an. Work has been a little crazy, I haven't had as much time to work on chapters. Sorry for the delay in posting. Review responses below:

Guest 1 Sasha does have a long journey to finding some peace. I'm so glad you liked the conversation, I think it needed to happen and you're right I think Sasha is understanding that she has always been capable of forgiving others but not herself. Despite this, she does love Tom and is trying to fight that pull but it's difficult. I LOVED cocky charisma Tom in Season 1, and the tiiiiiny little glimpse we got of him in Season 3. I was thinking of that scene where she tells him to stop being cute here. I love that version of Tom. I too found it crazy that no one else in the Navy survived. None of the other ships except Hayward, Shackleton, and maybe a submarine. Totally agree with you. I don't want to spoil but for sure there is more out there. I hope you like this chapter! It may have some more from the crew that you're looking for. I'm trying to juggle between not making this 200K words (because I have to do a S3 now too to tie this up).

Guest 2 Sasha does need to find a way to accept her choices, yes. And on Tom's front, I believe he's in shock that's beginning to ebb away now that the immediate high stakes 'we could die at any moment' situation is over. I don't think he'd be this forward had Sasha not almost died (she either to be honest). I think without the oil rig, they'd be sitting on this conversation a lot longer but typical Tom is a 'fix it' type and Sasha is just totally lost. Your sentiment at the end got me, that's exactly how I see it. You can have all the plans and logic in the world, but you can't control your heart. Time apart will be good for them.

Living Life in Reverie

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Pablo banged a second time. "You're not asleep—" well maybe she had been "—least not anymore, and I'm not leaving so open up."

He counted the seconds, around twenty, until Sasha appeared, his grin was smug. Rolling her eyes, she stepped aside so he could enter. It was dark, almost pitch black until she toggled one of the nightstand lamps. Maybe she truly had been sleeping… the room was pristine save for a backpack, a discarded jacket, some boots, and the sheets pulled back on the right side.

"I got the good stuff," he said, brandishing a whiskey bottle. She quirked her head in question, squinting while adjusting to the orange-toned light. "You can have one glass, right? Even with that whole—" he gestured toward her midsection "—situation."

She seemed to consider it. "One—and then I'm going back to sleep and you're going back to your party."

"Or you could stop being a recluse and come down? We're hanging at the bar."

Moving away from the door, Sasha re-approached the bed. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

Banter aside, her general demeanor concerned Pablo. Sure, they'd all been through it, but now he was convinced something big went down to make her this withdrawn. Now resting aided by the pillows propped against the headboard, Sasha waited for him to sit. He'd almost finished mirroring her position on the left side when she pointed to his feet.

"Shoes."

Right, they weren't in a shithole jungle anymore. He kicked them off and then settled, legs crossed ankle over ankle, outstretched atop the covers. Silence passed between them, not uncomfortable while he poured two glasses.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" he asked, more tentative than he'd ever been toward her.

For several moments, she pondered the drink between her fingers before speaking. "Remember that op that went sideways in Columbia?"

"You mean the one where I had to come save your ass?"

At least she'd cracked a smile, however lackluster. "The Doctor, Andrew?"

Took a minute to place, but Pablo eventually jerked his head in recognition.

"I married him in April and now he's dead… and the reason he's dead is because Jeffrey Michener flew his son into our safe zone, knowing he'd been exposed." Slowly, she drew her focus away from the glass to establish eye contact. "So, no. I don't feel like celebrating the guy."

That was the very last development Pablo expected, and his silence spoke volumes. "Shit."

She bounced her brows and then took another sip.

"I'm sorry."

"Keep it between us."

He lifted a brow. "You didn't tell Captain America?"

She'd expected this question, the way she pursed her lips showed it. "He knows, and he was about to roll on him, but—I told him to hold off."

"Why?"

She scrunched her features. "You honestly trust a single one of these people?" When he squinted, she clarified, "Not his crew—everyone else that's showing up. You heard about Baltimore…"

Pablo tipped his head; couldn't disagree with her sentiment. "So, I'm guessing no one else lived to tell Michener's little tale? Or the crew hasn't figured it out yet?"

Sasha nodded. "For now, Tom has a way to control him."

"But you're not stickin' around…"

Her gaze snapped up from the glass again. "No. I asked Jesse to help some contacts of mine get out of Shenzhen—I haven't been able to reach her since July."

