slotting into place that had given her pause but gone unanswered or left unturned in favor of other priorities.

Danny nodded.

She felt sick. "How long?"

"A week after we got back. We agreed not to say anything, the others had no idea, but Sasha lost it and told him."

Kara's brows rose, and she drew her hand away, bringing it to rest in her lap. Three. Whole. Years. The feeling spreading through her gut was icy and isolating. "But you didn't think to tell me?" It was quiet and damning, the pain in her chest increasing with every passing second. "Danny, I begged you to let me in."

He was breathing with his mouth open, the flush of his skin reddened with shame. "I don't know why… I just couldn't. I thought you'd look at me differently—"

"So why are you telling me now?" She cut him off harshly. His apologies did nothing to quell the betrayal coursing her veins, and when he seemed to shrink into himself further, it only added to her pain. Her vision began to swim. "What the hell is going on?"

"Sasha thinks Montano wants us prosecuted in exchange for ending the war. After that video broadcast, she had to come clean with POTUS and he was gonna court-martial her, but the Admiral threatened to go public and step down, so he issued that statement instead. She took the fall for me. Reiss doesn't know I was involved, but Montano knows everything."

Biting her lip, she suppressed a scoff. "Wow. And none of you thought I should know—"

"The Admiral doesn't talk about it, he only left it off record for Sasha. If it wasn't for her, I'd be sitting in a cell right now—"

"Well, thank god for Sasha, right?" It felt petty and sounded more bitter than she'd like, but God, he had no idea what it was like to sit there and realize she was an outsider in her own marriage. Apparently, the comment hit home though, if the slump of his shoulders and brow was anything to go by.

"What about Wolf? Azima? Pablo?" she pressed.

He shook his head, no. Unbidden, Danny's reaction to mentioning Mike at their St. Patrick's gathering bubbled up from Kara's subconscious. "Slattery?"

If possible the ice spread further. All four of them. "Martinez said something when we were interrogating him, and he figured it out. Admiral convinced him to stay quiet—"

"Let me guess, because of Sasha."

Silence stretched between them again, and Danny shifted in the seat, rendered mute by the tone of her voice. Reeling and trying to bite down her desire to sob, Kara clenched her jaw, her eyes cold and anguished toward him. The whites of his were reddened, hands clasped together between his knees where his forearms rested against his thighs.

"I fucked up big Kara; I know that. I wanted to tell you, but it got out of control, and then it went months, and things were getting better between us, and I didn't wanna screw everything up! I was scared, and I didn't—" he broke off, eyes searching hers. "I messed up, and I'm so sorry. You deserve so much more than I've given you and Frankie… I know that too. I've let you down… if you want me to—" he dropped his chin, peering at the floor while fighting for composure. "If you want me to leave again, I'll understand." The words were pushed out through his teeth.

She swiped at her cheek aggressively. "I don't want you to leave. How do you not get that yet!? I want you to let me in!" she hissed. "Stop treating me like I'm a housewife who has no idea what goes on out there because I do! I know it's bad, even if you refuse to talk about it, I've been there! I had to kill a man with my bare hands because he strapped me to a table and tried to steal the cure from our baby, Danny! I can handle the truth!"

She was off the sofa now, impassioned, and she scoffed, pivoting on the spot while he watched her. "You know, if I didn't know for a fact that she lives for Tom Chandler, I'd tell you to marry her."

Danny recoiled. "What?" All his features twisted, and he stood, arms hanging loose at his sides. "That's not—I would never—"

"No, that's just it, Danny, I know you're not cheating, and I know there's nothing between you, but Sasha knows more about you than I do! Does the Admiral have to call you to find out what's going on with his wife? Or does he just ask her because they're married, Danny, which means they're supposed to be a team! Do you have any idea what that feels like!? To know you've been turning to another woman for three years instead of talking to your wife! The mother of your child? I'm the person who loves you. I'm the one who promised to be there, I'm the one who spent two days digging in the dirt to find you—" her voice cracked, and more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Mouth parted; Danny shook his head in despondence. "Kara." He was approaching her, and she was torn between the desire to fall into his arms, and the larger mechanism which wanted to shrink into herself for protection.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed. "I never wanted to hurt you or Frankie, but I didn't know what to do." He touched her arm, but she pulled away.

