Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.
Absolution
Tom closed the door to his stateroom and forced himself to exhale – his abdomen on fire now as he gingerly sat down – just another acute reminder for all that was lost. He hung his head low and pressed his chin into his chest, willing the more foreboding feelings he had to diminish. He felt uneasy and that bothered him a great deal, for he didn't often feel like this … unsettled … insecure … especially when deployed (though admittedly, this was different). Still, there was a protocol for everything the Navy did, and to him, these protocols had always made sense and were easy to live by … until now.
He didn't like issues to go unresolved … and this thing with Ramsey proved that he was more than just an obstacle – he was a menace, a terrorist – and try as he might to pin all of his unsettled feelings on the Nathan James' battle with this maniac … Tom knew, deep down, that this particular aura of uncertainty had little to do with Ramsey and everything to do with Rachel and the degraded state of their relationship.
There, he said it … so he owned it.
Drawing himself out of his reverie, he raised his head and scanned the monitors in front of him, pain radiating from his wound throughout the rest of his body, jabbing at his nerve-endings and heartstrings now akin to a skilled boxer. Swallowing hard he closed his eyes and fought off the intense outpouring of emotion he knew was waiting for him, the events of the last thirty-six hours hitting him like the quintessential ton of bricks now.
Lin. Walker. Chung. Bivas.
He repeated their names as a mantra now … heroes for all time. His chest tightened and panic escalated, coming at him now in uncontrollable waves – slightly mitigated when his eyes landed on a framed photo of Darien and the kids wherein he lost himself inside of their happy smiles and beaming eyes for a beat in time – he stared at them and the dream that once was … until the image became blurred and nondescript … until it disappeared altogether (because it really did).
The loss of Darien swelled into a tremendous wave, pummeling him now with renewed grief, which quickly turned into anger … and before he knew it, he fumed: Niels. And exhaled: Rachel. He closed his eyes and fat, unruly tears rolled down his stony facade and he let them be … his veritable weakness unearthed now as he thought long those four brave souls – Lin. Walker. Chung. Bivas. – and privately grieved for them and for the whole of the Nathan James.
A thick blanket of stress encapsulated him and he let it ravage him.
His abdomen flaring up, reacting as the stress did what it wanted with him – wreaking havoc, attacking him at his weakest pivot – and he let it be because in truth the pain muted his helplessness … and hushed the internal tirade of his regrets for every wrong turn he'd made on this mission. For he was the responsible party … even if there were no families to notify now … especially because there was no one to notify. For this he believed: that everyone on the Nathan James was part of a larger legacy now.
And theirs was lost … legacies lost at sea – under his watchful eye – to say he was miserable and vengeful was an understatement. A barrage of sentiments flooded his mind: Outraged. Torn. Furious. Whipped. Broken. Bitter. Dispirited. Irate. Lonely.
Lonely. Lonely.
His heart aching now, he reached for Ashley's bracelet without thinking; intense pain cloaked him again. Damn it. Breathing through the throbbing sensation, he held her trinket – fondly remembering the bittersweet day she gave it to him and her despondent face … her reluctance for him to deploy – if only he'd known then what he knew now … if only he'd been warned … if only … if only. Sometimes it was hard to think of another life – another outcome than his present reality – but then there was this: if he'd known … he would have never left home.
Home. Home.
He picked the telephone up and connected to the CIC. "Mason, get a secure line to my father, please … yes, I'll standby … my stateroom, yes … thank you," he ordered and hung up.
While he waited, he wondered then if this (the idea of repudiating the mission) made him a coward or a realist … or both? His mind drifted XO and Master Chief wherein he briefly imagined them without him, lone warriors at sea all these months – his people, his men and women and Rachel … with some other brass at the helm – fighting this war on humanity … on his behalf (because he was too, what? Scared, selfish, weak) … and therein, he found his footing, for the very idea became ludicrous!
He was here! Where he belonged! Mistakes and misgivings aside – he was the man at the helm, the Captain the US Navy chose for this mission – and he wouldn't have it any other way. Well … almost, this additional surgery … he could do without that. Except that he knew he couldn't, for the way the pain grappled with him, he knew this was not a healing pain. He was in trouble.