"Hence why you were tryna get to Asia." He took his own sip.

"That's why I need you to stay."

"Join the Navy?" he drawled sarcastically. "I still haven't forgiven you for going back." He'd hammered another crack in her woeful façade, however fleeting.

"I get it, but the DOD's gone—leadership was in the bunker, which means your branch is dead."

While considering her over the rim, Pablo read the subtext. "You want me to watch his back."

Sasha fixed him with a look. "I want you to watch everyone's backs. They've never been on the ground after a government's completely collapsed, and I don't want to come back to some… messed up version of Venezuela."

"Oh—so you are planning on coming back then?" He returned the gesture, glaring at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Eventually." The word was drawn out. "If I don't die—you know it's gotta be hell on earth in China right now."

"Yeah—which is why I'm goin' with you, so you don't get your ass killed."

Shaking her head, she dismissed the notion, "You don't need to worry about that."

"Enlighten me."

"I could make one call and I'm pretty sure what's left of the Navy would show up to my rescue." The sarcasm rang from that statement.

"So you're admitting that you and Captain America—oh, actual Captain now, by the way. Your boys, the new CNO—but you're admitting something's up?"

"Paul, I told you—we go back and I trust him, which means you can too. That's all you need to know."

"It would seem that perhaps President Michener, and I suspect you, were correct."

For a moment, Tom almost chose arrogance over grace in response to Rachel's tepid drawl—instead, he pivoted at the waist and glanced over his shoulder. She approached, hands fidgeting at an envelope. Her assigned escort lingered beside the bar—close enough to act, but out of earshot.

In return, Tom said nothing, his choice one of caution. Mixing another fight ranked low on his desired list, mind far from St. Louis. Tomorrow he'd break the news that it wasn't safe for them yet—his kids—their first Christmas without Darien would be spent sans father too. Without the community of a family who made up for his shortcomings. It was more than Darien though. His sister was dead, his brother too. His nieces and nephews. In his heart, Tom knew it. It ate at the pit within. Seeped insidiously through a hollow made permanent since Baltimore. A hollow that irradiated more with every passing second.

It was here, and he knew it. He'd known since clutching the scent of Darien's perfume to his chest, the ghost of her in his arms, that when duty was done, and the structure of at-sea-life so too perished, it would become real. He'd see that he'd fulfilled his commitment. The contract he'd signed, breathed, and lived—given his all—'til death do us part'.

Rachel's gaze seemed to travel his form as though searching for something. "Has he shared anything more?"

His voice was gruff when it came. "No. Val was able to extract some location data from his cell—matches the last ping we got from MacDowell, and Michener recognized him as one of Ramsey's."

She made a small sound of irony. "And what was his grand plan? Lure me away from the hundreds of people and dozen armed men out into the open? Surely he didn't think he'd get away with it."

Tom facially shrugged. "I'm not sure he intended to—my guess is he wanted to shoot you and then martyr himself for the cause."

Sobering, she bounced her brows up and then drew a finger along the edge of the envelope again. "Well—if it was you who suggested my need for a security detail—then I believe I owe you an apology." Sincere this time until she became dry, "Perhaps this one you can accept."

Preventing the eye roll, Tom redirected, "What's in the envelope?"

"An updated model for the President. I was able to add several more samples to my analysis—immunity could be anywhere up to ten percent of the population, actually."

Tom acknowledged the information nonverbally. A good thing surely, but after five days of hearing 'real-world' survivors' accounts, he'd gathered the societal divisions started long before Sean Ramsey.

"I believe if I can obtain a cross-section of diverse profiles, I could reliably create a snap test—" now she had his undivided attention, thoughts of Virginia evaporating "—to identify those who possess natural immunity," Rachel said.

His eyes narrowed. "Did Michener order this?"

She postured slightly. "No, it's my own idea. For every person we cure, an average of two will die from exposure before reaching a carrier at our current rate. And we're certainly administering unnecessary doses without an appropriate method of screening. Until we can obtain reliable manufacturing, we need to conserve all that we can and limit the number of people attempting to travel into the city." When his frown deepened, Rachel paused. "It's in the report I gave you this morning. It's not just this bloody virus that we need to stop—we've already encountered a few cases of cholera… other influenza strains, pneumonia…"

He tightened his mouth—that report was sitting with thirty-three others, all labeled 'top priority'. There were not enough hours in his day. "Didn't get a chance to read it yet."

