"Nine gold rings" Ch02 – "Strike three"
A little Season One "what if", exploring some plausible (if not-publicly-canon) moves on the "pairings" front in mid-season, spring of 1996. No links at all to any of my other stories as at August 2021.
A/N: "they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them - apart from any character created by myself". See Ch 01 for disclaimers.
Summary: this is a fictional story, in a fictional (slightly) Alternative Universe, about fictional characters who entertained us in a fictional TV series between 1995 and 2005. Comments and PMs and suggestions are most welcome. Mike
Canon: Canon episode: "Hemlock" (S1Ep15) first broadcast 27Mar1996.
A/N: 21-Aug-2021. The small kudos prize is still on offer if you can guess the rationale behind the title (small clue in the story avatar). Mike
A/N: 2022-07-30: minor correction to journey between Napoli and Roma; grateful thanks to reader bursalino (Mike) for pointing this our in a PM. Mike
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Friday 15th March 1996, 09:38hrs CET
The "O" Club, joint base Naples, Italy.
Tom had headed back briefly to the "O" club to change, ready for their day together.
They met up – as agreed – after breakfast on the Friday morning for their day of sight-seeing. Over their early-morning coffee, they had agreed to leave Capri, Amalfi and Sorrento for another trip. Somehow, Tom was sure that he and Alison would be returning to Italy.
Alison's movement orders had been hand-delivered to her hotel, fortunately delaying her departure westwards until early on the Sunday afternoon. They had a precious extra day! Tom's liberty would be ending on the Sunday, when he had to make his way to the airfield to catch the mid-day COD back to the Seahawk to resume his duty.
His gaze had flickered briefly to the naval ships in the bay, then had zeroed in, laser-focussed on the smart outfit which she had chosen for the day. A practical sweater and pants to keep the spring winds at bay, beneath a stylish leather jacket.
In return, she admired his open-neck pale blue shirt, linen jacket and chinos. Her hair hung down her back, unpinned and gathered into a simple clip at the nape of her neck. She carried a shoulder-bag and a wide-brimmed sun hat.
"So, Pompeii and a trip back in time, my lady?"
"Oh yes, Flyboy. Lead on."
The taxi connected with the tourist bus depot, from which their air-conditioned minibus took them smoothly back to AD79 – the year in which the explosion of Mount Vesuvius had buried the Roman town, preserving it to be excavated from the 18th century onwards. Leaning over Alison's shoulders to point at the mountain, Tom recounted the tale. The excavations began in 1748, under King Charles of Bourbon, as a way of increasing the fame and prestige of his Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. The digging had proceeded sporadically, without a well-defined plan, and not until a few years later was the site actually identified as Pompeii. Commercial exploitation had followed many years later.
Although they had only been "together" for a night (and Tom had taken great pleasure in reminding Alison that she had tried darned hard to bury him in court and get him dismissed earlier in the week) they were fitting together like an old married couple. An older Italian woman watched them, and without shame gave Alison the "thumbs up" sign when their eyes connected. Alison relaxed back into Tom's arms. These Flyboy muscles definitely had their uses!
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In the afternoon, they quickly packed overnight bags and took the three-hour train ride north up the coast to Rome. The concierge of Alison's hotel had arrange a quick booking with their sister hotel in Rome and provided easy directions from the central train station. Arriving in the late afternoon, they achieved a quick "Cook's Tour" of the eternal city's main tourist hotspots. The Colosseum and the Roman Forum produced a couple of nice snapshots, whilst Alison wanted to check-in with the Pope across St Peter's Square.
They also gazed across at St Peter's basilica. Tom's faith had taken a terminal battering in the jungles of south-east Asia some 25 years earlier when he had been a youthful and idealistic flyer, but he could appreciate Alison's faith which had been ingrained during her formative years in Cabot Cove, Maine. His New York upbringing had been a little tougher, but the Irish-Catholic teachings still had some resonance as he and Alison waved to "Il Papa" when Pope John Paul II stood on the balcony. The "smiling Polish Pope" had proven a popular Pontiff since his election by the cardinals following the amazingly-short 33-day reign of his predecessor.
Visiting the Trevi Fountain, Alison and Tom threw a handful of coins in, each of the Americans making a wish as the coins sank below the waterline. She looked into his eyes, noticing his eyebrow raised quizzically through the sunglasses and promised: "Tell you later." He nodded, gently taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. Alison shivered pleasurably – the gently brushing of his moustache on her hands was a new experience, because all of her previous lovers had been clean-shaven.
