an. Once again, thanks for the reviews. Nice to know you are enjoying the direction this is going so far. I'd like to issue a warning that we're about to head into some dark places involving the realities of war and the lasting mental effects it brings. From this point forward, there will be graphic depictions of violence that involve minors. In case there is confusion on the cover names: Josh = Danny, Mitch = Brown (new recruit to vulture team), Kendi = Azima, Olivia = Sasha, Luke = Wolf.
In addition, as I was writing this chapter, the referenced memory fleshed out in my mind, and I have published it as a standalone piece titled "Relinquish" if you'd like to read it. Enjoy!
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May 4th, 2016—St. Louis, Missouri
He was puttering. Could hear his Dad say it in his head.
Puttering about the house like a lost kid in the grocery store that didn't know what to do with themselves. She'd left not more than a day ago, and he already couldn't stand it. He missed her, desperately so. Found himself hovering near her vacant office a time or two at work today, somehow having forgotten despite being painfully aware that something was missing, that she wouldn't be in there. An odd paradox. Kept reliving the moment they'd said goodbye over and over in his mind—even the kids had been sad. Sam, a little tearful and Ashely genuinely disappointed to see her go. Goodbye's they'd said in the privacy of their home rather than the airstrip.
America knew he was back, and the attention from the press was more than she needed. When anonymity was the difference between life and death, it made little sense to be publicly attached to Earth's most famous man. It was something they'd lectured the kids about, hammered the point home that there could be no discussion of her at school, and absolutely under no circumstances, any pictures of her shared on their social media or with friends. No unsolicited visitors either—no friends from school, no one outside of the crew and people who understood the importance of discretion. They couldn't take that chance, not when she was about to go under deep cover.
He melted into the sofa, stared longingly at the armchair she preferred, left empty with her blanket neatly folded over the back, and thought himself pathetic. He was forty-nine and pining like a housewife. The irony not lost on him. He sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulled open the photos, and looked at a recent picture he'd taken. One where she flipped him off—the memory bringing a small smile because she hated being caught off guard, and that's precisely what he'd done. Another of she and Ashely, pulling stupid expressions at the dinner table. The time she and Sam had fallen asleep on the sofa watching a movie – a picture she didn't know he had. Another that Kara had sent them from the Christmas Party, one where he must have said something funny because she was radiantly laughing at him from the other end of the sofa they'd camped on.
A heavy exhale left his lips, and he put the phone down. Doing himself more harm than good by obsessing, yet he couldn't quite help himself—he'd fallen down the rabbit hole, and he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to endure three months of this.
Radio silence.
May 4th, 2016—Base Camp, Panama
The set up was rudimentary at best, not more than a dozen or so cabin tents gathered in a clearing, centered around a communal space that functioned as a mess hall—a rustic construction with a water recycling system that functioned as their shower stalls, further from that some outhouses rigged to serve as their restrooms. It was miserable—it was war. They'd expected nothing else.
Space was tight, and they didn't have the luxury to choose, so they smushed five cots into the tight space, not more than a foot of space between each one—just enough for their packs and a small pop-up table each. Team synergy was the kind of thing that would make or break this kind of mission. She had little concern for the old-timers, only for Brown. Nothing wrong with him, but it was tough being the outsider, even more after the hell they'd all weathered to find those seeds.
Azima stretched out, kicking off her boots, and laid back with a heavy sigh, "Reminds me of the refugee camps in Africa," she mused. Sasha tipped her head, stomping on a bug that had crawled its way through the flaps clambering in the tight space to reach her cot—she was against the wall, her choice, preferred only one person beside her. Just a habit.
"Home sweet home," Sasha added sarcastically. She opened her backpack pulled out a book, some bedding she'd brought, and snacks to add to their private stash, small luxuries that would see them through—however menial they appeared.
Green settled on his cot beside her, mirroring her ministrations with his own pack, "It's not so bad, I think I can spoon Mitch from here if I get lonely," he joked, using Brown's cover name and punching him good-naturedly on the bicep earning a fast quip in response.
"Of course, baby, whatever you need." Laughter erupted between them all, and the apprehension Sasha felt eased, looked like he'd fit right in.