The phone rang and pulled him from his reverie. He picked the receiver up. "Captain," he stated evenly. "Yes, thank you, Mason … I'll hold." He twirled the bracelet and waited.
"Tommy," came his father's recognizable baritone.
"Hi Dad," Tom sighed.
"Everything okay?" he asked, unable to hide his concern.
"No … everything's a mess," Tom answered candidly, his voice cracking into the silence of his sanctuary.
"Talk to me," his father ordered without judgment. "Is it the sub?" he ventured a guess. "We keep hearing little reports here and there about the Immunes' campaign, word of mouth really," he added.
"They got four of my sailors in a dogfight–"
"No ..," his father sighed.
"I'm afraid so … in the fallout from this last round here in New Orleans – they blew up the best chance we had to rebuild in this country, took four souls with them – the bastards … …," he exhaled, his voice trailing off.
He sat up straighter and exhaled through the pain, he felt short of breath.
"Tom … you still there?" his father called out.
"Yeah … … listen Dad … I was hit too … had some shrapnel removed already – passed out and came to and it was done – but Dr. Scott needs to go back in and remove a bit more that's lodged near my liver …," he sighed, finally committing to the surgery.
"I'm sure you'll come out of it like a champ," the older Chandler counseled. "Is she worried? You're not worried are you?" he asked then.
Tom hesitated. "No … I just feel unsettled … about a few things," he admitted ambivalently, intentionally leaving Niels' death and his troubles with Rachel out of their conversation.
"Well … surgery – instances when we question our mortality – it can bring forth uncertainty … so, it's best to try to resolve those open items … just get a plan on the table with Mike and Russ and you'll feel a whole lot better," his father advised soundly.
"I will … thanks, Dad …," Tom replied.
"That's the best advice I can offer, Son … because the last thing you need is to go under the knife and be an emotional mess … if you can help it," he sighed. "Listen, you'll have someone call when you get out? When's all this going down?" he asked then.
"A little while from now – I think, I hope – and we'll have someone call you," Tom answered. "The kids are asleep I presume?" he inquired then, his eyes on the framed photo again; he smiled weakly.
"Yep … listen, I'll just wait for the call, no sense in worrying them when they don't have to … how does that sound?" he suggested wisely.
"All right, Dad … ," Tom agreed.
"Love you, Son," he sighed. "And do as I said … make your plan – go under with a clear conscience, take action and resolve your uncertainties – it will make all the difference …," he repeated.
"Love you … and to the kids too," Tom sighed. "Bye now," he exhaled and hung up. Then he connected with the bridge. "Master Chief … I'd like a word … my stateroom … yes," he sighed and hung up.
As he waited for Russ, his father's advice resonated – for he knew the older man was correct and that even though he didn't speak directly in reference to his issues with Rachel – that everything was connected here, that the silos he used to rely on to keep his personal life separate from his life at sea … well, those barriers had broken down the moment they found out about the virus.
And so intertwined were his lives now that he knew he could no longer deny the mess he'd made of his relationship with Rachel. He knew (pretty early on), that things between them had careened out of control (that he was determined to quell his intrigue when it came to her) … and even if he sincerely said 'thank you' to her earlier … he wished he'd said more.
Mortality issues aside, if he was going under and she was his surgeon … he knew they had ground to cover … and that they had to come to terms with their differences and the direction they wanted to move in with respect to their relationship. And for that conversation to go smoothly … he needed to vet things out with Russ first ... on a personal and more spiritual level (rank aside).
###
The pair was situated next to one another on the small sofa now and Tom let his eyes wander around the sanctuary of his quarters for a beat as he listened to his trusted friend and confidant. His wound burned with heat, a dull radiating pain emitted with each tiny movement he made. He exhaled, testing his resolve; he winced (shit).
"So … this is what I've taken from our conversation thus far, now that you've physically accepted the need for this surgery – you're looking to mentally prepare yourself – to mend your relationship with Dr. Scott after your recent … falling out …," he sighed evenly. "And while that may not the proper term for what's happened between you two – it does seem to resonate when thought of like that, a falling out – on a more personal level than that of a Captain rendering his decision to a subordinate," intuited Russ, his smooth voice as subdued as his all-seeing eyes.
"I suppose, yes … it's personal – we had a fight, a screaming match – over right and wrong … over fundamental principles … 'thou shall not kill' … right?" he asked Russ incredulously.
