"…So only a couple more days until Dad and the kids get here." Tom's voice was somewhat impeded by the static of the sat phone, but Rachel would never complain about their daily lunchtime call.

"You ready for them?" she asked.

"Well, I've got the room for them. Whether I'm ready for them is up for debate."

"Surely the captain of the legendary Nathan James can handle two young children."

He could hear the smirk that accompanied that comment.

"You ever watch kids for more than 24 hours?"

"Yes. It's not that hard."

He scoffed.

"You were the cool aunt, weren't you?"

"I have no siblings." She said primly. "They were my best friend's kids."

"Okay, honorary aunt, then. Same principle."

Suddenly he heard a loud thud over the line, and a sharp intake of breath.

"What was that?"

"Tom, I'm going to have to cut this short. Tell your family I said hi, and that I'll see them in a couple of days. And tell Sam to stop picking on his little sister, or I'll kick his butt." And then suddenly, the line went dead. What the hell was that? The kids were coming in soon, but Rachel wasn't due back until next week. And he knew she remembered how old Sam wa– oh shit. He stood quickly, grabbed his go bag from the closet, and walked out of his office straight to Kara's desk, hoping to find –

"Lieutenant Green."

"Sir."

"Where's your go bag?"

"Aboard ship, sir. What's up?"

"Dr. Scott's in trouble."

Kara looked between them briefly. She knew where Dr. Scott was, and that that was where the captain was headed. Danny, too.

"I can call them sir, ask them to send it to the air field."

"Excellent. Thank you, Kara."

. . . .

They were greeted at the air field by Miller and Burk, each holding two duffel bags, causing Chandler to look at Green as they drove up.

"You have more than one go bag?"

"No sir."

The two men saluted as they exited the vehicle.

"Thanks for the gear. Didn't realize there would be quite so much of it."

"Captain Slattery said we could come too. Even sent along some extra supplies." Burk said, hefting one of the bags, which gave a distinctly metallic clank.

Tom looked them over briefly, then nodded approvingly.

"The more, the merrier." He looked around and spotted an idling Cessna. "That one looks ready to go. Shall we?"

. . . . .

Wolf didn't look up from his scope as the team from the Nathan James approached his position outside the clinic trailer; he'd seen them coming a mile away, literally.

"Glad to see you guys."

"What's the situation?" the captain asked, all business.

"Well, there were a whole bunch of them – pretty sure they're immunes, they've referred to Ramsey at least once. Smith took out eight before he went down," Wolf pointed at multiple bodies sprawled untidily on the ground outside the clinic "and it sounds like Richardson's pretty badly injured inside the clinic. On their side, I'd estimate they have about nine guys left alive, but at least three of them are seriously injured." Wolf said with a bloody grin.

"How do you know all this?"

"Someone – probably Richardson - set their radio to broadcast-only mode."

"Nice." The guys nodded approvingly. The radios were encrypted, so it wasn't like the signal would get into the wrong hands.

"Yeah, it was real helpful." He paused before continuing, knowing the probable reaction his next words would get. "The plan was apparently to kill the doc right away, but their leader's little brother was hit during the fight, and he made her patch him up. Once he was stabilized, the debate started up again. I ended it." Tom raised an eyebrow at that. "I shot both of their sentries – in the stomach."

The others winced at that viciously calculated move. Not because they actually felt sorry for the sentries, mind you. But gut shots were some of the slowest, most painful ways to die – unless you had a doctor. "She's still working on the second one now."

"Also, the doc's pretty smart. I don't know if those guys actually needed transfusions, but she's insisting on tapping the healthy ones for blood. At least one of them was getting kinda woozy."

"Atta girl." Tom said, smiling. "So what's the plan?"

. . . . . .

Rachel looked down at her first patient. She actually felt a little sorry for the kid. He was probably sixteen, and his older brother was a piece of work, bullying his younger sibling even as he was bleeding profusely. It must really suck to have this jerk be your only surviving relative. Especially if you're just a kid. She adjusted the lines connecting the brothers once more; it had taken an unreasonable amount of time to convince the leader of this motley crew to donate blood to his own brother, but she'd done it, and now it looked like young Mark would be okay. His color had mostly returned, and normally she'd have removed the line by now…but a little more wouldn't hurt Mark, and a little less blood in his asshole of a brother would be useful when Tom came for her.

Any time now, Tom.

"Surely that's enough?" Frank asked. "I've donated blood before, it doesn't take this long."

"It's a little different when there's a human on the other end of the line, you know."

Frank huffed in impatience; she sat and waited another minute, debating exactly how far she could stretch this. Finally, she reached over Mark's face and gently patted his face, watching his pupils react to the light as he opened his eyes.

"Mark?"

"Mm"

"How are you feeling?"