"Hey, if we're having an orgy, don't leave me out," Wolf chimed, the accent prolonging his vowels as they rolled off his tongue.
Sasha smirked, "What do you say, Kendi? Wanna switch with Josh, and we can give em a show?" addressing Azima and Green covertly.
"You just let me know. Whenever you are ready," Azima replied seductively. Brown let out a wolf whistle, as Green and Wolf laughed some more and made catcalls. Sasha shook her head a wide grin on her face at their banter.
"Alright boys, settle down—might I remind you, this is a Christian missionary camp, and that kind of behavior will not stand," Sasha falsely reprimanded them, the salacious eyebrow and tip of her head making it clear she was joking.
"If only my priest could see me now," Green quipped, closing his eyes dramatically and blessing himself with the holy cross, and Sasha couldn't help the snort of laughter that came out. They settled themselves—the banter continuing to fly before finally dying down into comfortable silence instead. They'd made their introductions at dinner at the communal tables, met each of the fifteen odd volunteers that kept this camp running. Received an orientation on what was expected of them over the coming days, the type of treatments they usually gave in the clinical tent, as well as an update on the situation with the rebels. And now, they'd retreated to spend their first night in the jungle.
This was home.
Sasha was staring at the canopy above her head, the contours of the fabric distorted by her mosquito net. The air was sticky, oppressively humid, and thick. The sounds of the jungle, a mass of insects humming like traffic on a busy road keeping her awake as she tried desperately not to think of the ache. Beside her, Danny chanced a glance over; she'd been quiet after dinner—too quiet.
"Doesn't get any easier," he spoke quietly, could hear Brown snoring and Azima and Wolf absorbed in their own intimate conversation in hushed tones. Sasha turned her head toward him, catching his gaze through the net.
"I don't think that's what you're supposed to say if you're trying to make me feel better." A wry retort to which he softly chuckled. No, it didn't help—in fact, he wasn't really sure what had prompted him to say it, but it felt right. "But if it makes you feel better, I know," she offered gently, letting the implication hang in the night air between them.
The resentment, the reality as it set in that they were here for three months, that their hopes of a brighter future – their idea that they'd reached it when they handed over the seeds, dashed. That realization that the finish line was in sight, yet the goalposts had shifted, again. That in some ways, the stakes had never been higher because they both had so much to lose.
"I keep telling myself it's the last one," the last mission, "yet somehow, I always find myself back here," he mused, turning his head back to look up at his own canopy and net.
Didn't know if it was the fact that she missed home, the fact that the jungle was miserable and their conditions so dire, or the fact that he was being so transparent with her – but she felt the need to confess, "I told him I'd stay if he asked, and I was one day too late—I dragged him back with me." A small scoff came from her throat, "I had it all—and here I am."
"Crazy, isn't it."
"The very definition," she agreed softly—the silence stretching between them. She rolled slightly, moving from her back to rest her weight on her side, turned toward the side of the tent, and bought the fabric she'd been holding to her nose—breathed deeply, the scent of Tom filling her senses. It was the only thing she had of him other than memories, a shirt. Something that no-one would look twice at should they get caught.
She missed them.
May 18th, 2016—White House, St. Louis, Missouri
"Excuse me, Sir."
Tom looked up from his computer at his assistant, a new addition that he wasn't entirely thrilled about. It's not that she'd done anything wrong, just that she lingered a little too long sometimes, and it made him uncomfortable. He wasn't used to dealing with anything but complete professionalism and decorum from his 'subordinates' and he was still adjusting to this new crowd. "The James is on Navy Red for you," she explained, holding the door open as he snapped responsively out of his chair.
"Nathan James, this is CNO actual—have you heard from Vulture Team?"
"This is Commander Slattery, affirmative, Sir—received the first transmission right on schedule. Should be decrypted within the hour and you'll have the full report."
Tom let out the breath he felt like he'd been holding since she'd left. They'd made their check-in, which meant everything was okay. He reset the clock again, two more weeks until they were next due. "Outstanding," Tom answered.
"Sir, if I may—there was something else that wasn't encrypted," Slattery paused, awaiting confirmation that he could proceed with disclosing it on the open channel with comms specialists listening.
