an. Well here we are, the penultimate chapter. I debated on whether I wanted to include this scene or not because I hated it so much, but strangely enough, changing the timeline and reasons for it works within this verse. Plus, I've never been a sunshine and roses kind of gal and I couldn't resist the angst.
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Thursday, February 14th, 2018—Virginia Beach, Virginia
"Exactly how did you talk me into this again?" Tom griped, rubbing his hands together as they ran in an effort to dispel the biting chill in the air. His breath puffed out before him, clouds of moisture disappearing into the air. The sound of the ocean beside them the only indication of its presence for the thickness of the morning fog yet to burn off.
Sasha let out a laugh, breathless and punctuated by their synchronized strides through the sand. "You told me you'd take me on a Valentines date. My choice," she reminded him easily—humoring him.
"And I thought you'd pick something normal, like dinner—or drinks," he grumbled, noting the pain in his hip from that damn plate and lamenting the fact that he was officially getting old. Everything hurt for a lot longer than it did when he was in his thirties, that was for sure—and the cold certainly didn't help.
"Oh, come on, don't tell me this doesn't bring back memories," she teased, turning to look at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Recalling how often she'd landed herself an extra four-mile run down the beach in addition to her regular PT requirements.
Tom smirked a lopsided smile. "Those were supposed to dissuade you from disobeying my orders, not the other way round."
He heard the smile in her voice as she responded. "Then perhaps you shouldn't have insisted on doing them with me."
"If I hadn't, you wouldn't have done them." He responded winded, though they both knew it was far from the truth.
Sasha scoffed. "Admit it. You enjoyed the alone time as much as I did," her tone was low, almost sing-song, as she smirked at him.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, lungs starting to burn as they hit the second mile. He glanced down at his watch, wincing slightly at the pace she was keeping—close to seven minutes flat. It dawned on him then too that she was going easy on him, her breathing still even and controlled. Probably a sign that he should pick up the cardio and start joining her more frequently on her morning runs.
"Still have three miles left Admiral, you sure you're gonna make it?" she quipped, catching the way he glanced at his watch in her peripheral.
"Give me a little credit," he complained. He wasn't completely desk-ridden yet—just hated cardio. Mostly stuck to weights. Though he was loathe to admit it, the pessimist in him wouldn't let it all go. Not when there was a very good chance trouble would find them again. Call it a gut feeling.
"Credit isn't going to get you through the program," she drolled, throwing a comment he'd made years ago back at him.
Tom whistled in response, making a whew sound, the chuckle evident as he spoke. "How long have you been waiting to use that one?" Sasha smiled at him then, all teeth, dimples, and rosy pink cheeks—ice blue piercing as ever even in the early morning light.
"Like I said, brings back memories." She wagged her eyebrows and picked up the pace, pushing him to try and keep up.
Sam was almost done with breakfast by the time they made it back home. Sasha's laughter carried through the open concept floor plan to his seat at the kitchen island. The home they'd chosen was modern, sleek, and sophisticated—kind of like Sasha, and much different from the classic colonial-esque houses Sam was used to. Truth be told, he was still adjusting. Ashely was officially living in St. Louis, attending her first year of college, and while it was cool at first to have the run of the house, he was starting to miss her being around.
Though he'd never voice it because he didn't want his Dad to feel bad, sometimes it was lonely eating by himself at dinner when they worked late. From an outside perspective, it didn't make much sense since everything seemed to be getting better, but Sasha was gone on missions more than she was home, and though his Dad tried, he was clearly distracted when she wasn't there. Worried.
"Morning, Buddy," Tom said as they came into view. Sasha un-hooked her thumbs from her running jacket and shrugged it off, suddenly sweltering now they'd stepped into the warm.
"Where'd you guys go?" Sam asked curiously. He'd assumed they were already at work when he'd awoken to an empty house.
"For a run on the beach," Sasha said enthusiastically, smiling brightly at Tom, who still looked a little winded. Sam made an unpleasant expression; waking up at 6 am to go running sounded like his personal version of hell.
"She kicked my ass," Tom grumbled, walking over to the fridge to grab some water.
