an. Didn't mean to go a month without updating, but Christmas got me carried away and then I went on a St. Augustine binge. It's been so long (over a year since I started this fic) it may help tie the arc Tom's going through to re-read chap one after this. Of course, only if you'd like. I just don't expect anyone to remember something from that long ago, but if you see the reference in this chapter and need a refresh on that passage, that's where you'll find it.

Also, guest review responses are at the foot of this chapter because they're long.

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Sunday, April 28th, 2019

Everything in its own time. The statement Sasha recounted daily, sometimes hourly, depending on the state of 'lost' Tom found himself in. She wondered if he'd been this way after Shaw, if this was what he'd done. It was a topic they didn't cover, and she'd considered calling Ashley before falling into a spiral of second-guessing. End of the day, Ashley was still a kid. A very mature kid, but still impressionable, and Sasha was ready to verbalize that one of her worst fears was screwing them up. There was no blueprint here. Sure, he took the hour-long call with Grantham every noon, but, if Tom was anything like her, there was a sizeable difference between doing what's required, and doing what you should.

Without work, Tom spent his hours with the TV. If their couch developed a permanent indent, Sasha expected it, and if he engaged when she spoke, it was solely to go through the motions. She was trying not to take it personally, but it was hard knowing Tom was angry for stripping his means of avoidance. Harder still to receive the ice when she'd refused to provide updates from command or anything about Montano and Martinez. She supposed in a way she'd staged a true intervention.

Hovering at the threshold of their living room, she watched while Tom lay back on the couch, arms folded, focus vacant upon the screen. Didn't care to acknowledge her anymore. Sighing, she sat on the coffee table, obstructing his view. There was eye contact, but he had no interest in speaking. That was clear, and he hadn't shaved for a week.

"I'm going to say something, because I think you need to hear it, and we don't have to talk about it yet… not until you're ready, but it needs to be said."

There was that sinking sensation creeping up his spine.

"I haven't been there for you." Sasha's words were direct.

"Sasha—"

"Just listen. This isn't an exercise in trying to blame myself, and honestly, that's part of our problem."

He closed his mouth and waited. Looked but with no life behind his eyes.

"I think I deluded myself into believing that what happened that night in St. Louis only happened to me, and if I just made everything go back to how it was, it would be fixed." She paused, and he didn't know why now, today, because she'd worked from home most of the week and left only to run errands or meetings, but he noticed she'd lost weight. "I scared you to death, and not once did I stop to ask if you were okay—"

The response he found was automatic. "You weren't in a place to do that—"

"Not at first, no. But I've been capable of it for two years, Tom. And instead of communicating with you, I did exactly what you didn't need, and what I always do, and ran around getting shot at after you put me back together, and that wasn't fair. I did it because it was easier than accepting that things got that bad."

There was a lull while he processed it. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying it's okay for you to tell me that. It's okay for you to be angry that I haven't listened before when you've tried… It's okay for you to say that I've hurt you because I know that I have. You're not going to break me, and you don't need to treat me like I'm glass."

"You were about two seconds from it in Cuba, Sash."

"Because I thought you were dead." The way she said it was flat. Matter of fact. "You died. Of course I wasn't okay, and then you insisted on staying until you got an infection that could have killed you—"

"And why's that?" He wasn't able to keep the accusation out of his tone, nor from cutting her off.

"Because trying to control things is the way you cope. As long as you have something to fix, you don't need to acknowledge yourself."

"So you're mad because I care!?" He knew that was the farthest from truth but lashed out regardless. Couldn't stop it. Hated it. Didn't want to listen, didn't want these words.

"I'm not mad at all, I love you, and I'm just as guilty of doing it. I needed missions so I could keep ignoring the things I don't want." She swallowed. "Like how I grew up."

Almost as fast, his shock pressed reset. At what point had he not been paying attention? How had they gone from leaving that buried to discussing it? "You're talking to Grantham about this?"

She nodded and inhaled, rubbing her hands down her thighs. "You were right to ground me. I don't know what I would have done if you or Danny hadn't made it back." The statement was quiet, and honest in a way that seemed to echo. "I used to know that answer… I know what it should be, but I'm not there… and that scares me. It needs to change." The way her gaze scanned him betrayed her confidence. "And sometimes when you look at me, Tom, I have to be honest—I don't think you can see that I'm alive."

