Rachel woke slowly, becoming vaguely aware of being someplace new. The smell was familiar however, even if she couldn't name it; it was comforting and she chose to linger in her half-awake state based on its presence. However, she was forced to re-assess leaving this warm cocoon when her bladder made its demands known. She opened her eyes, spotting what she needed right in front of her, and made use of the facilities. When she came back out to the main cabin, her eyes landed on two sandwiches and a bottle of water, which suddenly looked delicious. Once she'd gotten through the first half-sandwich, she read the note next to the plate.

Tom must have brought me here. But where is here? She looked around. This cabin was pretty sparsely decorated, though there were a few pictures on the wall, and upon closer inspection, they contained familiar faces. She crinkled her forehead in confusion. She'd already been in Tom's cabin, and this wasn't it. Where was she? Realizing her thoughts had carried her through the first sandwich, she opened the second. She devoured it quickly, eyes roaming the room for clues about her whereabouts. She found her shoes neatly stowed at the head of the bed, and a decent view out of the window, which meant she was on one of the upper decks. Porthole. It's called a porthole aboard ship, she thought as she polished off the second sandwich.

Well, time to find out where Tom had stowed her. She sat back upon the bed and reached for her shoes, only to stop as a glint of metal caught her eye.

That isn't – is it? She thought to herself. It looked like Tom's wedding ring. And its location next to a picture of Darien certainly lent weight to that idea. Just then, she heard the hatch open and heard his voice.

"Good evening, sleepyhead. Have a nice nap?" She blinked, breaking her gaze from the bedside table to look at him. And his fingers. They were bare. He noticed, of course. "Took it off last week." He told her softly. "It was time."

"Last week?" she said in disbelief.

He gave her a gentle smile.

"I was a little surprised you didn't notice it during the verdict." She colored at that, remembering how tightly she had clung to that very hand as the sentence had been read. "But I understand that you had other things on your mind." He rubbed his left ring finger with his right hand. "It feels weird not to wear it, truthfully. It was as much a part of my uniform as my insignia. But it felt…dishonest to wear it, somehow."

"Dishonest?" she asked.

"I finally realized… finally accepted… that she's gone. I still love her, and it still hurts. But…she's gone. And once I crossed that line…if she really is gone…then I'm not married. And wedding rings are for married people." Rachel nodded. She knew plenty of widowed people that wore their rings until they died, but she'd also met those that didn't. Each one had their own timeline. If he didn't feel married anymore, then his decision made sense. She looked up as he went on. "It's a weird feeling, not being married. It was a fundamental part of how I defined myself. It's… disorienting."

"I'd imagine so." She said, suddenly feeling out of her depth. Quincy hadn't been right when he'd accused her of not having skin in the game, but he hadn't been far off the mark regarding Michael. She kept her thoughts off her face, though, and listened as Tom continued, continuing to look at his empty finger.

"Knowing she's not going to be there when I get home… not being able to talk to her or write her a letter… I feel sort of untethered, at loose ends, and I'm not used to that. The best I can do is knowing that she's looking down on me and the kids from heaven, and sometimes I think about what I'll say when I meet her again one day." He looked up at Rachel. "I know you don't have use for such notions, but it helps me sleep at night."

Rachel looked away, ashamed. She remembered that conversation too – the way she'd lashed out at him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I try to keep such things to myself, I know I'm in the minority on that subject."

"Your feelings are your own, and you're entitled to them. Though I'll admit to wondering how you came by them."

She looked at him for a long moment, but eventually spoke.

"My father was a missionary." She said slowly, watching for his reaction. He seemed a little surprised at that, but there was no judgment there. "I watched him repeatedly deny a doctor's request to treat my mother for malaria. He said such things were up to god, not man." She watched horrified comprehension dawn on Tom's face. "I decided I'd rather believe in no God than the God that let my mother die a slow, preventable death. And I never forgave my father."

"I don't think I would have either." He said, looking at her. "I can't imagine not doing whatever it took – " he trailed off, closing his eyes to see Darien's face. He opened his eyes, seeing more to the story in Rachel's expression, and made a guess. "How old were you?" he asked.

"Ten." She told him. "Ten years old, and in a strange country. The only person there who made sense to me was the doctor who tried to help her."

"That explains a lot." He said.

"I suppose a psychiatrist would say something about overcompensating for childhood traumas."

"Is it really overcompensating at this point? You've saved our lives, and I'm pretty sure you're not nearly done yet." He watched as she reached for her shoes once more, visibly uncomfortable with the praise. "You're going to have to get used to that, you know." He told her softly.

"I know. But I don't like it, and I didn't ask for it." He nodded. As an officer – especially a captain – being a public figure was expected. Rachel was a scientist, who was ill-equipped to handle sudden, unexpected celebrity, and he knew she would have been happier without it. She glanced at him while she laced her shoes and sought a change of subject. "What is this place, anyway? I thought you already had a cabin?"

"This is my at-sea cabin, next to the bridge. It's a place for me to crash when I might be called to the bridge on short notice. Sort of like the way you put a cot in your lab."

"Logical." Rachel said, standing.

"You going to take Bacon up on his offer?"

"Actually, I was thinking a shower was in order at this point."

"You do realize Bacon will be highly offended if you don't, right?"

"I'll go after I get a shower." She promised.

"And then maybe some more rack time. You only slept for seven hours."

"Which is plenty."

"Bullshit. You can't tell me you're all caught up, I know better. Besides, you can't do anything until we reach land, so you might as well."

"Good evening, Tom." She said in exasperation, moving towards the door. He held up a hand to block her path briefly.

"Rachel. You need to take better care of yourself. If I thought it would do any good, I would order you to. As it is, I'm asking – please think about yourself from time to time." He waited until she looked at him and nodded before he stepped aside. After she exited the cabin, he sighed quietly, knowing that his request was probably going to be forgotten in short order.