Tom frowned slightly, a million possible scenarios running through his mind, though if she'd sent it unsecured, it clearly wasn't classified information, "Go ahead?"
"Just three words—On a swivel—I take it you'll know what that means?"
The corners of his lips pulled into a soft smile, and his eyes crinkled, "I do—Thank you Captain, maintain position in the bay until zero-hundred hours, then proceed home as scheduled—this is the CNO, out."
"Nathan James copies all, Roger, out."
June 10th, 2016—Base Camp, Panama
"Liv, Josh—we need you, now!" Wolf yelled, sprinting through the camp in the direction of the commotion from the medical tent. Sasha and Green dropped their cards quickly, a bottle of water spilling on the ground where his foot knocked it against the rickety overturned plastic crates, something they'd fashioned as a game table, as they darted out rapidly.
They grabbed gloves, pulling them on roughly, and followed the sounds of wailing. Sasha nearly vomited when she saw it.
"What the hell?" she breathed, eyes fluttering with shock and breath immediately narrowing to short, stilted jerks. Beside her, Danny mirrored her stance, his horror palpable.
"Grab those tourniquets—we need to stop the bleeding!" the frantic instructions from Carter, their most senior and experienced doctor. It snapped her out of her stupor, and she rushed forward, hands shaking as she helped secure them around the flailing limbs.
Oh God, Sasha panicked.
The sounds were traumatizing, he was crying, no, screaming as he howled in pain and his mother wailed at them to save him from the floor. The anguish in Danny's voice shrill as he asked, "Can't you do something—for the pain?" only to be told grimly, "I already gave him as much morphine as I could."
The blood was everywhere. Wouldn't stop coming—couldn't believe so much could come from such a tiny little body.
"Fuck!" Danny yelled next to her, "It's okay, don't cry buddy—it's okay, alright—shhh."
"Oh my god," Wolf moaned to her left, the three of them desperately trying to pack the stumps and staunch the bleeding.
"It's coming too fast!" Carter warned desperately.
"¡No! Dios mío, por favor, no, por favor, ayúdalo" the mother wailed, clawing at the ground.
"Estamos intentando," we're trying, Sasha called weakly, her voice sounding like it was coming from another body.
"Shit!—he's crashing."
She looked on in horror as Carter tried to coax life into the little guy's body, the size of his hands compared to his chest gut-wrenching. Caught Danny's tormented eyes, swimming with despair. The noise faded until all she could hear was a constant, high-pitched tinnitus ringing in her ears. Felt like she was floating as she watched Carter step back, as he shook his head and backed away, viscously ripping his gloves off and running ragged hands through his hair.
"No," she breathed—unconsciously, though no one paid any mind.
Danny gritted his teeth, nodding obsessively as he tried to make sense of it, his breath puffing out in short, stunted gasps to the point that she could see the drops of spit on his lips shooting out. She reached a hand out, touched the child's hair, only to stop in shock at the thick ugly blood her fingers spread through it. The blood that was coated all over her hands and soaking her grey shirt.
The floor.
Everything.
Everywhere she looked.
The fuck had just happened?
The sound came rushing back as she was jostled out of position by the mother who was screaming nonsensically in her grief; Sasha stumbled back—looked down at her gloved hands as she held them palms up trying to make sense of it. They were shaking. Didn't even realize that her feet had taken her aimlessly out of the tent toward the center clearing, not until she stumbled into one of the crates and she stopped. Crumpled to the floor, knees bent, elbows resting on them and threw her head back—the sky.
It was blue.
The same color as his eyes. The silence came back, the tinnitus blessing her with its calm. Blocking out the screams in her head, the sounds of that child, of his mother over his lifeless ravaged body.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths and decided to let herself leave.
Tom.
It was late, well past midnight, and Danny hadn't come in, was still sitting by the fire staring brokenly at its flames. His eyes looked up though he made no other motion to greet her as she quietly pulled a crate forward and positioned herself beside him. Silently waiting, offering the support he so clearly needed.
Focused instead on listening to the sounds of the fire as it crackled, watched as the twigs glowed and charred wildly—hypnotically. After a time, he finally spoke. "He was—he was just a kid."
