an. Responses below.

Guest 1 You're welcome, I'm in the mood for this fic right now. Hope you like the chapter!

Guest 2 Thank you, I did enjoy writing that little scene between XO, Master Chief & Captain. I wish we'd gotten a few more wardroom dinner scenes between them, the one in El Torro was great. Sasha is indeed not well enough to be on the ground, but Ramsey's may or may not be dead in the water.

Awake and Restless

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She'd been listening to beeping and the sound of Lieutenant Burk reading for a while now. Then Green, occasionally chiming in from where he'd been standing for the entire time she'd been lucid. Not that she'd bothered opening her eyes or trying to attract any attention. Green's voice, when he spoke, came from her right side rather than left. That was about as much as she'd pieced together. That and the part where she was full of wires, aching all over, and generally felt a few steps removed from death.

When the curtain moved, she opened her eyes.

"Good morning. It's nice to see you awake." Rachel offered a kind smile. "How much do you remember?"

After taking a moment to ponder that, she started, the words scratchy in her throat. "We got back from the rig. There was—" stopping, she switched gears "—what happened to the people that were injured? Is Ravit alive?"

If it was Burk in the adjacent room and separated by the curtain, Sasha couldn't imagine to whom else he'd be reading. Alive and in a bed were two different things, however.

"Senior Chief Lynn didn't make it, but everyone else is expected to recover. Ravit woke a few hours ago, not long before we lifted your sedation. You were quite disoriented earlier, but you seem far more lucid now. Do you remember that at all?"

Earlier? Sasha frowned, trying to stitch together memories and eventually coming up with one thing. Shivering. Violent shivering, and maybe Tom's voice, but she couldn't be sure. "I was cold."

Rachel nodded. "Yes. That's not an uncommon side-effect of anesthesia. We spoke very briefly, just some basic awareness questions, but you were quite tired, so we thought it best to let you rest and come around in your own time." Through her peripheral, Sasha watched as Rachel adjusted the IV bag. "How are you feeling?"

If she'd had the energy, Sasha would have scoffed. "Like someone rearranged my insides."

Rachel raised a brow. "That's not entirely far from accurate. You had a severely ruptured spleen, but no external presentation of injury or bruising. Likely because of the vest, but by the time you went down, you'd lost enough blood that I had to perform an emergency procedure called an exploratory laparotomy." Rachel paused so the information could process. "Essentially, I had to open your abdomen to locate the source of bleeding, and subsequently, removed your spleen."

Huh. Now she could see why Rachel called it accurate. And also explained why the majority of her discomfort was radiating from her torso.

"The good news is that you can live a fully functional life without it, and I didn't see any other internal damage. You'll need to make some minor adjustments, but I can cover that later. Our major concern was that you went into shock. We kept you sedated to give your body the best chance of recovery. It's been two days." She paused again for a beat. "How's the pain?"

"It's—" the knowing look Sasha received encouraged her to be honest. "—noticeable."

Rachel made a regrettable noise somewhere in the back of her throat. "We're running low on morphine, I'm afraid, so we didn't give you anything while you were sedated. I'd imagine it's quite bad, but this should kick in shortly. There's a dial if you need to adjust, no more than two milligrams per hour."

She nodded her understanding, tracking Rachel's whereabouts through peripheral while she checked more equipment. Wetting her lips so they wouldn't crack, Sasha went with what she'd been pondering before Rachel arrived. "Do you know why Green's posted outside my room—"

"Without me being in it?" Rachel quirked a brow. Dark humor coloring the sarcastic completion of the inquiry.

Sasha attempted to tip her head but wasn't sure it translated. Either way, Rachel continued. "I am afraid—" she reached for the clipboard hooked to the wall "—that I am no longer in the inner circle. I just know that they're under strict orders not to allow anyone passage who doesn't happen to be a Doctor or the Captain of a ship."

Narrowing her eyes, Sasha frowned.

"Evidently he cares about you—unless you've also given him cause to suspect you of murder?"

It was quipped in the same sarcastic humor, and delivered with a wry quirk to her lip, but Sasha still selected her words carefully. "He cares about everyone in his command."

Rachel's cheek dimpled in response to the casual deflection, pen scratching a notation. "Indeed—but he doesn't take the time to dutifully clean the hands of your fellow shipmates until they're spotless. Nor has he attempted to donate every drop of blood in his body to keep them alive." It wasn't rude, said rather with an air of teasing, yet Rachel seemed to have made it a point to get the message across.