"That's the general idea …," Russ stated evenly.
Tom shifted in his seat (maybe standing would be better). He gave up and stayed seated. "When we fought … she was like a different person!" he said, replaying their argument in his head, the look in her eyes resonating now. "And now that I think about it … her eyes should have told me something was off, she was vacant … detached … and normally– when it comes to her – I can intuit pretty well … but … I don't know … this was entirely different …," he reasoned aloud.
Russ sighed. "Do you think, perhaps you didn't want to recognize the warning signs because they were too painful to see? That they would reveal something you weren't ready to see or believe?" he wondered, starting with the harder questions.
"How so?" Tom answered with this own question; he shifted his weight slightly. "Shit!" he winced; a sharp pain lodged itself low and deep into his wound. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting the nausea and light-headedness as he rode it out.
"Tom?" came the Chaplain's intense voice. "Should I get Dr. Scott?" he asked of him. "The three of us can maybe hash this out together … save some time …," he offered.
Tom opened his eyes. "No … you and I first – I'm going to have to speak with her alone – it will be for the best …," Tom answered, knowing this reconciliation needed to be made from him (as a man and not necessarily as a Captain).
"Well … all right …," Russ answered without a warning flag going up. He pressed on. "You said she didn't want to be around Niels – and that she fought with you at first – but that you feel you might have coerced her into working with him …," he went on.
Tom looked up and away, craning his neck back. He sighed. "I don't think I did – I know I did – I was a brute, Russ," he admitted. "I was angry at Niels, the Immunes' campaign, the sub attack, the President's predicament … you name it and I took it out on her … I remember telling her that if I could stomach being in the same room with him, so could she …," he said soberly, the fault his own now.
"And the less responsive she became thereafter …," Russ articulated. "The more … how did you put it … 'vacant and detached' she seemed … while she was working with him …," he intuited, his eyes pinned to Tom's. "You don't think he did something to her, do you?" he said with haste then.
Panic struck Tom. "Like what?" he asked incredulously, his heart palpitating out of nowhere.
Russ shook his head. "I don't know … maybe he attacked her?" he ventured.
"No … no … no …," Tom muttered; he could barely breathe (Jesus, he couldn't breathe). "He was never alone with her … at least he shouldn't have been …," he exhaled, trying to calm himself down.
"And we're certain of that? He could have verbally abused her …," Russ persisted.
"I don't know … Miller and O'Connor were there with them in the lab, escorting Niels to and from the brig … but outside of his death … no signs of struggle, at least that were reported …," Tom exhaled, 'breathe', he coached himself.
"Was there anything uncovered from the investigation that would give her … cause … aside from his being Patient Zero and killing half the populace on earth?" Russ hashed out. "See … for her, this seemed to become very personal … in my opinion …," he added thoughtfully.
"It was … personal for her …," Tom agreed. "From the beginning … once she met him on the Vyerni and figured out that he was Patient Zero – scientist to scientist she hated him, hated him for his stupidity, hated him for not coming from that altruistic place where scientists reside – even if he didn't mean to weaponize the virus at first, he eventually became a monster once he got tangled up with Ruskov and then even worse when he met Ramsey…," he exhaled, trying to put all the pieces together.
"So … in the end, she followed your orders and got what she needed – spent the time with him, outsmarted him – I'm not condoning his death in this fashion, though I cannot deny the 'an eye for an eye' principle as it applies itself here," Russ stated evenly, maintaining his place in the gray area.
"I hate this!" Tom exclaimed then. "Don't you hate this?" he raised his voice, shaking his head, his blood pressure rose exponentially.
"Yes …," Russ acquiesced.
"I hate what this has done to me and the men and women on this ship! I hate what it's done to her! The vengeance it incites!" he gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure, though he felt himself become unhinged.
"As do I," Russ offered, his keen eyes watchful … still no sign of judgment.
"She … she … was so noble, Russ! So passionate and tenacious … so … … pure of heart in her intentions … and then – she went dark – she too left that altruistic place …," he muttered sadly, looking down at his hands, his wedding band sparkling against the lights. He blinked as it blurred and then looked up to find Russ. "Did you know she injected herself with this new virus-cure of hers without talking with me first?" he added with haste, his watery eyes vacillating.