"Evidently," came her curt response.

Shifting the cover beneath his elbow, Tom countered, "Between Bonner, Curtis, and the inauguration, I didn't have time."

"It's funny, I thought off the ship you'd lack for things to do but it appears to be quite the opposite." She was scrutinizing again, and once more Tom chose silence, a tactic which never failed to diffuse conversation he didn't wish to have. For the most part.

Thrown by his stoicism, Rachel seemed to comprehend that his current mood left no desire for small talk, and she shifted, drawing her shoulders back. "Anyway, it's rather like a cruel joke don't you think? Our most viable option of saving the human race brings with it exposure to illnesses that we have little capacity at present to treat."

Uncharacteristically, it was something Tom had considered after checking the medical database aboard Nathan James. Unable to sleep, he'd researched potential complications related to splenectomy. Data was paramount to informed action, and informed action prevented the thoughts which hunted him at night.

Like missing Darien by hours.

Hours.

Conceding, he spoke. "I'll make sure to read it first thing."

There followed a lull where Rachel smoothed her dress, lingering still in his presence. Their recon teams had sourced clothing from Fort Leonard, currently piled for sorting in one of the conference spaces, but formal gowns weren't on that list.

"Where'd you find a dress?"

Her laugh sounded self-conscious. "The judge's daughter loaned it to me. She insisted I couldn't attend an inauguration in a t-shirt and jeans."

Bertrise, Kathleen, Val, and Diaz had—though he supposed like he, Rachel now lived in a historical spotlight. Inclining his chin to acknowledge, he took the cover from beneath his elbow into his hands. "It looks great."

"Thank you." A touch of color flushed her cheeks, and Tom kicked himself. Compliments were polite, but he'd failed to remain cognizant of his need to diffuse her attraction.

Now primed to exit, he offered a small nod. "I'll leave you to it."

"Ah," she chimed, her lips quirking upward. "The Irish Goodbye."

The what? Tom squinted.

"It's an expression." She began fiddling once more with the envelope. "It's what we say when someone leaves a social occasion without bidding farewell to its guests."

Oh. That had been his intention, yes. Engage in his duties until twenty-one hundred and then make a quiet retreat. For once, Rachel appeared to have read him correctly. With great precision he placed the cover atop his head, taking a few seconds to adjust it with one hand.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

December 24th, 2019—Hyatt Regency, St. Louis, Missouri

Wearing fatigues was getting old fast. Her pants were held closed by a hair-tie—as they'd been for the past two weeks—but that solution would become inadequate in another couple by Kara's estimation, and her stomach was still protesting being stuffed into formal dress the night prior. Kara doubted those buttons would even close in two days' time. Unlike Rachel, she didn't have a judge's daughter offering a gown for her upcoming nuptials, and the clothes from Fort Leonard were practical. Even found a larger bra, but nothing to get married in… thoughts that seemed petty in context.

Debbie was inbound, CO sent word to the SEALs in Norfolk announcing Nathan James' arrival. Families of crew members who'd remained on mission were making way, hitching rides with personnel who'd been summoned to serve the White House. It still felt odd—calling St. Louis the Capitol of the United States. The room was silent, though not uncomfortable and, if honest, that surprised Kara. Cooper had surfaced to review the lists. Kara wasn't privy to what she was searching for, but for close to an hour now, the other woman had been scanning. Paused only occasionally to type things on a standard-issue laptop.

After their brief interaction in CIC, Kara had already been shaken, but when Ravit switched from reserving opinion on Cooper to outright denying information on CO's visit, Kara became convinced it was about the baby. Danny said he'd heard crying from the p-way, and she couldn't begin to imagine how she'd survive if something happened to their child. The very thought brought flooding panic so vivid it felt as though she were strapped in Hamada's grip. Really, Kara couldn't fathom how Sasha could share space at all, and here she was, worrying about how she'd look on her wedding day because she was pregnant.

Unconsciously, she rested a palm against her bump.

Sasha scoffed—a small noise—jolted, Kara removed the hand and peered wide-eyed across the table, nerves calming upon noting Sasha's attention was focused on the laptop, not her.

Beneath her breath, Sasha chuckled, but it sounded like disbelief over amusement. "I just opened a browser to google something like that would work."

A small smile twinged Kara's lips. "I picked up my cell to call Danny… and then I realized I didn't have his number, let alone any service… we were at EMCON the whole time."