Something was itching up his back now, truth he'd been ruminating, and all he could fixate on was the birthday dinner with Mike days before Mayport. He'd been on the brink of processing this. Voiced the questions that suffocated him at night. He'd even used the word. Codependency.

"That's not fair to either of us. I love you, but I can't keep trying to save you and myself… and you can't keep trying to save me because you think it will right all the wrongs… or because you don't think you deserve to be saved. We need to figure out how to do that for ourselves, and then be there for each other."

It hurt and barreling after came the fear. So all-consuming he was back in CIC hearing the bullet, and somewhere he recognized that was her point. Could feel his pulse double-time in his throat. Crawled over the inability to stamp distress from his voice. "Are you trying to tell me you're leaving?"

"No. But you need to care about yourself. You need to figure out where you are, and then be honest with you, and after that, me and then the kids. You have to, Tom. We both have to try something different, or we'll be in this cycle until one of us can't anymore." She'd managed, somehow, through this entire conversation not to get emotional, but now her eyes were glazing. "That's the last thing I want." Seeming to search his features for something. "But loving you means if I need to take a step back because I'm part of the problem, so you have space to breathe, then I'll do it."

Blinking it away, Sasha reached out and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb before she stood. "I'm going out for a run, and then I'm going to see Frankie. I'll be home later; I have my cell if you need me."

He couldn't answer. It was stuck in his throat—he'd never done that—after Charleston, he'd spent every minute of his time with her, at work, or waiting for her to come back. He'd made her his entire life. Not with intention, but it was impossible not to see on the back of her words.

Something roused her. After several seconds, Sasha pinpointed the change. The fan which she'd turned off without Tom in the bedroom was on. White noise, because he couldn't stand his tinnitus. She, in contrast, welcomed it. Its own version of blocking thoughts that wouldn't stop in the dead of night. She rolled when the mattress depressed, trying to control the hope. It was the first time he'd stepped foot in their bedroom since. Used the shower in the guest room, and she'd played into it on the first nights by fetching what he needed. Clothes. Toiletries. Convinced at the time it would help. Now, Sasha believed she'd exacerbated the issue. Walking the fine line of enabler, or supportive when intentions were sound, was more complex than she'd appreciated.

More of her conversations with Grantham.

"Can we talk?" He said quietly.

Her chest expanded, riddled with nerves. "Of course we can talk."

There were a few moments of silence before he started. "You're right. I don't know what I am outside of you and the kids. When you're gone, I don't know what to do. I was always the one… but Darien never just sat there waiting. She did things, socialized, had community—and I know I should do that, but I can't stand the way people look at me like I'm a—"

She shifted higher on the pillow, pushing herself to an elbow while he fought to say the word.

"I'm not—my kids can't even go to school without it. We can't go to the store, a dinner, anything without being recognized. I went to Greece because I wanted to disappear. I still want that, Sash. I want to be normal again. I just want a single day without being reminded of every mistake—and I don't know how."

Trying to respond forced her to accept that she didn't have an answer, and also hadn't understood how isolated he felt, not by choice but by circumstance; a fact she'd not once considered this way. There was the crew, but he was still their leader. Despite everything, he existed in parallel but removed. She had Danny, Kara—maybe not Kara anymore—Mike, and the benefit of being with Danny often more than she was Tom. But Tom had no one. War aside, his geography and Mike's schedule were not compatible more than a handful over the years, and when it was, it inevitably involved duty.

"I didn't know you felt this way," she breathed.

Tom rubbed his eyes with one hand aggressively, leaving his fingers pressed against them. "I'm not a hero."

Tentative, she rested her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"No, you're not. You're Tom—you're the man I love, and you're only human. Start there."

His inhale was shaky, but his voice came steady after several seconds passed. "I loved almost everything about my job, Sash—I was good at it, that was my thing. That's what I did for me." He paused. "I don't think I ever knew how to be a father. Not when it mattered—Darien did everything that was hard. I've been a voice on the phone for most of their lives, and when I came home, I got to make up for that by doing the fun things. Vacations, sports, all the birthday parties and holidays I'd missed."

His fingers started pinching at his eyes again, and though the only light came through cracks in the blinds, she could see his nostrils quivering. "Dad wanted to be buried next to Mom." Had to break off to keep forcing it out. "He's in the cabin." Tom paused again, and she could feel him fighting not to crack.

"Only good thing I do is make you smile—and I can't remember the last time I did."