"What?" Russ answered, his eyes wide.
"Yes … maybe … she was so desperate to come up with a solution, or to prove herself to me … I don't know … but to have little or no regard for herself, for her safety … it was reckless of her … and when she informed me of what she'd done – that she injected herself with this stuff – I swear, Russ … I felt like I was sucker-punched … like I was … I don't know … dismayed … shocked … saddened," he exhaled, his thoughts trailing off.
"Did you communicate your feelings to her?" Russ prompted.
"No … I lost myself for the moment and my anger … at the whole situation spiraled out of control – tried to step back from it all – but then I … lashed out instead – I just couldn't believe she didn't trust me enough to discuss it with me – that we'd come to that … ," Tom sighed, the pain penetrating again. He exhaled, pushing through it. "The idea that she would do that to herself … it was too much to stomach, too much to think about … … this idea of losing her too …," he breathed, his heart shimmied.
So beleaguered by the situation now that he truly lost himself for a moment, the pressure mounting again wherein Tom all of a sudden could have been anywhere … back in the lab with Michener that night he tried to kill himself … or on the oil rig before it blew up … or back in the quarantine when everyone was dying … anywhere … 'an eye for an eye for an eye for an eye'. He fumed.
Russ counseled. "I know things feel impossible at the moment – but we've faced the impossible plenty of times and we've overcome – this is an incredible crew, Captain … Rachel Scott included … ," he said, his tone soft and sincere. "And I think this is the heart of the matter … the disappointment and sadness you feel – because, with all due respect, Tom … you care about her on a deeper level than you were prepared for – and you feel responsible for her actions … and for her well-being …," he surmised wisely.
Tom sighed and looked away from his confidant. His watery eyes wavering now as he stumbled into making a full confession .. if he could call it that … for there was nothing to confess really … it was more a matter of owning up to how he felt.
"I am responsible …," he exhaled. "And I feel helpless … and maybe you're right, maybe something happened to her when she was with Niels …," he sighed heavily. "But I know now – I understand vengeance and how personal it is – because when she had asked me how I could stomach it, being in the same room with him … I didn't get it …," he breathed. "And even when she persisted and said that I'd lost Darien because of his actions … even then, Russ – I wasn't outraged enough – my sense of retribution wasn't elevated … enough …," he sighed, trying to articulate his feelings.
"Feelings of loss and helplessness can take on many forms, Tom … I think you're being too harsh with yourself …," Russ pointed out.
"No … don't you see … I wasn't angry in the same way as I am now … because maybe in the end – if I'm being honest with myself – maybe losing Darien wasn't the same as this …," he whispered, shame encapsulating him. "I mean … I… I…," his voice trailed off and looked away from Russ, shaking his head.
Swallowing hard, Tom knew he was teetering on the edge of a precipice he was sure would reveal more about his intense feelings for Rachel than he was ready for (those feelings that were so well intuited by Russ). He shook his head and blinked rapidly, forcing his waiting tears into recession. He cared and he felt responsible. His heart pinched him somewhere low and deep. He cared for Rachel and he felt that diminished his love for Darien. (There he said it.) He felt he was a traitor to their marriage. Somehow, he … a man as loyal as they came … betrayed his wife … without even realizing it.
"I will not judge you … you must know that," Russ stated firmly then, interrupting Tom's internal tirade, his dark eyes smooth and calm and loyal. "You must already know what you are apprehensive to admit … this is your crux, Tom …," he reasoned eloquently. "Losing Darien wasn't the same as what?" he persisted then; leaning forward, he made eye contact.
"As losing Rachel to him … to Niels and his ugliness … to the mission ... or at all ...," he confessed quietly then … whispering this regret – making it real – his heart thumping wildly now, pulsing in tandem with his systematic pangs of regret.
###
A short while later, Russ and Tom made their way to Rachel's stateroom together. Having made some calls to XO and Garnett explaining that Tom planned to ask Michener to give Rachel a pardon … officially, for the murder of Niels Sorensen … knowing that these critical loose ends needed tying up before the surgery. Morale was at an all time low and his going under the knife wouldn't help. So it was critical for entire crew to trust Rachel if she were to be his surgeon … and no better way to make a statement than having Michener lift her sanctions and XO make a speech on Tom's behalf as they prepped for surgery.