"I can't do this with you right now." She backed away, turning her back to him with one hand at her hip and the other wiping her face again. Behind her, she heard Danny take several uneven breaths, his feet seeming to shuffle, and she closed her eyes hard, sniffing against the fluid dripping from her nose.

"Okay." The resignation in his tone almost broke her. "Okay," he repeated, and though she wasn't facing him, she could still picture his mannerisms. "Just… whatever happens, I need you to know that I love you, and Frankie, and I'm sorry." His voice cracked over the syllables, and after a few more drawn-out seconds, Kara heard her door open and close.

It was late by the time Sasha turned in; the ship was under the command of Slattery, and the fleet was on course to Gitmo. They'd transferred some of their wounded to Captain Aguilar's ship to aid their capacity issue, and she ducked into the stateroom Tom had claimed. While she didn't mean to keep taking undue liberties, right now the thought of bunking in the enlisted racks didn't appeal. That, and she was pressing for a fight, the feeling of every wall closing in souring her mood.

"Hey," he said. She didn't answer, moving through the room instead, and toeing off her boots, her belt following next. He'd already dressed for bed in some standard-issue sweatpants and Navy shirt, the scent of toothpaste and soap overpowering the room. Tom glanced through the mirror to make eye contact while wiping the remnants of shaving cream from his face.

"You okay?"

Now that she caught her reflection, Sasha could see why his immediate question was that. She was not insecure, nor under any illusion that she was unattractive, but in the space of ten days, she felt she'd aged ten years. They'd existed on MREs in Cuba, and the loss of fullness in her cheeks left her drawn. The bags under her eyes, heavy.

"I think we should tell the kids." It was blunter than planned.

With deceptive calm, Tom breathed and set down the towel, hanging it from the edge of the metal basin before turning. "About what?"

She sank onto the bed, scooting back until her frame was supported by the wall. "Panama." She could tell He was listening in that maddening, patient way and it made her want to scream. "They should hear it from us, not a press conference." Her laugh was small and bitter, and she let her head lull against the wall, peering at a spot beyond his shoulder. "Can you imagine? They get to school, and all the other kids are hashing out the details—"

Tom sighed her name.

"You know I'm right, if you disagreed you wouldn't have said what you did to Green, and that pact was my idea, by the way—"

"I know that." In a way, Tom seemed more perturbed that she'd infer he couldn't read her than the thought of telling his kids what she'd done.

"That why you grounded me?" Shot back with sarcasm that dripped through her tone.

Tom moved closer to the bed and pulled over the desk chair to sit at eye level. "I grounded you because you thought Danny was dead, Sasha, and he's important to you."

"Yeah? Well, you could have been too. You promised me you would say something if it got worse and you didn't."

He reached over and took her hand, mindful to avoid the blisters, waiting until she made eye contact with him before he spoke again. "You're right, and I'm sorry."

"I don't need you to be sorry—" she breathed, fingers tightening around his "—I need you to stop being so goddamn stubborn."

As soon as the words left her lips, the glint of amusement danced within Tom's expression, and reluctant as Sasha was to relinquish her misplaced fight, the way warmth spread through her heart when he looked at her like that won.

"I don't need to say it, do I?" Tom asked with that lopsided smirk.

Droll, Sasha semi-rolled her eyes and tilted her head, accepting and acknowledging the hypocrisy of her statement, and looked down at their conjoined hands. His thumb brushed back and forth a few times.

"We'll tell the kids."

There was a beat of absolute stillness, and then she lifted her gaze again, finding herself trapped in his.

"Why'd you change your mind?" Sasha whispered. "About Grantham?"

Tom's blink was languid before he answered. "Because you asked me to."

Though shallow, the way Sasha breathed was audible in the quiet between them. "It's not the first time. Why now?"

He seemed to search her features for a moment. "Cause it's you, Sash, and that should have been enough."

The swell beneath her ribs was forceful and whole, and for once, the vulnerability came easily in response. "Tom, I'm scared."

He brought a hand to her face, thumb resting against her cheek. "I know, but whatever happens, you're not alone. Don't forget that."