an. I fell into a deep rabbit hole during COVID watching this show, and the plot bunnies surrounding Sasha and Tom's relationship wouldn't let me be. I took quite a few liberties and re-imagined some scenes; in others, I simply added introspection. This is how I imagine their history, and how their relationship could have developed throughout Season 3.
an. Revised on 3/21/21. Cleaned up lazy writing habits now that I'm less rusty. To all of the guests that have reviewed since I wrapped this installment, thanks so much for taking the time to leave a note! I'm glad others who came back during quarantine or discovered this show are enjoying the series. I didn't intend to fall so in love with this pairing or write this much about them, but New China now spans an entire imperfect universe:
Part II - Vengeance (Season 4) - complete but needs revision
Part III - Halycon (Between Season 4 & 5) - complete but needs revision
Part IV - El Norte (Season 5) - in progress
Part V - Virginia (Pre-series) - hiatus, but will finish
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In summary, it took less than five seconds to conclude you'd never moved on. Not really.
Less than five seconds to accept you were still taken with him as the day you'd first met. His name percolates in your mind, stomach does butterflies, anticipation churning your insides. The reaction to seeing him again in all of his glory—in his Ceremonial Whites—threatening every piece of your hard-won control. You'd perfect that over the decade—an unrelenting focus that helped you put one foot in front of the other, day in, and day out, amidst an apocalypse. A force that guided you here, until entrenched within the Peng regime, standing on the opposite side of the room from the first man you'd ever loved. The only man to possess a power that matched your stubborn will and pushed you into uncharted waters…
The man you'd walked away from fourteen years ago.
You threw yourself into your career, moved to a different town, a fresh city, an unfamiliar country, every 18-24 months. Signed up for every commission possible and filled your life with regiment, meaningless encounters, and every piece of structure the United States Naval Intelligence program could provide. You carved the name Tom Chandler from your life. Deep-cover let you pretend. It let you hide. Sometimes so well, you couldn't recognize where Sasha began, and the lies stopped. It had been enough to forget you'd ever wanted more—for a while.
By the time his eyes meet yours, you realize you're absorbed.
Still.
Subject again to the full force of his magnetic gaze. The pull is almost stronger now than it had been. Maybe because you know what it's like to be loved by Tom Chandler, and it's a feeling you'd never quite replicated since. He'd always been attractive. Disarmingly handsome. Charismatic. Kind. Powerful, yet gentle in his demeanor and delivery—the list of adjectives hard to define, but now? Now he possessed that which only experience could provide. He was distinguished, and it was exquisite. It stole your breath. He'd grown into his features, strong jawline and high cheekbones more pronounced now he'd lost the buccal fat of youth. His hair cut short enough to hide its natural curl but still full and thick—though grayer than it had been. But his eyes—how expressive they were? The dimple of his cheek when he so much as grinned… that hadn't changed.
"Cooper?" he'd asked. "Your married name?"
Your heart lurched, your mind assaulting you with a memory held secret for fourteen years. It cut against the old scarred wound.
'I'd make you my wife in a heartbeat if I thought I could make you stay.'
"Believe it or not, I found love after you."
Kept it light.
Not a lie.
It was a different love—quieter. The kind that made sense and fulfilled your desire for companionship but didn't set the world alight. In the aftermath, there'd been guilt. The knowledge that you'd deprived not only yourself but your late husband of the kind of love that ignites. The kind that leaves you breathless and raw.
"I was sorry to hear about Darien," you offered.
Also not a lie.
All you'd ever wanted was to see Tom Chandler happy. To see him achieve a life fulfilled just as he'd envisioned. Before, you'd been inadequate… didn't check the prerequisite boxes to be with a man of his ilk. It's the reason you'd left. Darien was nice. Kind, homey, and most importantly, she was there. She was content to be the stay-at-home wife who raised the kids in the perfect house with a white picket fence and a two-car garage. That was never on the table for you, but knowing still hadn't made it hurt less.
Never did figure out how to cut ties. Physically, yes, but not in your heart, and though you hadn't actively spoken in a decade, there'd been moments. A fleeting check-in to see where he was stationed and what part of the world he was destined for next. A late-night Facebook session where you gazed at picture-perfect photographs on Darien's page. Lost in the occasional throw of nostalgia—rare, though. Only twice after something flared. A sort of morbid curiosity to know precisely what you'd walked away from. Those feelings always came and went, and you'd learned to survive with them. Progressed from brutally heartbroken to cherishing and choosing content. In the end, you both had everything you'd wanted; he a family, and you, a distinguished adventurous career with no strings attached.
Maybe this was why. Maybe you knew, somehow, you'd cross paths again—it always had felt unfinished.
You're not a believer in fate, ascribing to reason and logic above all else. Largely un-in-touch with any kind of spirituality, yet still; when you'd learned of the cure—and most crucially—the Naval Captain delivering it, your entire being had known. Before the official reports, before everybody knew his name, you had been sure. Three months into the thick of it, listening for radio chatter, you'd found the path. There was talk about a Russian ship. A Destroyer—a scientist—and your soul had known. It told you to have faith. Told you to keep going and hold on.
You were right.
Somewhere during the apocalypse, you'd realized Tom Chandler was a continuous presence in your life. Called yourself crazy for it, but nevertheless, in the back of your mind, what you'd shared played like a consistent soundtrack.
Secretly.
You wonder if he feels the same—if he still loves you the way you love him. Respectfully, from afar. Tucked into the back of his heart. Part of you hopes he does, but the logical part knows he moved on. Had a family. Kids. A spouse he'd never leave, present circumstance included.
That could have been you.
Instead, you'd broken his heart, and that's why you're sure he hadn't thought about you much, if at all, over the decade.
"So you'll be ok?" he urged.
You smiled. He'd insisted upon his man Wolf staying a few extra days, 'Just until I know it's safe.'
Asked you no less than three different ways if you had an exfil plan. Quizzed you on how Peng could have pulled this off in Vietnam. Let you know he thought you were about to become collateral damage, and he wasn't comfortable leaving you here, with no secure comms and no flight back to the States. Asked you in no uncertain terms to get on that plane with him, 'Come back to St. Louis. We can figure it out from there.' Asked because even though he was CNO, your orders came from Michener.
Tom couldn't order you to leave. If he could, he would have done that by now.
The way he'd looked at you on the tarmac, though, leaving everything unsaid and yet spoken made you wonder… How he'd stopped and regarded you, mouth slightly agape—almost like he'd wanted to speak or do something different to what was about to be done. You recognized that expression well. It was the face of competing loyalties. The conflict Tom Chandler wore when he had a duty to uphold and a mission to complete that was incompatible with his need to be there for and protect the individuals he loved.
You'd seen it before.
In Kosovo.
Maybe you were still one of those people.
Unfinished. Always unfinished.
You got the message loud and clear. 'I'll come back for you.'
To your surprise—come back—happened less than five minutes later.