"You guys are weird," Sam responded, going back to his group text and typing out a response.
Wednesday, July 6th, 2018—USNORTHCOM, Norfolk, Virginia
Ashely crossed her legs impatiently, her foot bobbing up and down with increasing vigor as the minutes passed and her Dad still hadn't left his meeting. Sasha was nowhere to be found, and she wasn't supposed to chat with her anyway at the office. They were still pretending like they weren't married, which frankly, presented its own challenges. She'd wanted them to come to a firework show in St. Louis—instead, she was in Norfolk. There were no fireworks, and they were having a BBQ because they didn't do things together in public with large groups of people. Ashley was beginning to think they were paranoid—the world was getting back to normal, yet they were still acting like it was before.
To top it off, she wasn't allowed her cell phone. It was checked in with security downstairs, and there was nothing to pass the time. She sighed in an exaggerated manner and made the decision to just wait for him at home. Clearly, this meeting was more important than their lunch date. Tom spotted her through the glass just as she got up and excused himself briefly.
"Ash?" he called, and she whirled around to face him. The ire clear in her stance and her tone.
"Forget it, Dad. You're busy—it's fine. I'll see you at home," she dismissed, turning abruptly and walking down the hall, giving him no time to respond. Tom closed his eyes, deflating as the guilt gnawed at him, shaking his head slightly before he returned to the meeting. He'd have to apologize to her at dinner.
Not five minutes later, Sasha slipped in, her usually cool demeanor a little excited, though not in a good way, as she handed out the dossiers she'd just finished preparing. As she handed the file to him, her head tipped slightly—a silent question over the stony expression he wore.
"We have a problem," she started, pulling her eyes away reluctantly to address the room. "I spoke with SOUTHCOMM—the rebels in Columbia are joining with the army. This man," she tossed down a photograph, "General Hector Martinez, has been making some waves with our partners. Threatening that if they don't cooperate in inviting the Gran Columbian Empire to the table, they'll see themselves cut out of future trade deals." She paused, raising her left eyebrow.
"Anyone taking him seriously?" Tom asked, turning to the next profile in the dossier—though there was no photograph, just a name, Gustavo Barros.
"Arias. Apparently, they know about our involvement in Panama—"
Tom's eyes shot up from the paper he'd been studying, meeting Sasha's across the table. She was doing her best to remain completely detached from that information, but the look they shared briefly confirmed his suspicions that she was just as unsettled.
"They're set to meet at a leadership summit later this month. Along with the rest of Central America and Cuba," Sasha continued, tone wary.
"We need eyes in that meeting," Hughes interjected, closing her own dossier where she remained seated at the table.
Sasha nodded once at her in agreement. "I have some assets in-country I can scramble. Have them assigned to the wait staff."
Tom crossed his arms, sighing heavily, pondering the information. "I'll take this to the commander in chief, he's gonna need to reel Arias back in. What do you think their play is?" looking up again to make eye contact with Sasha.
She tightened her lips, eyebrows raising as she half shrugged. "Beats me, Gustavo and Hector make strange bedfellows. Until now, Gustavo's reach was centered to a few local villages—calls himself a leader of the people. Takes from the rich, gives to the poor—"
"Just your garden variety Robin Hood," Hughes surmised, sarcasm heavy in her words. The corner of Sasha's mouth pulled in the ghost of a smirk.
"It's hard to say. For now, it seems like he wants to use the Columbian Military to further his agenda of bringing prosperity to the people. Only way to do that is to be taken seriously in trade negotiations." Sasha finished, crossing her own arms and mirroring his stance unconsciously.
Tom's eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked down again. Drawing his arms down slowly from his chest to thumb through the file again, pushing out Gustavo's profile with a finger across the table.
"Why does he care so much about the people? This says he's not even from Columbia," he asked, looking up again at Sasha. He saw a spark in her eye – one that he recognized whenever she became fixated on a problem—the endless determination to solve it, no matter how big the challenge.
"That's what I'm gonna find out," she told him as she turned her head to the side, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
Tom barely made it in time for dinner, thankful as ever that Sasha had managed to clear her schedule accordingly that afternoon and gone home to spend time with the kids. The table was already set, his plate laid out with the steaks she'd made along with a variety of sides in serving dishes for them to choose from.