Her jaw flexed and she tucked her head closer to her chin, mind assaulting her again with the sounds of the pain he'd been in. The sheer amount of blood, the machete marks where they'd missed. Felt the tremor and bile rise in her throat again.
Danny sucked in a breath through his teeth, it made a hissing sound, "Who does that?"
Humans, her mind supplied, and the dark spiral of despair engulfed her again, the knowledge that she was fighting to save the same species that did this. Acting as if the depravity would one day stop, that they were somehow fixing it. That any of this was making a difference—that it even mattered anymore. Who were they kidding?
"They cut his—" Sasha grabbed his hand suddenly, forcefully, the abrupt action cutting him off and silencing him. Danny turned to look at her, angry, lost tears brimming in his eyes. She rose her gaze slowly, her expression almost inhuman as she answered him ferociously.
"So we take their hands and their feet and leave them to crawl through the jungle to die—just like they did him."
The conviction in her voice gave Danny pause, but also recompense. He squeezed her hand back, sniffing and nodding silently. An eye for an eye—that's something he could do. Hell, it was something he wanted. Good guys meant nothing in a world like this in a world where all he could see was Frankie on that table butchered alive.
July 2nd, 2016—Mount Pleasant, South Carolina
"Holy shit!" Ashley exclaimed, pressing her face against the glass of her Dad's truck window as they pulled up on the house, absently muttering "Sorry," in response to the 'Ash! Language' she'd received.
"Whoa!" Sam said in excitement, un-buckling his belt.
Tom shook his head with endearment bemused by their reactions.
"Why didn't you tell us Sasha's rich!?" Ashley asked, following her brother who'd quickly exited the car to inspect—watched as they peered through the windows of the double-wide entry door to try and get a better look.
"Because, it's not important," he said, coming up behind them and fetching the key from his pocket. He swung the door open for them, and they each stepped in, mouths hanging agape at the sheer splendor of it.
"This is awesome!" Sam yelled, running into the living room to check it out. Ashely—though always more reserved, looked enthusiastically around too, reaching out to touch the banister as she stared up at the impressive chandelier.
"This is really nice Dad, maybe we should move here," her tone letting him know she was only half-joking.
"Ash—this is Sasha's house and she's being kind and letting us use it as a vacation spot, but I don't want you getting any crazy ideas, okay? Sam, get back here," his son skipped back into view, holding a bunch of remotes that he'd found.
"Have you seen the TV!" he started excitedly, waving a particular remote at them both before Tom held out his hand firmly, used his fingers to beckon Sam to hand it back, a task his son performed begrudgingly.
"Listen to me, both of you. We're here to help clean up, alright? This stuff is important, it doesn't belong to you or us. It belongs to Sasha and her husband, and you need to treat it with respect. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Dad," they said quickly in unison.
"Alright, come help me get the generators off the truck."
July 4th, 2016—Base Camp, Panama
"I made us all some flags," Brown joked, handing them terribly hand-drawn renditions of the star-spangled banner as they sat around their campfire, warm beers in hand.
"Hey mate, did you forget I'm not American?" Wolf quipped, accepting his and twirling it around with faux enthusiasm.
"Naw, come on—you're like an honorary member at this point—you too Kendi," Green hollered.
"Here, here," Sasha spoke, raising her bottle before drowning it back, grimacing at the unpleasant flat taste. No matter, it was her sixth one, and the rest of them weren't much better. She slumped back in the camp chair. Legs splayed out, sagging as her head lolled in the back while she stared up at the stars. Only vaguely listening to the banter surrounding her. Sasha mumbled a quick thanks when Danny hit her hand with another bottle, prompting her to take it.
Kept the alcohol coming.
Two months.
She'd been gone for two months, and the lines between Olivia and Sasha were blurred. She took several healthy gulps and let her mind wander. They'd be at her house by now, probably enjoying some smores out back—maybe Tom had even managed to find some fireworks for the kids to let off. She was sure he'd have fixed the power by now, likely got the AC working—they'd need it—it was humid there after all. Probably fixed the water since they had their own ground source, all it needed was pressure.
She closed her eyes.
She missed him. Terribly. The smell on his shirt had long since faded—soiled inevitably by the grime of the jungle. By the fact that she could never quite get clean, not in a place as muggy and sticky as this.