Compelled, Sasha looked down at her hands—they were indeed spotless—impossible given the magnitude of blood she'd attempted to help stem from Ravit's wounds. He'd remembered, and the immediate soaring clench of her heart brought with it another pang of deep guilt. She tried to shake her head to dispel that remark, but even that was hard.

"We go back. He was one of my instructors at the Academy."

"Somehow, I don't see him as the teaching type," Rachel chimed.

"He's not." Sasha's lip came up in a mark of soft nostalgia. "Hated it, actually. He was only there because of an injury."

"Oh?"

"Mm. He was special warfare before he went the surface officer route," Sasha offered. Pondering the point of this conversation, but choosing to indulge just to see where it would lead. It was probably the most entertainment she'd get being confined to a bed.

"Well, I suppose that explains his desire to go with the ground teams."

Couldn't disagree with that. There was a lull while Rachel continued her work, and with a beat of hesitation, Sasha inhaled before touching upon the hottest topic in scuttlebutt. "For what it's worth, Tom sees in black and white most of the time. He's always been a right or wrong kind of person."

Rachel considered those words, cheek hollowing slightly. In silence, she scribbled a few more things before sighing and raising her head. "You know, I don't know how you all do it—act like machines in the face of humanity." She paused to reflect. "Don't get me wrong, I say this with no ill regard—but how on earth can you all live in such a… stiflingly, inflexible way?"

Sasha couldn't help the small smile. "It's what we're trained to do. It's what we know, and Tom is…" she trailed off. There did not exist a single word capable of encompassing who he was. Not to her, at least. "I'm not saying he's a saint, he's far from perfect. But who he is—is exactly why I think you've all made it this far."

Rachel listened, expression morphing into something knowing as she pushed the pen into its rubber holder. "So you agree with him." It wasn't accusatory, nor much of a question. More a reflective statement.

Sasha drew her lips together, lids fluttering. That's not what this was about and, frankly, her opinion was irrelevant, exactly why she hadn't offered it. "I believe in him," she corrected.

"Ah, so you're Switzerland?"

Sasha gave a small smile before it faded into something more contemplative. "He usually picks the moral high ground regardless of his stakes—even when it hurts people—and that's exactly why I can. Because I know at the core of every decision, he's done his best to figure out the most 'right' there can be. And he's rarely wrong, but if he is, he'll take accountability once he figures it out." Sasha attempted a shrug but wasn't sure she'd moved. "That's what a leader does—and it is also why he's so infuriating."

Rachel gave a soft huff close to a laugh through her nose. Appearing to ponder the statement, digesting it for what it was. A different perspective from the ones shared by Tex and Bertrise and some of the junior crew. Interesting if anything to hear it from someone who so readily seemed to understand the Captain's motivations.

After blinking a few times, Rachel raised her head and offered a nostalgic smile. "You know, there was a man I believed in that way. Another scientist. Dr. Julius Hunter. He taught me almost everything that I know. Not a single day goes by where I don't use a skill, or a process, or a methodology that he touched in some way." Sasha waited as Rachel tucked her chin, her eyes becoming distinctly glassy before she made contact again. "It's a very rare thing to have unwavering faith in someone. The immunes killed him, along with everyone else in that lab—"

"I'm sorry," Sasha interjected, her voice soft and quiet.

Rachel tightened her features in acknowledgment before continuing. "As am I. Anyway, my point is this. We have all lost so very much, and so many people who are dear to us—sacrificed time with those whom mean the most. Many of which would have been our final moments together. I know I certainly have my share of regrets—" Rachel paused, taking a moment to compose herself before she continued. "And I would rather suspect you mean a great deal to Captain Chandler." She offered a small but kind smile. "I'm very glad that you're okay. There were a few moments where I didn't think that you would be." She returned the clipboard to its hook on the wall. "I'll let the Captain know you're awake—perhaps you can get some answers about your need for a personal guard," she quipped, placing her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, and moving toward the curtain.

"Rachel?"

Dr. Scott pivoted to listen.

"The man you mentioned, Michael Hastings?" Sasha watched the emotion flitter across her features. "I can't promise anything, and it's more than a long shot, but I'm happy to check the databases I can still access to see if he reached an embassy or consulate. If you'd like?"

Rachel considered it for a few moments, her eyes glassy again when she lifted them. "Yes. Yes, I think I'd very much appreciate that—thank you."