"This looks great," he said, kissing the top of her head in greeting. He'd gone to change into more comfortable clothes before appearing in the main living space after rushing through the door.
"I had help," she mused, looking toward Ashely but upon doing so, anxiety balled in the pit of her stomach.
Tom took his seat at the head of the table, his tone cautious. "Ash, I'm sorry about earlier. I was—"
Ashley put her fork down more loudly than necessary. "Forget it, Dad. It's not like I expect any different."
Tom swallowed. Not missing the way Sasha took a gulp of wine in an effort to avoid being drawn into the forthcoming argument.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tone cautious.
She scoffed—ignoring Sam's wide-eyed stare and subtle shake of his head to not start something at the dinner table. "Are you serious right now? You couldn't even clear your lunch schedule when you've known for weeks I was coming!"
"I had cleared my schedule—but this was a last-minute meeting that was urgent. I had to be there," he continued slowly, his hands clenching around his silverware unconsciously.
Sasha looked between the two, quickly deducing that neither was about to back down. "Come on guys—"
Her request was ignored and interrupted, however. "Whatever. You probably forgot like you do everything unless your war barbie reminds y—"
"Hey!" Tom's eyes widened in shock and the way his response had whipped across the table effectively silenced the rest. He let his silverware clatter to the table, and Sasha scrunched her eyes; that was a landmine Ashely had just unknowingly walked into.
"Tom—" Sasha tried, wanting him to let the comment go and not to get bent out of shape over it, but he silenced her by holding up a finger, never letting his blazing gaze leave his daughter's defiant one.
"Apologize to Sasha—now." Though his voice remained calm, it held a particular thunderous quality.
Ashley's anger bubbled hot, causing frustrated tears to burn behind her eyes—she hadn't meant for it to sound like that, more so that Sasha was perfect all the time, and she thought of them as the Barbie and Ken of the Navy—however, the fire over the fact that he seemed more upset about her comment than missing lunch took precedence. "Screw you. You can't order me around!" Her chair let out an ugly sound as it scraped against the wooden floors.
"Why do you have to be such a Bitch?" Sam interjected, causing Tom to snap his head to look at his Son instead.
"Sam," he warned, though with less ferocity than the tone he'd used with her, and Ashley scoffed loudly again.
"So, he can call me a bitch but I have to apologize?!"
Tom wasted no time in fixing her again with an icy glare before responding. "Yes. You wanna be angry at me? Fine. But she has nothing to do with this, and you are way out of line." He was keenly aware of the look Sasha was giving him. The one imploring him to stay cool but this was something he wasn't interested in granting leniency on. Ashley could direct her piss poor attitude toward him all day, but he wouldn't stand for her directing it toward her brother of Sasha.
"You are unbelievable!" She turned, making a beeline for her old room, only for Tom to burst from his chair to follow her.
"Hey, get back here—we're not done talking!"
Ashley wrenched herself around, her ire now explosive. "What's the point!? You don't even listen!"
"To what Ashley!? I'm sorry I missed lunch—what more do you want me to say?!" he was completely exasperated, his voice cracking a little for the volume they were now bellowing at.
Hot angry tears started streaming down her face. "Nothing! It doesn't matter, it never did and even Mom knew it—all you've ever cared about is your damn ship or stupid missions! You're both the same!" Ashley gestured aggressively between her Dad and Sasha, much to Sasha's shock. "Mom had to remind you about everything because all you ever think about is work. You didn't even remember her Birthday!"
And just like that, the fight left Tom's body. The weight of her words set in. The realization that she was right. Darien's birthday was three weeks ago and he'd been so caught up at work, and Sasha on unexpected radio silence, that he'd completely spaced the date. Hadn't even looked at the calendar because he'd been so focused on why Vulture Team was AWOL.
Sasha's mouth fell open and she rose slowly from the table. The vitriol and depth of Ashley's pain now dawning on her. She placed the napkin she'd set in her lap down on the glass surface, while Sam mumbled, 'I'm gonna eat in my room,' before leaving the scene.