Sasha put her pencil down, features softening. "Last night I turned on the TV because I wanted some background noise…"

That drew a small laugh from Kara. "Miller freaked on the James when he realized iTunes is gone."

Bemused, Sasha bobbed her head and then sighed, gaze casting off. "All this—it's still so surreal. I feel like I could just—wake up somehow and go back."

The latter came quietly and, though Kara had no answer—because she couldn't fathom it herself—simply sitting with those words felt cathartic. It was easy to compartmentalize when sixteen of every twenty-four hours were occupied by regiment. Thinking only happened in solitude, like her bunk, in the officer's head, or when she'd lay dying in Nathan James' hangar bay.

The handle turned and Kara looked toward the room's entrance. Alisha stepped through. She spared a glance toward Sasha before approaching with a gleam in her eye.

"Miller found a karaoke machine—they hit a Party City."

"Surprised he's functioning," Kara quipped before wondering how Danny would smooth a Party City detour with Slattery.

Alisha snorted. "Please, XO had a field day between him, Wright, and Nishioka. Carl's puked three times already."

Kara grimaced and glanced at the wall clock, just past mid-day. While her share of vomiting, thankfully, was over, she could sympathize, even if Nishioka's condition was self-inflicted. Of the three, Kara assumed Miller had it worse. At least the others were inside recording data for the census; tedious but cushy work. Per Danny, their ground teams, bolstered by dozens of Bonner's men, were clearing more quadrants and there'd been snowfall. Nothing too heavy, but enough to bring misery.

Now settled in her own leather padded chair, Alisha leaned back. "At least we've figured out the entertainment, but you may have to wear a bedsheet. I looked again, couldn't find a size bigger than Chung's that wouldn't drown you."

She'd figured; there were twenty-seven women aboard Nathan James when they disembarked in June. Twenty-six after Maya Gibson died, eighteen after Norfolk, including herself, and they were all svelte. Chung's formal jacket hung like a box. Too wide in the shoulder, too long in the arm, and it bunched over her midsection like cardboard.

"I'm not trying to eavesdrop—" both Kara and Alisha drew attention to the interruption, Sasha "—but if I recall, there's a boutique close to here. I doubt anyone made it a priority to steal formal gowns."

In her peripheral, Kara saw Alisha's features twist with confusion.

"I made a list of every building in a ten-by-ten-block radius using the satellite data Val hacked," Sasha continued. "You might be able to find something? Ground teams said that quadrant isn't hit so bad."

Turning back to Alisha, Kara raised her brows and then peered between them. "Is it awful that I'm actually considering going and stealing a dress right now?"

Alisha grinned. "Are you serious? Hell no—we didn't sacrifice to find a cure to stop living."

The unease, or perhaps guilt, ebbed. At the crux were conflicting emotions. Over awareness that in many ways, her future had improved while so many others tragically imploded. Haunted by Andrea's tears for Lilly and Bill the night prior. The hour she'd spent holding her after one glass too many… by the sometimes glaze of the XO's eyes when Lucas crossed his mind. The box of flags Danny hoped to deliver, knowing he'd likely find no surviving relatives for his perished men.

"It's your wedding day." Sasha's tone turned wistful. "Do what you have to. No one's holding it against you."

Kara took a breath. "Alright, I'm doing it."

Alisha's grin turned into a full-blown smile.

"Tomorrow, I'm finding a dress."

December 25th, 2013—10th, and Olive Street, St. Louis, Missouri

Sasha couldn't pinpoint why she'd accepted Kara's open invitation. It was indescribably difficult, yet her need to be involved in something positive—normal—seemed greater than avoiding the hotel's lobby and searching lists on level four until her eyelids dried. It reminded her of home, the way frigid air nipped when she breathed, overcast, gloomy skies and streets lined with French Colonial-inspired architecture. This walk felt easier than the one from Nathan James; Rios pulled her staples that morning. No longer did her skin tug with every movement and the sharp pain had dulled into a constant discomfort. Welcomed in a way. It distracted from the endless grief.

The teenaged girl, Kathleen, she'd since learned, had jumped at the idea when Pablo enticed her father to suit up for an escort. No formal duties for the crew today barring their security teams and those who preferred work over R&R. Most were assisting Dr. Scott in setting up another makeshift lab within the hotel's confines. In all, the streets just beyond their chain-link-fenced Capitol weren't terrible. Some civilians had even started cleaning. Swathes of trash at random had been moved into larger piles for disposal, though Sasha wasn't privy to how that would be accomplished.

