Captain Tom Chandler was sitting out by the railing. It was one of his favorite places on the ship, offering a seat with a clear view of the horizon minus any distracting instrument displays or bridge chatter. There was just the wind, the water, and the sky. It let him think.

Currently he was thinking of a certain doctor down in the helo bay. He had visited her lab earlier, hoping for a progress report, but she'd been so engrossed in her test tubes that she didn't hear him walk in; he'd decided to leave her to it. Ever since Sorensen's execution, the lab was the only place he'd found her. The last time they'd talked was immediately after the autopsy; he could tell she was relieved, but she had confessed that she felt Niels had gotten off too easy – he'd been given drugs to knock him out before he'd been given the DNA scissors, and it had only taken a minute for him to actually die.

He'd tried to reassure her that Niels was headed straight to hell, only to be rather harshly rebuked. Heaven and hell are just stories we tell to make ourselves feel better, Tom. I stopped believing in them a long time ago. The words rolled around in his head. He'd almost asked what had happened – but the look on her face spoke of memories both painful and long buried, and he couldn't bring himself to hurt her yet again. Instead, he'd let her walk away and dive back into her work, where she'd been ever since.

His reverie was broken by footsteps on the deck – soft civilian footsteps, not hard-soled military shoes. He looked up to find Rachel coming around the corner with two mugs.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" He asked hopefully.

"The sick mouse lived." She said, handing him a mug.

"Sounds good. But please remember I'm about 20 steps and several college degrees behind you." He went to take a sip, and was surprised to smell coffee. He looked at her and drank appreciatively. She laughed.

"I'm not going to waste my precious stock of tea on someone who doesn't enjoy it. Even if watching the faces you make is entertaining." She sipped from her own mug before giving a more detailed explanation. "I found the strain I needed to make the cure airborne, injected a healthy mouse with it, and put the healthy mouse in with a sick one. The sick mouse successfully caught the cure and lived."

"That is good. What's next?"

"Human trials. Which is something of a logistical issue, as everyone aboard has already been cured."

"So we need to go find you some sick people."

"And some volunteers to spread the cure to them."

"Well, we'll be in New Orleans soon. I'll rustle up some volunteers for you. And some champagne. Next time you come see me with good news, we'll toast to it properly."

"I look forward to it." She said, leaning on the railing and looking out at the horizon. "It's nice up here. I'd forgotten what fresh air smells like."

"No, really? Spending all your time in the lab like that?" he teased. "But you're right. This is my second-favorite seat on the ship."

"Your second favorite? Where's your first, I want to try it out."

"Well, people might look at you funny if you sat in the captain's chair. Naval protocol and all that. Not that you give a damn."

She chuckled, acknowledging the truth in his words.

"Don't tempt me."

"Hey, after all this, you've earned it."

"Are you attempting to reverse-psychology me? Because I will absolutely go sit in that chair."

"Don't spill tea on it."

"Oh, it would do you good." She said, moving as if to head to the bridge, but stumbling on the deck tread. He reached out and caught her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little off-balance. I never have gotten truly used to the way a ship moves."

"We're in calm seas, Rachel." He pulled her, gently, so she faced him directly. She looked exhausted, and from the way she gripped his hand, she was somewhat unsteady on her feet. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Um…breakfast?"

"Coffee and toast doesn't count." She didn't reply to that. He sighed, stood up and guided her to his now-empty seat.

"Stay put. I won't have you falling and hitting your head on the railing. I'll be right back."

He was back less than three minutes later with a plate of food, only to find her passed out in the seat.

"Should've seen that coming." He muttered to himself, setting down the plate. "Rachel. Hello, earth to Rachel! There are far better places to sleep on this ship." He reached for her shoulder, shaking it gently, getting no response. He was starting to get concerned. He took her wrist and felt for a pulse, which was slow but steady. He watched her breathe; also slow but even. He sighed. Taking a moment to bring the plate and mugs inside to the bridge, he tried to wake her one more time before picking her up.

Making his way with Rachel in his arms to his at-sea cabin, the closest available bed he could think of, he spotted O'Connor's head do a double take.

"And this is how rumors get started, Rachel." He muttered to himself before calling out down the p-way. "O'Connor!"

"Yes, sir!"

Tom pointed at his cabin door.

"Get the hatch for me?"

"Yes sir!"

Tom carried her sleeping form straight to the bed, getting O'Connor to pull the sheets open for her.

"Is she okay, sir?"

"I think she'll be fine, but I'd wager she's slept perhaps four hours in the last forty-eight. She came to tell me she'd made a breakthrough, and then passed out when she sat down."

"Bet she hasn't eaten much either." He glanced at the young man, remembering that he would know, having spent time in her lab guarding Sorensen.

"She hasn't. Could you go to the galley and get her some food? Something that will keep – she'll sleep a while, but she'll probably be starving when she wakes up."

"Yes, sir." O'Connor said, leaving the cabin. Tom spent the next couple of minutes settling Rachel, taking off her shoes and tucking her in. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed.

"You never think of yourself, do you?" he said quietly. "We'll just have to keep a closer eye on you."

Just then, O'Connor came back with a plate of saran-wrapped PB&J sandwiches and a bottle of water.

"This is what they had on hand, sir, but Bacon's offered to make whatever she wants when she wakes up."

"Thank you." He nodded, dismissing him. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a note.

Rachel –

The breakthrough is nice, but try not to break yourself in the process.

-Tom

P.S. Bacon has offered to make you a hot meal when you wake up. Your choice.

He left the note next to the food, took a last look at her sleeping form, and turned out the light before leaving.