Tom's brow furrowed, expression now troubled. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry your Mom died, and you got stuck with me." Sasha cringed when he said it, the guilt and regret in his voice like a dozen cuts to her skin.
Ashely sniffed, swallowing against the thick heavy lump in her throat, and fixed him with a cold stare. The need to shout evaporated and she spoke in a flat accusatory tone instead as she delivered her final blow. "Right, and like always, you weren't there."
Tom froze, his eyes trailing off to look at the floor as one of his darkest fears was realized, she blamed him for Darien's death. The thought swirled in his mind, unrelenting and torturous in its weight. The guilt unbearable to the point that he wished the earth would swallow him whole.
"Ashley," Sasha breathed, her voice laden in a way that gripped. The two made eye contact, Sasha's expression acutely pained in contrast to Ashely's tumultuous one. It lasted for a few tense seconds before Ashley spun on her heel, the slam of the bedroom door echoing upon the surfaces of the house. Slowly, Tom backed away, sinking into the couch with his head in his hands.
Sasha glanced up at the ceiling, lost as she inhaled, trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened. Of how she was supposed to help mend the broken pieces, terrified that Tom wouldn't come back from that comment. She clenched her jaw, suppressing tears when she chanced a look at him. There was a blank broken stare. A shiver ran down her spine over how vividly it reminded her of the look she'd seen after Shaw.
"Tom," she tried quietly, fumbling over her next words because she knew nothing she said would ease the kind of pain he was in. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and sat next to him. Ran a hand through his hair and clutched the back of his neck. "It wasn't your fault." Voice a little more strangled than she'd intended. Her fingers moved to skim the side of his cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone as he looked everywhere but at her. "You know it, and so does she. She's just angry."
Tom worked his jaw, hanging his head. His hands clasped together loosely, while his elbows rested upon his knees, and he studied the fibers of the rug carpet beneath their coffee table. Uncomfortable and unworthy of Sasha's comfort. Guilty, further still, because he didn't want it, yet he knew his rejection would hurt, and she didn't deserve that. Those old, self-loathing, and depreciating thoughts magnified ten-fold. Telling him he'd failed in his duties as a father and a husband. That he was still failing on that front and would never truly be the man that any of them deserved.
Sasha swallowed, her brows drawn together in a sad frown, and sighed, ducking her head, accepting that he wanted space—though he was too afraid of hurting her to say it. Settled instead for kissing his cheek and squeezing his shoulder as she got up to clear away the food.
Ashley's face was buried in her pillow when Sasha slipped into the room. The lights were off, and her eyes widened as they adjusted to the sliver of moonlight pouring through the gap in the curtains.
"I don't know what to say to you right now," Sasha admitted, and Ashely hiccupped.
"I didn't mean to call you war barbie." Came a muffled response, and Sasha blinked because that was the least of her concerns.
"I'm not worried about that. Not the first time I've heard it." Her response was even, a touch sullen and regretful. Ashley lifted her head then, frowning in confusion, and the moonlight was just enough for Sasha to catch her features. "People used to call me that in training. He didn't like it much back then either." She elaborated. The teenager's eyes fell, appropriately admonished and ashamed for having made such a comment.
She was sincere when she spoke. "I'm sorry."
Sasha only shook her head in deflection. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to, and it's not really what you need to be sorry for either."
Ashley mulled over the words for a moment. "He forgot her birthday and I wanted to hurt him." The latter part of her confession mumbled with shame.
Sasha pursed her lips, nodding slowly as the ever-present lump in her throat flared. "Well, you did." Blunt, not pulling any punches this time. If Ashley was grown enough to live on her own, then she was grown enough to face the consequences of her actions and the weight of her words to her father. "Did it make you feel better?" Sasha continued after a moment, her tone raising with a kind of sarcastic curiosity at the end. The way Ashley's lip wobbled, gave her satisfaction that the message had finally hit home.
Ashley shook her head, sniffed as a fresh wave of tears engulfed her. "No."