That part was so strangled, Sasha almost couldn't decipher it, but once processed, she began to cry. Not sobbing, not loud, but moved and saddened to tears.

"It was in the tunnels. You asked me what the name of that song was."

He didn't answer. Reaching out, she pulled his hand away and drew him into an embrace. Now she could reconcile why he'd crumbled when she'd said she was proud.

Wednesday, May 1st, 2019

Could get used to this, playing hooky in the middle of the week to get out and fish. Mike cast his line out, set it, and then crossed his feet ankle over ankle against the side of his boat. Had to admit, receiving a text from Tom asking if they could do something today shocked him, and though aware to an extent, the intimate details were spared when Sasha called the week prior. Mike figured this was important, reason he'd cleared his schedule and made the time. Tom didn't ask for help; but Mike thought this might be a quiet cry for it, and the fact Sasha didn't seem to know this was Tom's intention today, made it all the more significant. Amazing what could be said in a single pause when he'd stopped by her office. An expression like he'd informed her the US and Columbia reached a ceasefire—not something as benign as taking Tom fishing.

It was hard to get a read on Tom with the ball cap and sunglasses, but then again, it was an arguably beautiful day, and Mike was wearing his own. Great breeze, eighty degrees, sun out after the mid-day rain. He loved that about Florida, rain came and went within the hour, sunny straight after—didn't think he'd ever live in the cold again.

Tom had said little, made small talk, but nothing of the unspoken, and Mike decided this time he'd go with the flow. Let this impromptu trip go however it was destined to go. They'd been out for an hour, anchored a mile off the coast, and most was spent in comfortable silence before approaching what spun within his mind.

"How'd you do it, Mike? You lost your whole family and you never…" Tom didn't finish that statement, but he knew well enough.

He sighed. Didn't like to talk about it, but if Tom was making the effort, so was he. "Ask myself that too sometimes. Can't say I have the answer… think it was easier when I thought they were still out there somewhere, just hadn't found em' yet. I did that for a long time." The boat bobbed with a gentle swell, ocean sloshing against the hull. "And then I realized no amount of denial would bring em' back. That happened in Greece after I got drugged. I was a wreck, but all you can do is carry on. Focus on the good and accept that I tried my best."

Tom remained quiet beside him, but he still caught the subtle drop of his chin. "I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to accept it."

"Which part?" Mike said.

Tom made a noise, something between a scoff and ironic laugh. Soft. Kept it in the back of his throat. "The part where my decisions cost lives when it was my job to save them."

Mike thought about that. "You know how many times I asked myself if I could have saved them? If I'd left? Or found a way to turn around? Staged a mutiny, taken the ship from you?"

From the corner of his vision, Mike saw Tom shift from the ocean to him.

"Whether I made the right choice? Then I realized, it doesn't matter. Won't change a thing. But it's damn sure to drive me insane… so why try at all if that's how I'm gonna live." The line twitched, and Mike leaned up, peering to verify before figuring something took a nip but didn't bite. "Letting go doesn't mean you're saying it's okay that it happened. It's saying it's okay not to punish yourself for still having the chance to live."

Slow, Mike looked left. "You've always been a brooding son of a bitch." He paused for effect, Tom's neck quirking back. "Think that's why the chicks dig you."

It took a second, and then Tom snorted.

Mike grinned. "Listen, I don't have the magic answer—none of us do and if you find it, let me know… but I've tried my best. Sometimes it wasn't good enough, but there's been a lot of times that it was, and remembering that doesn't mean I'll forget the losses, but it does mean I can live with them."

Tom had sobered again, listening, Mike thought, differently than he ever had.

"No one blames you but yourself. You tried your best, and your best was damn good enough, and I don't know who made you think you are, but you're not god. You're my pain in the ass friend, who I don't think knows how lucky he is."

That earned a frown, though most was hidden by the Ray-Bans.

"I gotta be honest, there's been a lot of times I wished I was you." There was a beat before Mike continued. "You know what happened to Darien, and don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that's easy—but you know. You've got your kids, and yeah, Ash said something that hurt you in anger, but who hasn't? We've had our fair share of words over the years—you think I hate you? Think you're a failure? I'm sittin' on this boat with you because I don't care?"

The point was made. Knew that by the way Tom bunched his lips together.

"I'd give anything for just one of those things, and we didn't even get to the part where the girl you were willing to leave the Navy for, shows up alive and still loves your dumbass. How'd the hell that happen? Twice. You're a lucky son of a bitch, and I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat. I know the weight you carry. There isn't a day I don't think of Mason, Cruz, O'Connor… everyone that died on my watch. But I would take that weight every day to have the kind of good you do."