At least she'd been correct. The boutique, though boarded up, was relatively unscathed. A crowbar solved that issue, and Tex made a show of presenting the door once he and Pablo cut the padlock, sprung the closure, and verified the space was clear of threats.

"I'll leave the honors to the bride," Tex said.

Kathleen cringed. "You're such a dork, Dad."

The air was stale, interior dim—kara pulled a flashlight and scanned, the action illuminating swirling particles. It was bigger than outward appearance, narrow but deep with towering ceilings and the original checkered marble floor. Granderson entered next, followed by Kathleen, Garnett, and Val. An odd combination of attendees and Sasha still felt more removed than the woman who ten days prior, had been working for Sean Ramsey.

"It's a little more prom dress than wedding, but we can make it work, right?" Granderson commented while surveying the racks.

"Anything is better than nothing," Kara said.

Pulling an embellished gown, Kathleen held it up. "This one's white."

Feeling awkward, Sasha sat on the ottoman anchoring the center. They'd traveled a short distance, less than half a mile, but her legs were shaky. The forest green velvet crunched beneath her, a plume of dust billowing from it.

"Hey Kitkat—"

She snapped her focus toward Tex. Kitkat. Thrown at once by a vivid memory; 'Kitkat doesn't know what she's talking about—and I've never loved anything the way I love you.'

"—pull everything white and put it here," Tex said, wheeling over a mostly empty rack.

Behind her, Garnett hummed when the decal became clear upon Pablo removing more plywood from the storefront windows. Sasha watched her fingers trail the word 'Lily' before resting them against her lips, studying it.

"It's called Calla Lily," she mumbled softly, and while Sasha didn't understand the significance, it was clear Garnett found meaning in it. Meaning Kara seemed to understand by her sad smile.

"So?" Val asked, turning away from the bright yellow thing she'd been scrutinizing.

Garnett turned, sadness tugging her features. "My daughter was called Lilly."

Oh.

Sasha swallowed and started counting the checkers in her line of sight.

Normal people named their children.

And Val seemed to shrink in attitude under the glare Granderson threw.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road, I'm ready to see some dresses," Pablo announced, bringing up the rear and closing the door against the cold breeze behind him.

"Wow—that's um…" Granderson trailed off and bit her lip, pulling her cell.

Kara frowned; cheeks flushed. "Uh, no. We are not taking pictures—"

"Sorry—" Granderson suppressed her laugh and hit the button "—but I promised Ravit."

The Israeli was just now getting her chest drainage tubes removed. Sasha didn't envy it, recalling well the month spent bedridden thanks to Columbia. By all accounts, the woman should have died, and her recovery was more complex. That was the problem with bullets, they ricocheted in the body and shredded things.

Tex whistled low and then laughed. "You look like my Ma's tablecloth."

Val snickered but had the decency to suppress it.

Andrea, good-natured as she was fussed a little with the closure and tried to make it workable. "Maybe if we clipped it here?"

Smoothing her hands over the fabric, Kara huffed, "No. He's right—I look like Grandma Juju."

"Is there anything with an empire line?" Sasha suggested.

"I don't even know what that is," Kara admitted.

Val threw up her hands. "Don't look at me. Last time I wore a dress was fifth grade."

"I didn't go to prom yet." Kathleen shook her head.

Pushing up from the ottoman, Sasha scanned a few racks until she found one. "Looks like this. Fitted to bust but loose on the bottom."

"They teach that to spies?" Granderson chimed droll with one brow raised.

"I've seen my share of galas. Politicians love them."

"When you're not slumming it in a jungle," Pablo added.

"Wait, aren't you like related to one?" Val asked, folding her arms, and reclining against a wall.

"I never really fit in with that crowd." Granderson's tone was clipped, and Sasha figured Val hadn't heard what went down in Baltimore yet.

"We should check the stock room too," Sasha mumbled while picking through the white options.

Pablo clapped Tex on the shoulder. "You'll hold the fort, old man?"

Scoffing, Tex jerked his neck back. "Old man?"

"Try shaving, Dad."

Scrunching his features, Tex held a hand to his heart. "Ouch."

Kathleen turned to her father and grinned. "Might make the Doc more interested."

Sasha couldn't help but smile.

