Author's note: yay another chapter! This one was a bit rough, but mostly wrote itself. We get a little bit of insight on Tom. Hope you enjoy, happy reading. Dark rolling sea.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A few hours later Mike and Tom walked into a bar down the road from his apartment building. Mike pointed out a booth in the back tucked away from the bustle of the rest of the bar. Mike slid into the side so he could watch the place and see the door. Tom slid into the opposite side of him. The waitress came.

"What can I get your fellas?" she asked smiling at them.

"Whiskey," Tom said. "Bring a glass, leave the bottle." She gave him a side glance.

"Just a beer for me. Whatever you have on tap is fine," Mike replied with a smile. The waitress nodded then left. She came back shortly and placed Mike's beer in front of him, and a bottle of whiskey with a glass in front of Tom.

"Would you like some food?"

"Not right now," Tom mumbled his dark mood still evident. Mike shook his head no with a tight-lipped smile. The waitress nodded and walked away. Tom opened the whiskey and poured himself some, slamming a good amount down, then wincing.

"Want to talk about it?" Mike asked, sipping at his beer. Tom glanced at him, and Mike tried to hold the judgment from his eyes.

"Maybe a few more drinks in," Tom sighed out. Mike nodded slowly. They kept the conversation light, Mike making sure not to bring up anything that would trigger Tom. Mike limited himself to two beers then switched to cola off the tap. Tom continued to drown himself in whiskey. They were two hours in when Tom finally broke down.

"What the fuck happened to my life, Mike?" he slurred. Mike thought he was close to tears. Mike sighed.

"Life threw us a bunch of razor blades. Some of us came through, some of us didn't. None of us came through without scars."

"So many didn't come through. My fault. My decisions. My…failures."

"You didn't fail, Tom," Mike breathed out feeling the ache coming out of his friend. Sasha was right, he was punishing himself for surviving.

"But I did," Tom hissed out at him.

"You saved the world. You kept us from giving up. When we all lost faith…you were there to pick up the pieces. You made us believe. So much. That we came home with a cure."

"At what cost?"

"Everything has a cost, Tom," Mike replied. "We all gave something. I lost my family because I stayed the course. I stayed for the greater good. Do you think I don't harbor some guilt for that?"

"I got many people killed. I couldn't defend…I lost so much…I…" he was stumbling over his words.

"Tell me what haunts you, Tom?" Mike asked quietly, as he peeled the label off his empty beer bottle. Tom threw back another round of whiskey.

"The faces. Granderson, Cossetti, Burk, Meylan, Andrea, Rios, Barker, Gibson, Bivas, Chung, Mason, O'Conner, Sunshine, Lynn…my dad…Rachel…Tex…Darian. Do I really need to keep going?"

"No. But you can't keep putting the responsibility of those deaths on your shoulders. It's crushing you," Mike sighed out. "You need to find a way to put them down."

"How can any of them forgive me? How can I forgive myself if…"

"Tom, none of them would blame you," Mike said softly.

"Because of choices I made my dad is dead," Tom ground out. Because of choices I made my wife is dead."

"Stop," Mike commanded. Tom jumped back and sat at attention for a second before he slumped forward again. "This is bullshit, Tom. Straight bullshit. You are not responsible for your wife's death," he hissed out. "For shit's sake, man."

"We were this close," Tom held up his fingers a pinch apart. "This close to saving her," he slurred as the tears spilled down his face. Mike felt for his friend. He just didn't know how to fix it for him. "And my dad? If I hadn't done those things. If I hadn't gone back to sea…I never should have gone back. I should have just stuck to my guns and disappointed the old man and lived with it."

"And you'd still be miserable just for a different reason," Mike sighed. "Tom, your dad was right. You needed to finish he mission."

"It came at too high of a price for me. Except I didn't know the price until after I already paid the bill."

"That's how it works most of the time. I paid with my three children. All of my kids. Gone. I never got to say a proper goodbye. I'll never get to hold them again."

"Yeah, well I fucked that up too. Mine are still alive, they just hate me."

"They don't hate you."

"Could fool me the way they act," Tom breathed out.

"I talked to Ashley," Mike decided to come clean.

"What? When?"

"Earlier today. She knows you're considering staying here. So does Sasha."

"Fuck, Mike, going behind my back?"

"No. I just know they love you and would worry. I didn't want them to worry when it wasn't…"

"It wasn't your call to make."

"No wonder they all stepped away. Look. You have to stop punishing yourself for being alive. We can't bring back the people we've lost."

"That's the issue," Tom barked out.

"No, the issue is you letting it tear you apart from the inside out. How long have you been in love with Sasha."

"We've been together almost four years. Moot point."