Every step was painful for Tom and as he walked toward his absolution. And as he walked he found himself chanting his mantra for the day – Lin. Walker. Chung. Bivas. – his thoughts focused the Nathan James and moral and longevity and this fight against Ramsey … and going under. And the truth was – he felt better – more confident in his ability to speak with Rachel about mending their relationship and coming to terms with the guilt-complex he'd developed over his more intense feelings for her.
Russ dismissed the ensign standing at her doorway and rapped on the door.
"Come in," came her melodic voice.
Russ opened the door and smiled tightly. Rachel looked at them quizzically. "Hello Dr. Scott," he greeted. "May we come in for a moment?" he asked of her.
"Yes … of course," she said softly. "Captain," she nodded, tilting her head.
"Dr. Scott," he greeted her formally, he could tell she was scrutinizing him for signs of pain and discomfort, her eyes zeroing in on his composure (if only she knew how torn up he really was on the inside).
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked of them as they stood in her narrow stateroom, overcrowding the small space with their presence.
Tom cleared his throat. "I need that surgery," he admitted, his eyes pinned to hers, deep and reflective and clear.
"I know," she smiled sheepishly, her lips pressed together.
Master Chief chuckled and then said. "I'm going to take leave now … my presence here was only necessary to relieve the ensign outside," he explained with a small smile.
"Thank you, Master Chief," Tom said then. "For everything," he added.
"Yes, Sir … I'm going to meet Slattery and Michener now and hash this thing out," he reported.
"Give us … thirty … forty-five …," Tom requested with a curt nod.
"Yes, Sir," Master Chief answered and slipped through the door, closing it behind him.
Everything was suddenly so quiet and Tom turned around to find Rachel where she stood in her same spot. She tilted her head and hesitated and he noticed she was wearing only an oversized t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants … no shoes. Her feet were bare … and tiny … and delicate, like her hands. She was a gorgeous woman he decided then. He inhaled deeply, again testing his resolve – her space smelled of vanilla and flowers – his eyes swept her sanctuary … books strewn about, her closet open, her oversized sweaters crowding the small, perfunctory space. And here was the proof … proof that she resided here … on the Nathan James. He smiled into himself.
She spoke first, stepping toward him, pulling him from his thoughts. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her chief concern riddled across her angular face, her glorious eyes searched his.
"Terrible," he admitted (though the shrapnel wasn't his chief reason for that feeling). "May I?" he asked, pointing to one of the two chairs situated in the corner.
"Please," she answered, sitting down on one. He eased himself onto the other. "Easy," she cautioned, reaching for him.
"I'm okay," he sighed (or will be).
"You dismissed the ensign …," she whispered then, her voice delicate, unsure.
"I did …," he sighed. "I …," he sighed, realizing it was probably best to start at the beginning. "Earlier … I spoke with my father," he exhaled.
"Oh, I do hope he is all right … and the children …," she intimated, her face still laden with concern (she was still there … she was still 'her').
Tom smiled. "They're all right … I called my father to let him know about the surgery …," he sighed, his eyes trained on hers … softer around the edges now. "We talked and he offered a piece of sound advice to me … also mentioning mortality issues and how they could bring unresolved problems to the surface …," he exhaled.
"And what was his advice?" she prompted, her intrigue piqued.
"That I go under with a clear conscience," he stated evenly, leaning back in his chair, pain pinching him, he chanted: Lin. Walker. Chung. Bivas.
"Wise man," she smiled. "Is that why you dismissed the ensign?" she wondered.
"It is … I've asked XO and Master Chief to devise a plan to take to Michener to ask him to pardon you for Niels' death –"
"You mean …," she whispered, quite awestruck, her eyes searching his for answers.
"Yes … you can do as you like again," he sighed, though he'd been an idiot not to notice a dark spark smoldering in her eyes.
He braced himself for her wrath. The pain of his wound intensified.
She rose from her chair and folded her arms across her chest in defense. "Why now, Tom? Absolution?" she demanded, though her softer voice betrayed her still as she paced the small space. "Or because you don't want to go under with your Neanderthal decision hanging over your head?" she said hotly. "Or because you just need the crew to feel better about a monster like me doing your surgery?" she peppered him with her anxious questions, looking for greater meaning.