"Oh my god." Val held up a fuchsia gown complete with silver rhinestones, modeling it against her body in disgust. "Who would wear something like this?"

"Most of the girls at my school," Kathleen shot back, holding something else. "This one's kind of cute though."

Pivoting where her incision would allow, Sasha glanced. It was pretty, a simple silhouette in pale blue.

"Hey Kara," Tex called. "What about a bridesmaid?" He gestured toward Kathleen.

"Dad."

"You can be a bridesmaid." Kara looked between all of them. "You should all be bridesmaids."

"That's a great idea," Garnett said.

From the backroom, Pablo emerged carrying a half dozen gowns. "Not much back there." He stopped and deposited them on the rack beside Kara.

"Thanks, but I'll pass—I'm not wearing a dress," Val said, returning the fuchsia disaster.

While picking through the new options with Kara, Garnett paused. "It's beautiful, Kat. You should try it on."

"Alisha?" The cautious hope seemed to ring from Kara's tone, and Sasha suspected it was the reason Granderson agreed.

"I'll be a bridesmaid. But I refuse to wear anything pink or with rhinestones," she added, tilting her head.

That left her. Taking a quiet but deep breath, Sasha dropped the hem of the dress she'd been reviewing and did her best to seem upbeat. "Sure. Why not?"

No man's land.

That's where Tom lived now. His kids weren't surrounded by friends, family, gifts, and joy. Or food. Sam's favorite meal was Christmas dinner. Now, they only had Jed. Jed, who'd already lost his wife before two kids and five grandchildren… there was no crack in his father's façade during their video call, but Tom knew. Saw through his tactics like glass. Watched Ashley try not to cry for his benefit. How Sam mustered only a few mumbled words. Sure, Kelly had whipped something up from the rations provided, attempted to make the best, and he appreciated that. More than he had words to communicate, but he was suffocating in failure. His heart split in two.

Personally, he'd considered skipping the evening. Professionally, as the crew's leader, he needed to be there. Gathered in remembrance of all they were missing. It was heavy, threw him back to their early days on mission. The walls of the lobby were slowly becoming covered in photographs, trinkets, and mementos. Tom couldn't bring himself yet to add anything.

Earlier, the President had addressed the nation. A message of shared grief, unity, and hope in community. It was a good speech. Tom was fresh out of those.

He wanted to crawl from his own skin.

Mason held up a worn photograph. His brothers, Peter and Noah, on their parents' ranch. Chocked on words while Russ stood in quiet comfort, a hand upon the younger man's shoulder.

Tom couldn't stop thinking about them. Katie and Jim. Matt and Laura. His nephews Joshua, Timmy, and Harrison. His nieces Mackenzie and Lola. His in-laws Ethan and Margaret Jerome… Adelyn, Darien's sister, and his other niece Sophia.

Gone.

What he hadn't expected, more than Sasha's quiet but distant emergence, was for Tex to take the floor. Nor the sincerity and depth which shone from the lines upon his rugged face.

Removing his ball cap, Tex held it where his palms crossed hand over hand at his waist. "I don't have any pictures anymore, and I regret that." Tex paused before continuing. "Her name was Claire."

Beside Tom, Mike adjusted his posture, breathed a little deeper—a telltale sign.

"She was a good woman—and I screwed it up, no doubt about that—but she gave me the most beautiful thing in my life."

In the small crowd, Kat pursed her lips and ducked her head. Blinked several times.

"And not a day goes by that I don't think about her." Again, Tex stopped. Mouth tight with regret before bobbing his head and repeating softly, "Yeah—she was a good woman."

Quietly, Mike dislodged something from his throat. Tex stepped away, Carlton Burk choosing to speak next.

"I uh, I'm thinkin' about my brother. Cameron. He was serving on the USS Cole."

Tom didn't know how much longer he'd remain stoic. His gaze traveled the crew, most were crying. Many had joined hands, others simply held each other. In a way, it was beautiful, and though he tried not to, truly, he landed on Sasha. The guilt intensified. The kind that curiously had been missing until precisely now.

It twisted as it had twelve years ago to the very date when he'd kissed her. Broken one of those vows to forsake all others.

After several seconds, she dragged her attention up, seeming to know the source. Funny how it still worked like that. Never could explain it, how he just knew when Sasha looked at him. The tip of her nose was red, her lashes clumped and wet.

The knot obstructing his throat screamed.

Darien had always deserved better.

And so had she.