"You're welcome."

Ravit had fallen asleep again. At least that's what she assumed because Burk had stopped reading. She'd attempted to shift higher on the pillows, but it was an idea ended fast when a blinding amount of pain seared up her torso. Then she'd filled the time by focusing on observations, trying to piece together what was going on. Deduced that Nathan James was underway, not anchored. Which had to mean they'd sunk the sub, or maybe they were making some kind of run for it, but then she'd realized she had no clue where they'd go next. Been a long time since she'd wanted to see Tom this much. Or rather, a long time since she'd been willing to admit it.

The door opened, and it wasn't until now that Sasha cognitively knew that she could still recognize his footsteps. Couldn't decide if that was comforting or damning or both.

The curtain moved.

"Heard you were up."

"Hi." She'd disclosed too much with a single word again. Still recalled the last time that happened.

"Hi," he echoed. Unmistakable warmth in his tone.

"I have a security detail." Judging by the way his eyes lit, she'd started exactly where he'd expected. "I'd hope they're not here just to shoot RPGs."

His lip tugged in a half-smile, and he folded his arms, stepping closer to the bed. "No. But if thought that would work—I might."

She raised her brow, choosing to ignore the effects of that comment. However offhand and lighthearted, the way he was looking at her told a different story.

"Some things came up while you were out—it's been handled, but I'm not taking chances I don't need to take."

"Things." She drew her lips down in a type of shrug. "Who'd I piss off?"

Something heavier settled over him, clouding the part where he'd just been happy to see her alive and functioning. "We should talk about this when you're not on drugs."

She narrowed her eyes. That wasn't it. "I'm far from high. In fact, if you find any more morphine, I'll gladly take it."

"You're in pain?"

"Don't change the subject."

He dropped eye contact briefly, obviously caught in some internal debate before he returned his focus. "There was someone in here that didn't need to be. Someone you know things about."

Her brow creased, and though slower than usual, like her brain was steeped in fog, she deduced that Tom's cryptic response might have everything to do with the ears surrounding them. But the thought of being confined with no answers was unfathomable.

"Tom."

After several drawn moments of uncomfortable silence where she stared without blinking, he unfolded his arms and opened the curtain enough to peer through. "I need the room, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

There was some shuffling, the sound of a chair scraping, and then Burk appeared, studiously keeping his gaze forward while he crossed and then exited with a noticeable limp. Behind him, he closed the door with a soft click.

"Michener?"

Tom nodded once. "I briefed the XO and the Master Chief. They know he broke the protocols." He kept his voice low, so low she had to focus to hear it over the ship's engines and the machines. "And Michener's aware of that now." She felt her eyes grow wider in surprise. Of all the moves, that wasn't one she'd expected from Tom. "I'll explain everything once you're back."

She took a few moments to process that. "Did he find out? How would he even do that?"

Tom half shrugged. "I have no idea, but he made himself clear—and so did I."

It almost sounded paranoid, and had she not possessed her own reservations about their miraculous Commander-In-Chief, she'd flat out call it. But he'd also killed twenty thousand people knowing his son was exposed, so really, using implied threat against a stranger with a personal motive to expose you, if only to manipulate Tom, didn't sound so far-fetched.

That answered the Green question, but the problem was, it didn't fit with that thing lingering within his eyes.

"What aren't you telling me?"

When his jaw ticked, it all but confirmed it.

"What did you do?" She didn't hear it, but she saw him inhale more deeply, and then the lurking guilt intensified. "I know that look, Tom." The longer he struggled to spit it out, the more the pit grew. Very few things could be so bad that he, of all people, couldn't seem to start, and his lips stayed parted for a long time before he finally breathed it out.

"I know it wasn't a miscarriage."

For a moment, she thought she'd misheard, but then he kept speaking.

"And I know it happened around six months... after the stadium. I told Scott and Rios because she said you were down two units when you got here, and if you'd told Rios the truth, he may not have cleared you… and you and I both know I would never have let you off this ship until that was fixed."

Her insides plunged on ice. Air snatched in her lungs, and the sound of her pulse intensified until it throbbed around her temples, but the fact she was hooked to a monitor meant Tom could hear too. It made it worse. Everything. All of it, and she was slacked-jawed. Blinking and reeling while trying to stomach that.

"You had no right to do any of that." The way he swallowed was hard. "I asked you to leave it alone!"