"None of the above," he replied softly, following her circuit with his eyes, his voice modulated. He held her gaze now and slowly stood up to face her, his abdomen protesting now.
"Tom … careful," she said, her tone softer again.
He exhaled and pressed on. "Rachel … I choose now because … I was wrong before…," he conceded, trying to make an impression upon her. "I was misguided by my confused feelings … and now … I just want to make things right … with us …," he tried to articulate.
"You're reconsidering because of the surgery…," she insisted, though the fire in her eyes was snuffed out.
He smiled and stepped forward, disarming himself. "Lets just say that was the catalyst," he whispered. "But … I wanted it anyway …," he smiled. "And now I just want to explain myself and … ask you a couple of questions, if you're open to clearing the air between us before you take a knife and slice me open …," he smiled weakly.
Rachel tilted her head, uncrossed her arms and also stepped closer, setting one hand along his forearm as she stared at him. "I would never take our fight into an operating room," she said softly, her eyes glassy and unsure as she peered up at him. "Never …," she insisted.
"I know, you wouldn't … bad joke," he replied, holding her there inside the moment, eye to eye where he stared at her and she at him for a long minute. "Rachel … I'm … sorry for my part in our fight … for the harshness of my sanctions, I was angry at myself … and I took it out on you …," he said urgently then, taking her healing hands in his … a magnet tugging at his heart as he melted into their unspoken connectivity.
"So am I … for feeling righteous in my actions – it was a crime of passion – and of self-preservation …," she husked, looking down and away from any judgment he might throw at her.
"Can you … may I ask you … …," he sighed, his voice dying off, uncertainty claiming him, stress pricked at his new scar tissue.
"Ask me what?" she urged softly, looking down at their hands. "Tom …," she beseeched him.
He swallowed hard and raised his head. "Did he … hurt you? Niels? Physically?" he asked, his throat constricted.
He watched the color drain from her face and she let go of his hands. She exhaled and stepped back and away from him.
"No – not physically – but I did do as you ordered …," she sighed weakly, her keen eyes fastened to his. "I … tried to get what I needed from him to no avail – but he knew he had me over a barrel – he knew he was critical to my success and he was so smug about it …," she relayed, her unhappy eyes focused on some other place in time now.
"I apologize for putting you there, in that position …," Tom sighed, trying to connect with her again.
Rachel continued then, a small reflective smile gracing her more serious features now. "So … I did what I knew I had to do – I played along like I told you – but … in order to succeed I had to use my … female powers of persuasion …," she exhaled, looking straight at him now.
"Come again?" Tom inched closer, feeling the full force of the whip from the lash. "What happened?" he pressed her. "Where were Miller and O'Conner?" he asked of her.
She sighed and looked beyond Tom, once again to that far off place. "I went to the brig … asked them to wait outside one night … ," she sighed.
"No… you didn't …," Tom exhaled, forcing a barrage of unwanted images from his mind.
She exhaled. "I wanted that bastard to think I was invested in a partnership with him – I wanted him to think he could pursue me, romantically, earlier he taunted me about Michael in the lab … my beloved Michael … and after that I knew that was his weakest spot, jealously … wanting me for himself – so I visited him alone and led him to believe that I wanted something from him too …," she recounted, twisting her lips, she tried to maintain her composure, but Tom saw right through her and watched her crumble … lose herself.
Stepping forward and into her personal space, Tom reached forward and set his thumb under her chin in order to raise her pretty face. "Rachel, look at me … something like what?" he asked of her then. Tears crowded her eyes wherein suddenly looking at her was an awful lot like looking into a mirror, Tom lowered his hand and caressed her neck, his fingers nestled in her long tresses where he inhaled her essence and let it soothe him from the inside out. "Talk to me … please … something like what?" he whispered again, trying to reach her.
She blinked and set her tears free. His heart shimmied. He took her other hand in his and held her there, lacing his fingers through hers.
"Something … lustful and dirty … and revolting … and – I coaxed him to a point where he thought he had me, that we'd go to bed together – but thankfully before I had to cross the line, before anything physical happened … he blurted out what I needed, thank God …," she exhaled, shaking her head in disgust, utter repulsion crossing over her face. "So … I won … I got what I needed … what we needed …," she whispered, staring into Tom's eyes. "We won," she intimated, tilting her head, tears threatening to fall.