Mike turned again; didn't recall the last time he'd floored Tom like that. His lip tugged up one side in a small grin. "Do what you gotta do to fix your shit so you can enjoy it. Nothing's impossible, not if you have the will, the courage, and a good plan. You showed me that."

It was late when Tom returned, past nine. She was still up, knew that because the lights were on, but instead of finding her in their living room, the patio door was open. His keys jingled when they hit the counter, but he wasn't surprised she didn't hear. Pulled the sunglasses from the neck of his tee and put them down too before heading out. Only when he was in her direct peripheral, did she realize. Put down her book, turned down the Bluetooth speaker.

"Hey, sorry I didn't hear you come in."

Kind of expected the lump in his throat this time, but it was a different kind. She stood, drawing her cardigan tighter against the slight chill now the sun was gone.

"S'okay." He felt himself smiling, warmed him inside before it translated across his face. Made it to his eyes. And the cautious hope he saw in hers only made that knot tighter. In a good way. "You haven't done that in a while," he said. It was contemplative. Simple. Sasha used to listen to music all the time, not just during the hour allotted for her run.

She seemed to consider that. "Yeah, I guess I don't."

She smiled at him. Or rather, he'd managed to make her smile. Didn't have a way to describe how it humbled him, just that he could cry with gratitude right now.

"You shaved."

His grin was lopsided. "I did. It needed to happen."

Sasha had been about to respond, but he interrupted whatever she intended with a hug. Pulled her against him and buried his face at her crown. Breathed deep, overwhelmed that he still had this, but it was different. It wasn't desperate like this was the last time he'd hold her, and the way he felt her forehead crease against his chin told him she could feel that too. He squeezed.

"Thank you." It was mumbled against her skin.

She stilled. "For what?" Whispered against the base of his neck.

"For finding a way to get through to me." He felt the way her lips quivered and then the way she forced it to stop. "I know I can't fix it overnight. It's gonna take time—but I'm trying. I'm going to find a way to let go."

Guest 1 Definite parallel's for sure! Tom's not in a good place, but he's not yet where Sasha was, but he can now see he's about to go there if he doesn't step back and seriously consider all the small things he perhaps has been ignoring that have snowballed to get him to this point. Not just the obvious big things. It's also a wake-up call for Sasha though, that she can't keep doing certain things either, and thinking it only affects her, or doesn't take a toll on the person who tries their best to be there for you. That's one of the things about PTSD/mental health issues that's so hard, the person closest to you suffers and it often goes unlooked because the other is in the immediate crisis, and then it catches up. I hope that concept came through in the chapter.

Luna Literally the Tex comment is gold, haha. I'm still laughing about it. Thank you so much for your reviews on the holiday fics, I'm super humbled that you enjoy my writing/stories so much *weeps*. For the AU / 2012 I wanted to lose the dynamic of having kids at home to worry about. OFC, they will both worry about the family, but it's different. But not everything can ever be perfect in one of my fics, kinda a homer for making them suffer for it, *shrugs*. Leading into the perfect segway, I'm sad for Tom I really am. I think he's f* in the head. Danny and Sasha are totally siblings from another mother! I love it a lot more than I thought I would. Tom seemed to believe in Kara in the show, and he was in particular, lenient and quickly forgiving of the Green infraction in S1. I think he has a soft spot in a father figure way toward her and always saw her potential to lead. He likes Danny and respects him, but I think the fact Danny is still active status, and Tom at the end of the day signs of on sending him out to potentially die, keeps him removed. Tom got his wake-up call with the dream for sure, and Tom and Sasha are ride or die for real. After the end of the world, and all the crap, I don't know if you'd be any other way if you've still got the last person from your 'before'. Hope you had a great Christmas/New Year!

Guest 2 Hello, thank you so much. I'm so glad there's still a small but active group of readers for this show still, I wish I'd known about it when it was airing. I just hope the future fic lives up to the expectation! That would be a neat perspective to pull from, I had something close but not exactly what you've mentioned that is the close of this story. I don't want to spoil, but I think outsiders would be bewildered too. It may not fit in the vibe of this fic, but I do have a concept planned for Valentine's day (I think the board is doing something similar to Christmas) and I think an element of this would work in what I have planned :)