She just wanted to be near him again.
She missed his hands. The way he spoke. His smile, his laugh, the sound of his soft snoring beside her—the warmth of his skin. The way he ate. The rhythm of his heartbeat. His kids.
Everything.
She missed everything.
July 4th, 2016—Mount Pleasant, South Carolina
"I miss Sasha," Ashely said quietly as she leaned against her father with his arm around her on the outdoor sofa that faced out onto the river. It was a beautiful night, clear, humid, but not unbearable. Though she was being devoured by no-see-ums and he'd have to remember to bring some repellant next time.
"Me too," he admitted quietly.
"Do you think she's okay?"
Tom squeezed her arm slightly, "I know she's okay" he told her, ignoring the ever-present worry in favor of easing her fears. Felt her nod against his chest. Sam had long since fallen asleep, hadn't inherited the propensity for insomnia—much like Darien in that regard. That kid could sleep through anything. He chanced a glance down, not missing the tell-tale expression that let him know she was reflecting on something, trying to decide if she should come out with it or not. Waited patiently, listening to the sounds of the crickets around them.
"Can I ask you a question?" Ash started after a time.
"Of course," he replied easily.
"Do you want to marry her?" it was timid, hard for him to decipher the emotion behind it, and so he chose carefully. Didn't want to chance throwing a wrench in the nice rhythm they'd all found together. Sasha had done an excellent job of offering a supportive ear, but not overstepping the invisible bounds that could be interoperated as her somehow 'replacing', and he was proud and thankful to Ashely for being so receptive. For giving her a chance because he'd seen how vehemently she'd hated Cali, and he'd always been afraid that she'd simply redirect that resentment toward Sasha.
"I've thought about it," he decided upon—honest, but not the entire story, nor the whole truth. Ashely looked up at him, sensing she wasn't getting the real answer. It wasn't so much a question of if but when. If he had to admit it, he'd known that from the minute he'd been forced to split with her in Hong Kong, when he realized how surely he didn't want to walk away. How he was far from done with Sasha Cooper, or Martin as he'd known her in the past.
"I wouldn't mind if you did, Sasha is fun and I like her being around," she offered, peering up at him with doe eyes trying to coax him to tell the truth.
Tom's expression colored a little surprised. "When'd you get so smart?" he asked, giving her a coy smirk, trying to hide the lump that had started to form in his throat. Ashley rolled her eyes and shoved at him, earning a smile. But it was her next sentiment that did him in, "I think Mom would like her too," and he immediately worked his jaw. Had to clear his throat to dislodge the tight ball of emotion, a memory assaulting him, so vividly he could almost hear Darien speak.
'I can see why you loved her. She's special.'
He tucked his chin down to his chest for a few moments as he tried to compose himself, sniffed and blinked a few times to clear the unmistakable moisture that had just filled his eyes. Found that he couldn't speak, so simply settled for nodding instead to acknowledge her comment. Ashley shifted so she could wrap her arms around his neck, and he returned her embrace.
"I love you, Dad"
"Love you too, baby," he choked out.
July 24th, 2016—Panamanian Jungle, Panama
They parted from the camp three days ago, as far as their former hosts were concerned, they'd fulfilled their humanitarian stint and were securely on their way back to the states. In reality, they'd moved into the final phase of the operation—the culmination of countless covert trips into the jungle to monitor movement and activities during the night. One by one, they were going to topple the three main camps, the last of which housed the leader. They moved with stealth through the brush, weapons ready to engage anything that crossed their path.
Danny grimaced, a horrible smell permeating his senses—his keen eyes scanned the ground for a source, noticing a small clearing up ahead, and he silently gestured with his hand for the team to be alert. They pushed through the dense foliage, and grimly he realized what they were about to uncover before his mind actually processed it. Stopped at the edge of the pit filled with rotting bodies—innocent villagers who'd resisted strewn crudely with no regard for their sanctity—left uncovered to bake in the tropical sun.
Just another example of the hell that humans could unleash. He looked around at his teammates, Wolf, Azima, Brown—their expressions mirroring his own. Weary, despondent, disgraced. Searched for Cooper only to find that she wasn't near them, he snapped his gun up and moved quickly.