"That's not what I asked, Tom." Mike watched something flash across Tom's eyes. Tom broke eye contact and poured himself more whiskey. He tossed the glass back and winced as it burned going down. He was still avoiding eye contact. He let the silence drag a little longer, but Mike was determined to wait his friend out.

"A long time," Tom finally breathed as more tears slipped. "Long before Darien. But it wasn't right, then. That's not the point."

"The point is, that your guys' love for each other is a long bond. It's not something to just cast away."

"Love isn't the issue."

"No, I suppose not. Your issue is punishing yourself for sins you feel you've committed. But in punishing yourself? You've punished Sasha and the kids."

"Mike, I got my dad killed. I couldn't protect Rachel. I wasn't there for Darien. Cossetti died saving my ass," Tom barked out.

"Cossetti died following my orders," Mike fired back.

"Well, what about the rest of them. What about Gibson? My fault. Frankie Benz, Walker, Berchem, and Smith."

"Gibson knew what she was getting into when she agreed to the trial. We had to expect something would go wrong. None of the rest are on your shoulders either. You did not get your dad killed. He died because someone else made a choice. Tom, we had to make some tough decisions. I made them too. I was in command too. Most of my family was still alive when we left the arctic, Tom. You ordered me to fall in line and I did. I did because I swore an oath. I wanted to abandon ship. I wanted to go home. I wanted to save my family. But I made a choice. I live with that choice every damn day that I take a breath. Could I have saved them? No, not if I had left when I did. I'd probably be dead too right now. If we had not made the choices, we made? The cure never would have been made; the Immunes would have inherited the earth. You, and Sasha, and your kids? All dead."

"Maybe that is the better scenario," Tom whispered. Mike sighed. This was tougher than he thought. Tom looked up at him and Mike was taken aback by the broken look in his best friend's eyes.

"Tom," Mike said sympathetically. He felt his own tears building. "How do I convince you that it's not your fault?"

"What makes you think you can do it when no one else could?"

"I don't know. I just know you're stronger than this. You carried that ship on your shoulders. You had faith in everything. And because you believed? We all believed," Mike said empathically. He leaned back in the booth and blew out a breath. He blinked several times to fight back the tears.

"I carried that ship, and it broke my back," Tom spat out. Mike nodded slowly.

"You might be broken, but I think it's fixable," Mike replied.

"Why? Why is that so important to you?" Tom said, the anger starting to seep in. Mike sucked in a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. This was the question of the day. And Mike knew he was going to have to tell Tom why he needed Tom to be okay.

"Because you are the strongest person I've ever met. I've looked up to you since I met you. I know we butted heads a lot during command decisions and we both had different ways of approaching the situation, but I always took strength from you. I always compared my decisions, my morals, my strength…to you. I didn't want to disappoint you."

"What the fuck, Mike," Tom breathed out as more tears slipped down his face. Mike looked away. He took a moment to put his thoughts together.

"I just can't stand the fact that you think it's not fixable. You were the one that took the impossible and made it possible. We were all giving up and you said, pull up your bootstraps and follow me. I'll get you home."

"And I always thought you sucked at pep talks," Tom huffed out with a chuckle. Mike smirked.

"I do suck at the pep talks. I'm the joke man, remember?" Mike felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

"Need to get that?"

"Hmmm?" Mike asked as he read the text message from Ginny.

Are you still awake?

"Do you need to get that?" Tom asked again, his speech slurring a little more. He was refilling his whiskey glass and frowned when he noticed his bottle was almost empty. Mike looked back at his phone and fired a text back to Ginny.

Yes. Not at home though.

"No, it's fine. We need to finish this talk."

"What's to finish?" Tom sighed.

"If I find someone who deals with PTSD would you agree to see them regularly and talk about all this shit without the whiskey?"

"Can't we do it with the whiskey?" Tom asked making a face before he tossed back the last of his whiskey.

"Tom," Mike said in a fatherly tone. Tom shook his head.

"I don't know. I'm too drunk right now to make a decision like that," Tom slurred as he leaned to the side for a moment before righting himself. Mike frowned. His phone buzzed again, and he looked at it. Another text from Ginny.

Okay. Let me know when you get home.

"Being friends with me is going to kill your social life," Tom slurred with a smirk. Mike gave him a 'shut up' look before he pocketed his phone. "She looks good on you," Tom said, before he frowned.

"You're so drunk," Mike laughed. Tom blinked at him a few times.

"I need more," Tom said, smacking his lips together a few times.

"You need to go home and sleep it off," Mike quipped. They sat silent for a moment. "Can I get an answer from you about any of this?"

"I'm drunk. Drunk Tom doesn't make promises," Tom said trying to sound serious. Mike laughed. "At least not that kind of promises."