Sasha softened her stance and approached the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "He's human, Ashley. He can't be everything, to everyone, all the time. He makes mistakes—like we all do. I am not excusing him for today, though it was out of his control—but you need to figure out how to communicate what you're feeling without tearing him down," she implored. "And sometimes I don't think you appreciate how good you have it. He would do anything for you, Ash. He tries his best for you and your brother, sometimes when the literal weight of the world is on his shoulders. I don't know what else you expect him to do?"
Ashley nodded, more tears pouring miserably down her face. "I know," she started, a hiccup cutting her off. "I just feel like I'm the only one that still remembers Mom. Even Sam didn't seem to mind that we didn't do anything this year."
Sasha tilted her head to the side. "That's not true. You're smarter than that, people process grief differently. Sam misses her just as much as you do, and so does he—"
"But he has you though," Ashley interjected, and Sasha frowned, trying to decern the subtext of that comment but choosing wisely not to react. "You make him happy, he's different when you're around, and when you're not, he's distracted. You can tell it's all he thinks about when you're gone. Like, if you're gonna be okay or whatever." Sasha blinked, her expression carefully reserved. "Sam was younger when Mom and Grandpa died, he accepted it. Dad was a mess for a long time and I know he did his best, but he was different—and he wasn't better until you came... but he got better. People get married again—I can't have another Mom. I'm the only one left that needs her."
The explanation pulled at Sasha's heart, and she moved her head to the side, reaching out to rub Ashley's arm with a sympathetic gaze. "When I was twelve," Sasha started, pausing to take a breath because she hadn't talked in detail about this since she told Tom years ago. "My Dad died. He was an alcoholic. He battled with it for years before his liver finally gave out. I was the one that found him." She trailed off. "I was so angry with him for leaving me like that. For years, I thought it was because I wasn't good enough... that he didn't love me enough to stop and get better."
Ashely was listening intently, waiting for Sasha to continue. "Life can be ugly and messy and tough, Ashely. The way you feel? It's normal. You lost your Mom, and nothing will make that right, and as you get older and maybe have kids of your own, you will feel differently about a lot of things. But I can promise you, it will only hurt more if you let that anger and pain destroy what you have left." Sasha drew her hand back to rest in her lap.
After a time, she spoke quietly. "Is he upset?" Judging by Ashley's expression, she hadn't expected the way Sasha's eyes watered in response.
"He's more than upset, Ash. You just said the one thing he's been scared of hearing since your Mom died." Sasha had to pause, voice catching and breathy as she finished. "You just broke his heart."
Ashley's lips wobbled, "I'll go tell him I'm sorry." Moving to get off the bed.
"I think you need to do a little more than that this time. You need to talk to him, Ash—tell him everything you just told me, help him understand where this is coming from because you're the only one that can," Sasha said, her tone and stance letting Ashley know that this was no longer up for debate or avoidance.
"Okay," she nodded, before exiting the room.
Sasha exhaled the tension in her body, laying her head back on the bed, taking a few moments of respite before heading to check on Sam.
Tom had his back turned to the center of the bed when Sasha emerged from the bathroom. He'd been almost silent after the conversation with Ashley, which had ended on a positive note—a hug and a reminder that they both loved each other much to Sasha's relief. It appeared his psyche would not be so easily soothed, however, and it made her heart ache for him. Her weight on the mattress behind him caused his body to shift a little though not enough for her to see his face. She propped herself up on one elbow, using her other hand to cradle his cheek—turning his head and forcing him to look up at her from the pillow.
"Do you remember what you told me? After Panama?" she inquired gently, moving slightly, so he had room to lay on his back instead of his side. His eyes traveled her face, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod as she continued. "You told me that you'd love me enough for both of us. Until I figured out how to forgive myself for being human," she breathed, the fingers of her left hand resting still on his skin. The cautious but hopeful smile Sasha gave was loving and kind, and she whispered, "Now it's my turn—and all you have to do is let me."
Tom's eyes narrowed, distinctly glassy, and his lips parted a fraction as her words hit home. Offered him a lifeline from the raging waters of regret that he was drowning in. He reached forward, pulling her to him, and buried his head in the space at her neck.