It was so imperceptible she might have imagined it, but his eyes faltered, a line at the center of his brows deepening before he shut it down. He'd gotten insanely good at controlling that. Or she just hadn't made herself clear enough yet, hadn't hit him where it hurt.

"I wasn't trying to find out—"

"Really?" she hissed, struggling not to lose control over her volume."You really expect me to believe that? That is so you, Tom. Someone won't tell you something, so you have to go digging because you need to know fucking everything when it is none of your business!"

She needed out of this bed more than she'd needed anything. So much, she considered trying.

"Sasha, I'm not lying to you—"

"Then how?" she spat.

Didn't even have the strength to sit up without help.

"Michener said something after the debrief." Michener. He was holding her gaze in earnest. "I swear to you, I didn't ask. He just started talking and said Andrew—" she sucked in a breath "—told him about the baby, and that's why he asked me if you knew, so I lied. It gave me the whole timeline. There's no way you'd push to go to Asia if it was planned, and you're like clockwork—"

"Stop talking."

Tom shut his mouth fast.

As much as Sasha wanted to blame him, if only to have something to target, he wasn't lying—all of that was Tom to a T. So detail-oriented, he could probably recount who'd drunk what in the wardroom that morning because he couldn't not. It should feel better than the alternative, the idea that he'd actively started seeking information against her will, but it didn't. Not in the moment. He even knew his name. Everything that ought to be hers to share in her own time, if she'd wanted, Tom already knew, and she couldn't even turn away because of the incision keeping her confined to her back.

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Oh you never had to try, Tom. It's what you're good at—can always count on you for that." She'd shot that back without thinking. Vile and ugly, and if she'd punched him, Sasha was sure it would have rendered less impact.

Shit.

She supposed this was the reaction she'd been looking for. The one where his features became pinched in such a way that it became impossible to ignore that she was hammering buttons that could break something. Immediate shame flooded her.

"Sasha, you almost died," he breathed. "I won't apologize for disclosing information that's relevant to your health—but I am sorry that it happened. More than you will ever know." She started chewing on her lip to stop it from trembling. "And if you really think I haven't lived with the guilt of what I did to you... then you haven't been paying attention."

Everything stung, and she hurt. Physically. The morphine wasn't doing much, had built a tolerance over her years of close calls. Mostly, it was just hard to keep pretending she wasn't angry and bitter, and it was far too easy to direct it at him. The guilt was driving her insane.

"I didn't mean that."

"You did," he countered gently, and then sank into the chair beside her bed and started wiping the tears escaping against her will. "And that's okay."

Any other response may not have reduced her or been so cathartic, but Sasha could accept that she'd been trying to act like Tom didn't possess a knack for sifting through her bullshit and then making her both live it and start letting go. Especially when she didn't want to. Couldn't figure out how this was still happening twelve years later.

"I can't be stuck in this bed."

It had nothing to do with the bed and everything to do with an intense, visceral need to fill as many seconds with something, anything, but silence and thought.

She felt him take her hand while the other continued cupping her cheek. "I know." The pad of his thumb moved in soft motions.

She'd thought herself beyond this. There'd been days in Savannah where she could only lay in one spot and cry, enough that they'd blurred, and those memories felt detached, having essentially divorced herself from the world. Determined she had no real place in it—electing to exist in parallel with no meaningful human connection to life—and certainly not grief. But she wasn't deluded. Grief didn't discriminate, nor care about plans or timing. And it was also not linear. Impossible to suppress at times…

"I did everything I was supposed to," she choked.

Later, she was going to act like this never happened, a decision made before letting those words free. It was also possible Tom couldn't understand her through the sounds of unraveling, and every jerky breath provided a reminder that her core muscles were sliced in half and then stapled back together.

She felt his lips against the back of her hand, the one that didn't have an IV drip taped to it, and he clutched it there, breath warm against her skin. "I'm so sorry."

She was convinced he wouldn't be if she could admit the part where she'd refused to give her own child a name. Didn't have an answer for why, and also didn't know how long the worst took to pass. Just that exhaustion caught up fast. Her lids were so weighted they would no longer open, and she was close to drifting into unconsciousness when the breath against the back of her hand ceased. He was still holding it though, and the other had been stroking her hair until it stilled. Warm where everything else felt cold. Seconds later he dropped a kiss against her forehead.

It was the last thing she felt before everything faded again.