"What kind of promises does Drunk Tom make?" Mike asked, seeing where this line of talk would take them. Tom frowned at him and tilted his head to the side.

"Not the kind of promises that he would make to you," Tom said. Mike shook his head. "I mean, not…what were we talking about?"

"Promises," Mike laughed.

"Drunk Tom only makes promises to certain people. But I don't think Drunk Tom keeps his promises," Tom said with a frown.

"I think Drunk Tom needs some sleep."

"No, Drunk Tom...why am I referring to myself as Drunk Tom?"

"Probably because you're drunk."

"I'm not," Tom slurred. He picked up the empty whiskey bottle and frowned. "Why'd you drink my whiskey?"

"I didn't," Mike laughed. "Serious question though, Tom."

"What?" he asked, as he licked his lips several times. "I can't really feel my lips," he said thoughtfully.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue tonight," Mike chuckled. "Do you really feel like you deserve to be punished for things that were out of our control?"

"Was it really out of our control?" Tom asked. "Did we really look at the whole picture when making decisions?"

"Yes, we used the available knowledge that we had at the time and made the best decision we could for the greater good."

"Ourselves be damned," Tom grunted out as he pounded his fist on the table.

"Tom," Mike said in a warning voice. Tom looked up at him, the sorrow and guilt heavy in his eyes.

"Was this world really worth saving?" Tom asked harshly. Mike was a little stunned by his question. He thought about it.

"We had to at least try," Mike replied. Tom shook his head.

"I'm tired, Mike. I just don't know that we did the right thing. Maybe that's why I can't get past it. I just keep asking if all those people were worth it for the world we live in today."

"If we hadn't done what we did? If we hadn't fought for what we did? Then this world would be in a lot worse shape that it is in today."

"Maybe," Tom replied with a yawn. Mike felt a little defeated, but he also had an inkling of hope for his friend. He hoped letting off this steam would help in the long run, and Mike really hoped that Tom would agree to his ideas in the morning.

Mike managed to get Tom out to his truck and into the passenger side. He drove the short distance home and again struggled to get Tom into the apartment. Tom was half asleep already and was extremely unsteady on his own feet. Tom collapsed onto the bed in the guest room and was snoring by the time his head hit the pillow. Mike shook his head and smiled at his friend. He tugged Tom's shoes off and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He pulled his phone out and debated texting Ginny. He finally decided that he should at least let her know he made it home safely.

I'm home.

Short, simple, to the point. He wanted to see her, but it was getting late. He was going to need to get some sleep soon, if he was planning on going to Ty's school in the morning. It wasn't long before his phone buzzed again.

Come see me. I've missed you.

Mike felt the flutters inside. He missed her too. He knew Tom was out for the night. He decided to make his way down the hall. He quietly entered Ginny's apartment, leaving his shoes by the door, before made his way to her bedroom. He slipped through the half open door, sliding it closed behind him. He stood a moment, watching her. Her head came up slowly and as his eyes adjusted fully to the darkened room, Mike saw the smile on his face. She reached out a hand.

"Come here," she whispered, and Mike went to the bed, he paused long enough to remove his jeans and the over shirt he had on, before he pulled back the covers, and laid down next to her. She breathed a contented sigh as she laid her head on his chest, her leg draping softly over his, her arm stretching across his abdomen.

"Hey," he sighed out. She picked her head up and stared at him for a long while.

"How'd things go tonight?"

"Tom's drunk," Mike replied. He didn't know how much he wanted to share just yet. He felt very deeply that he could trust Ginny, but he still wasn't quite ready to bear Tom's pain to her.

"So, is that good or bad?" she whispered as she kissed his jaw line. Mike's mouth twitched as he thought about her question.

"I'm not sure yet," Mike replied as closed his eyes. Exhaustion was creeping into him. The emotional evening was taking its toll. He yawned as he felt her kiss his cheek. Her fingers came up and traced the scar on his right cheek. He was drifting away when she spoke again.

"How'd you get this one?" she asked quietly, her fingers still touching the scar. A memory rushed his brain, and he smirked a little.

"I was three. I crashed my tricycle and landed on a wheelbarrow axle. I split my face open. My mom watched from the front porch. I've never heard her scream like that again. She scooped me up, rushed me to the ER and I had six stitches to close the gash," Mike said yawning again when he was done. He leaned over and kissed her temple.

"Good lord. I bet you did that to your momma a lot," Ginny said with a chuckle. Mike closed his eyes, letting himself completely relax into her bed. Feeling the pull of sleep overtaking him.

"I think I was just a normal boy, with normal stuff," he whispered with a smile. He felt Ginny settled down against his chest again as his breathing evened out and he fell into a deep sleep.

To Be Continued…