"Cooper?!"
Listened in response, only to hear the sounds of retching about 25 feet into the bush. He followed the sounds and found her hunched over, emptying her stomach all over the ground and heaving in ragged gasps. This was not like her.
"Cooper, you good?" he tried, registering as the rest of the group caught up behind him. When she didn't respond, he made the decision. "Set a permitter—make sure we're not being watched," he commanded, and they each nodded back at him, scurrying off to secure the space. He pulled his pack off, grabbed a canteen of water, and placed it forcibly in her shaking hand. He knelt beside her and placed one hand firmly on her back, where her tac vest ended near her neck, "Take deep breaths," he told her and listened as she struggled to breathe.
"You're good Cooper, just breathe, alright."
August 16th, 2016—USS Nathan James, Panamanian Bay
"Mother, this is Nomad—package is secure, headed back to your position now."
Mike hung up the comms with a triumphant look on his face, a few claps and cheers erupting around the Bridge. He did not miss the stiff exhale next to him as Tom stood, hands clasped tightly behind his back, chin tucked against his chest, jaw clenched, and eyes closed shut tightly as the relief washed over him. As the confirmation of her vitality arrived.
Hadn't been even the slightest bit surprised when he'd showed up, not more than four hours after Vulture Team missed extraction on the 10th. In fact, Mike had purposefully instructed his at-sea cabin to be cleaned in preparation of Tom's arrival, not twenty minutes after they missed the deadline.
Mike clasped Tom on the shoulder and squeezed it, one firm motion that communicated more than words could that he understood the kind of torture he'd been in for the past six days. The kind of torture he lived with every day, not knowing what had happened to Christine and his girls—the worst kind of limbo a man could find himself in.
"Go, I'll handle things up here."
The Helo hovered barely above deck, about to land, and Kat called over to them, catching Sasha's eyes as she did, "Home sweet home!" But it was Danny who got her attention. He tapped her arm, a quick sharp gesture that snapped her out of the vacant trance she'd been in. Sasha turned her head, confused because he looked genuinely relieved, and she couldn't figure out why given the magnitude of what they'd just done—realized as he spoke that he wasn't relieved for himself, but for her.
"Admiral's here." He gestured with his head out of the window, and slightly down toward the bay. Sasha vaguely wondered if he was joking, pulling her leg in a way that he didn't realize could possibly break her right now. Tom was supposed to be in Missouri. Sasha moved to peer around Danny just as the Helo jostled its contact with the ground, and she saw him. Tom. Wind from the blades blowing the bottoms of his BDU jacket up as they whined into slower rotation, and then a complete stop. A noise stuck at the back of her throat, and she bit the inside of her cheeks hard to keep it inside.
Danny grabbed the lapel of her vest and pushed her forward, helping her climb over him and all the gear so she could disembark first. Knew the gnawing desperation more closely than he'd like to admit—the one where you'd been to hell and back, and the only person who could make it better was stuck somewhere half a world away from you. Kara. She wasn't there to greet him, but he knew she'd be up in CIC and he'd see her just as soon as he could. He was fucked up too, no doubt, but he hadn't been the one hyperventilating in the jungle and avoiding sleep. Sasha leaned back to grab her things, but he pushed her out. "I've got your shit, now go!"
She didn't need to be told twice. She hopped down, bending as she moved to make sure she didn't catch a blade and strode quickly towards him—a movement he found himself returning despite protocol. Despite the fact that he was the CNO and he wasn't supposed to behave this way on the ship but something about the way he'd seen Danny push her out, the fact that he was gathering her things for her, the shell shocked vacant look in her eyes, as well as his own muddled emotions, told him that at this precise moment, he no longer gave two fucks.
She managed to hold it together right up until she caught his eyes, and then she was gasping for breath. Collapsing herself against his chest, fists balled up tightly in his jacket as she tried to meld herself to him. Tom hugged her back, just as ferociously. Squeezing her tighter than was probably comfortable, but he couldn't help it, red flags flying all over the place as he felt how much she was trembling. As he registered how much weight she'd lost—again.
She buried her face in his neck, inhaled the scent of his skin, and felt the familiarity course through her veins like a drug.
Home.
She was home.