"…better… less dizzy… still hurts..."

"Yeah, it's going to hurt for a while. I think we might be ready to take the line out of your arm, though."

"Okay." He said, lifting his arm slightly. She reached for the supplies and prepared the bandages for his arm; she'd just pulled the needle out of his arm when the door burst open. She threw herself down on top of Mark, folding his arm around the gauze, and waited for the gunfire to stop. She felt warm, sticky blood land across her and Mark as the line from Frank's arm swung wildly, and then the noise stopped.

After a few seconds silence, she cautiously raised her head. Aside from the Mark, all the other immunes were dead.

"You okay?" Tom asked, moving to her.

"Fine. We're both fine." Her rescuers looked at her strangely at that phrasing; she returned it with a look. Wolf and Tom were the first to get it – once they looked at the kid, barely old enough to shave. She finished putting the bandage on his arm, then stood to hug Tom. He was filthy, a mix of dirt and blood on his uniform, but then so was she. "Took you long enough."

"Hey, I got here as fast as I could." He held her close, tucking her head against his shoulder. "I thought I told you to be careful."

"I was. It's not my fault these guys pop up out of nowhere."

"Well then you're not going on any more field trips. Michener can find himself another doctor – or he can find himself another captain. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

"Sounds good to me. Can we go home now?"

"Absolutely."

. . . . .

Rachel looked up after pulling on Tom's dirty, but warm, uniform jacket and stopped in her tracks on the tarmac.

"You didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Commandeer Air Force One."

Tom looked at the plane, really looked at it, for the first time. There it was, the seal of the office of the president.

"Apparently so."

"You seriously didn't notice? The pilots didn't tell you?"

"We were in kind of a hurry. I just told them Dr. Scott was in trouble and we needed the plane."

"Michener's going to be pissed."

"Let him." He kissed her temple. "You're worth it."

They moved up the stairs, trailed by her rescue party and Mark. Given that this was an executive jet, the seats were both comfortable and roomy, and it wasn't long before she was asleep on Tom's shoulder.

Mark was obviously affected by the death of his brother, and though it was clear he'd receive leniency for his part in today's events, he was worried about his own fate.

"It'll be okay, you know." Mark looked over at the Australian. "She's on your side. That counts for a lot."

"Is that really Dr. Scott?"

"Yeah."

"And Captain Chandler?"

"Mm-hm."

"I told Frank this was a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was." Came the reply. "I'm glad to see you have some sense. Though I do have to ask why you were still with those guys."

"Frank is – was – the only family I had left. And I'm only fifteen, so…"

"Sorry, kid. We'll see what we can do for you when we get to St. Louis. I'm sure we can find a good situation for you. So relax and get some sleep. You could definitely use the rest after the day you've been through."

"What's your name?" Mark asked

"Wolf. These guys are Miller and Burk."

"Thanks, Wolf." Mark said, taking the advice and settling in for a nap.

. . . .

Tom stood in the lobby, filthy and tired, waiting for Rachel to get out of the lobby bathroom. He couldn't wait to get back to his apartment and crash. But then he saw a familiar secret service agent coming down the hall and braced himself. Sure enough, the president walked around the corner, and started in on a dressing-down. Tom was too tired to get angry; he simply stood at attention while half-listening. Something about haring off without orders, missing delegates, cancelled meetings and stealing his plane. The other half of his mind began to wonder if living in the same building as the president and other 'high-value' members of the government was really worth the extra security.

Suddenly Rachel was beside him, equally filthy, still wearing his uniform jacket – and royally pissed.

"Jeff. Shut up." She briefly glanced at Tom, who was mildly shocked. "He saved my life today by 'haring off' without telling you. I don't care about your delayed delegates." She watched as Michener turned to her and tried to open his mouth once more, but she cut him off. "Now: we are hungry, we are tired, we are filthy, and we will see you tomorrow." She took Tom's hand and pulled him to the elevator. He followed after a quick glance back at the sputtering president, offering only a shrug and a helpless expression before following this willful woman up to his apartment.

"Rachel, I…that was…"

"He deserved it! Don't give me that chain of command crap!"

"Wasn't going to... I just wanted to let you know that watching that was sexy as hell." Using their still-linked hands, he pulled her close, redirecting her passion into the far more enjoyable experience of kissing, pressing her against the door they had just closed. When they came up for air, their eyes met in mutual, powerful lust, but Tom sensed some small hesitation on her part. "Rachel?"

"We're filthy." Had it been mere dirt, she wouldn't have cared, but the doctor in her was appalled at the notion of doing anything further while covered in actual blood.

"Let's take this to the shower, then." Tom grinned at her. He was rewarded by a willing smile, and they left a trail of dirty clothes on the floor all the way to the bathroom.