"No … we didn't," Tom sighed heavily, swallowing hard, he thought about the damage that had been done. "He won … Rachel …," he husked, searching her glassy eyes. "If he took a piece of you like that – if he got to you – you were lost to him …," he muttered, his eyes searching hers, face to face again. "God, I'm no better than he is, forcing what I wanted on you … can you ever forgive me?" he wondered (praying for absolution now).
"There's nothing to forgive, Tom …," she said with a resigned sigh, squeezing his hand. She gave him a small smile. "I truly got what we needed – I'm no worse for the wear – except for your disappointment in me for killing him … ," she exhaled and more tears fell.
Tom reached up and brushed his thumb along her angular cheeks, his natural inclination to caress her, shocking him. "Don't cry … Rachel … please …," he entered his plea, guilt feasting on him as he cupped her face with his hands now, his pain subsiding, their mere proximity his elixir as he pressed his lips to her halo, breathing her in as he did.
"I can't help it … everything is different between us," she breathed, her hot breath fanning his neck now as she looked up and into his eyes. "I wanted him dead so badly, I can admit that and I don't regret what I did to him, I stand by those sentiments," she sighed, pressing her lips together.
"I know you do …," he whispered, brazenly holding her skull in place now, his fingertips deep within her silky locks. "I know," he repeated.
She exhaled and smiled weakly and his hands found her shoulders where they stayed, holding her deep inside their moment … of absolution.
"I just wish I knew– I wish I had some foresight into what your reaction would have been – because if I had, Tom … I might not have done it," she whispered fervently. "And you know what I really hate – I hate that you will forever see me differently – because … I care about you, Tom …," she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear her. Reaching up, she set one hand along the side of his face. "I care … about you … and what you think of me … probably more than I should … you know?" she breathed, tears popping free now. She exhaled.
Tom smiled weakly. "I do know … and I'll admit … I'm conflicted – and my emotions are all over the place given our circumstances – but I would be a fraud if I didn't say some pretty precarious or life-changing things right now … and take some action on my sentiments to boot …," he confessed, once again dangling himself upon that dangerous precipice.
Rachel hesitated and then stepped closer wherein Tom pulled her into his arms with one fluid motion, cradling her there, sighing with relief while she did the same, his chin pressed upon her crown, untamed emotion claiming him now as he held onto her akin to a lifeline. Her arms around his torso with her ear pressed against his heart. Closing his eyes, he let a modicum of the stress ebb from his nerves then, just enough to relax into the moment and therein, he felt more grounded and centered than he had in weeks. She felt good and right in his arms … and for this, he was grateful.
###
"For the record …," he said eventually from his same spot. "I don't see you differently …," he sighed, pulling back to find her eyes. "I only regret what you've had to endure … especially with Niels …," he articulated softly and she smiled.
"Go on …," she chided him, her eyes pinned to his, no storm in sight, everything was clean and clear … and gorgeous. She found his hand and they sat down again. "Let's do this so I can slice you open," she sassed with a smile.
"All right," he laughed, pain pinching his abdomen as he shifted in his seat. "Hmm … I don't like how you put yourself at risk – giving yourself that virus-cure without consulting with me first – it unnerved me and forced me think about losing you …," he exhaled, reaching for her hand. "Another reckoning, I suppose …," he sighed. "Just don't do it again," he implored her, his tone both light and serious at the same time.
"No more rogue experiments, got it," she snickered and gave him a mock-salute. "What else do you have?" she prompted, her tranquil essence breaking through her more serious exterior now, she twirled her delicate fingers over his hand.
Tom exhaled. "I can't explain this thing between us … and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to …," he confessed, surprised by how relaxed he felt. "For a while now – I've attributed it to circumstances – to our partnership on this mission – and to it's overall emotional intensity … but … honestly, it's more than that …," he sighed, leaning forward. "And Rachel … that's the God's honest truth …," he declared as evenly as possible. "This draw we have for one another is an unexplained change in our fate or destiny … everything was as it was ... until, for me anyway, our paths crossed on the ship," he sighed, tilting his head, he regarded her now.
"A sentiment that's been mulled over by a great many survivors out there by now, I'm sure … my how life has changed … destines altered ... or maybe ... not ...," she breathed, her eyes never deviating from his. "My rational self thinks I'm mad … but there have been signals for me too …," she intimated.
"Such as …," he prompted, very slowly easing into a more concrete discussion about this idea of a relationship with her (with his rational self).
"Hmm … you going missing in Nicaragua, for one …," she said softly. "I just get sick sometimes, nervous with anxiety over your safety – and I've tried to believe this is a normal reaction – except that I don't see Garnett or Foster or … anyone else reacting this way … perhaps it's the civilian in me ..," she breathed, searching his eyes for answers.
"Probably … maybe …," Tom encouraged.
But Rachel shook her head. "Except … it's not … is it?" she smiled. "More and more … I know it's this magnetic thing I have for you …," she smiled, her cheeks rosy now. Tom smiled. "Ruskov holding you hostage was another, of course …," she sighed with a sly smile, locking her eyes with his (enough said). "And you held up in that horrifying compound with the Immunes …," she swallowed hard. "It was reckless to infiltrate like that, well … you know all about how I feel about chasing Ramsey …," she exhaled, her eyes watery now.
"Your recklessness drives me crazy too," he admitted. "You know, I don't particularly like to throw my weight around …but sometimes I have to with you …," he chuckled with a wry grin.
"Yes … I suppose you do," she smiled.
He shook his head. "You know … never in my life have I had someone challenge me the way you do – or keep up with me the way you do – and I know this is what draws me to you … sometimes I see myself in you …," he exhaled. "Your passion for what you do and how you go after what you want – I've not seen that replicated – and in my career, believe me … I've met some impassioned, gutsy people … but they pale in comparison to you … plus … you're gorgeous," he admired her candidly with a reflective smile.
"Really? Tom …," she exhaled, her own smile reaching her eyes now as she blushed.
"Really … Rachel … you are …," he smiled, fully enjoying her more sentimental side.
###
"Shall we?" Rachel asked as she tied her second bootlace. She grabbed a light sweater from the closet and extended a hand to Tom. He stood with little effort, though the pain never quit.
"Yes … let's get this over with," he chuckled, coming to stand before her. Taking her hand in his, he sighed with a smile. "Listen … Rachel, I'm not sure how we proceed with this relationship from here – but just knowing we're talking and aligned again – it's enough to make me a happy man right now …," he stated evenly. "I want to take things slow and just … let them evolve …," he sighed, knowing that the next few days were critical and beyond that he had no idea what was in store for the Nathan James.
"Me too, I'm a realist … you know that …," she concurred softly, her eyes sparkling against the dim lights now. "I'll feel less distracted – just knowing we'll have one another to depend upon … to connect with – it's been awful being at odds with you," she said sincerely.
"It has … thank you … for helping me clear my conscience," he said softly then.
"Welcome …," she sighed. "The same goes for me, you know?" she replied, stepping toward the door.
Tom nodded in assent. "Just … one more thing before we go," he said then and she turned around. "I owe you something," he said with a grin.
"You do?" she pondered, her brow knitting. Tom stepped closer to her and swiftly pulled her into his warm embrace – his back pressed against the door now – he held her there, his arms around her body, his nose pressed into the crease of her neck. "What's this for?" she asked, matching his fervor until he felt her become more pliant in his arms.
Pulling back only slightly, Tom smiled. "It's your 'enthusiastic embrace' …," he smiled, eliciting a laugh from her. "Congratulations on your contagious cure …," he murmured, his eyes fixed on her endless gateways as he drew her near again. "Enjoy the moment, Rachel …," he said thickly before he ducked his head down and kissed her sweet mouth.
Instinctively capturing her open lips with his now – making slow love to her mouth there behind the door of her stateroom – completely enthralled by her as he lost himself inside this unforeseen stolen moment (while breaking every rule in the book). Though as Tom deepened their kiss ever so slightly, he rejoiced in the idea that their actions were justified – for this kiss represented the official seal of their fate – and was a testament to their resolution of their differences for the betterment and clarity of their overall mission (and the further development of their personal relationship).
And while they had kissed on one other occasion – this kiss was entirely different – for it wasn't a means to an end, but rather a beginning. It was a passionate kiss made with clear consciences and open hearts and this time, it belonged solely to them.
END