Tom was becoming steadily more attracted to the blonde spitfire on his arm. She had proven to be a determined counsellor in the courtroom and an energetic and inventive lover in bed. This sudden involvement with Alison Krennick was opening up unexpected possibilities for him – just as he had been beginning to wonder whether his future was settling into crusty bachelorhood.
He had always regretted not being able to save Hammer on that Christmas Eve mission in 1969. Afterward, he had watched over Trish and little Harm and he had been pleased when she had finally wed Frank Burnett. However, he had wondered whether the "wife and family" routine would pass him by.
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He looked sideways at Alison's profile as she stood smiling, looking up at the hulking mass of St Peter's Basilica. This woman presented possibilities – and she had made the first move that evening, so she wasn't a wallflower. Tom had always preferred lively, intelligent, forward women. Alison Krennick had surprised him with her approach but he was glad that he had followed up – and that they had spent that wonderful night together in her hotel room.
In the Sistine Chapel as she stood, head cranked vertically to admire the ceiling with one hand holding her hat in place, he risked a photograph. This, when developed, would go alongside an earlier shot of Alison in Pompeii and would find its way into his travelling photograph album. Alison would be amongst *very* select company!
She lowered her head and looked at him. "Tom, thanks for putting this itinerary together. I agree, we definitely need to come back here some time."
"Well, I should be in the Adriatic for a few more months until the Seahawk is relieved on station or the UN mandate changes, so what do you have in mind?" He leaned in, his eyes sparkling and full of mischief, goading her to make the next move.
"Flyboy, I like the way you think! Come on, coffee and cakes, I think; this girl needs some calories."
"Lead on, my lady."
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By the time they had completed the exertions involved with exploring the Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish Steps, the little café was ready to serve them.
Tom's small espresso, accompanying an affogato, was matched by Alison's caffe latte and her tiramisu.
Arm in arm, they strolled back towards their overnight hotel. A small family-run ristorante, about 200m from the entrance, caught Tom's eye. Alison paused alongside him, gave the place a quick overview, then took his hand and the two USN love-birds walked up to the menu situated just outside the entrance.
Three hours later, satisfied, sated and after a fascinating conversation – in a broken mixture of Italian, English and some half-way house with the proprietor who was ex-Italian Navy – they staggered back to their overnight hotel for the Friday night in Rome.
At least, with them sharing an anonymous hotel room in Rome, there was no risk of Tom having to do the "walk of shame" on the Sunday morning – which would also be their last full day together for a while.
They spent the Saturday revisiting several of the tourist spots which they had quickly dashed around the previous day, before returning to the train station for the return journey back to Naples. Back in Napoli, they dined at Alison's hotel before settling in for their third and (for a while) final night together.
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Sunday 17th March 1996, 07:03hrs CET
Napoli
On the Sunday morning, Alison made the first round of coffees, before a slow and leisurely round of love-making helped them prepare for a lazy Sunday breakfast – knowing that their duties would part them within a few hours.
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"Tom, this has been great, but where do we go from here?"
He sighed gently and smiled as he took her hand in his. This was a scene which had played out more than a few times over the course of Tom Boone's life, but – somehow – this time felt different. He looked into her eyes.
Alison was shocked by the intensity of the emotions which were on display in Tom Boone's eyes. She had – obviously – done the "thanks, so long and see ya' around" conversation herself, several times during her career, but somehow this time it felt different. She concentrated on what he was about to say - and was pleasantly surprised.
"You know, Alison, this is the first time, in a long while, that I really would not want to say 'so long.' I don't have a lot to offer you – hell, there's another few months of sea duty anyway before *anything* could happen further – but I really and truly *would* like to see you again."
"Me too, Tom; me too."
These unfamiliar emotions were swamping her, so she just curled into Tom's arms and the two of them lay there on the bed for quite a while.
Eventually, hunger forced them into the shower and they sought out a late breakfast before they were parted by the demands of the US Navy.
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Even so, for the first time in a while, pleasant memories of Alison Krennick continued to play on Tom Boone's mind for some time after the COD had slammed onto the Seahawk's unforgiving deck. Her body, her lips, her taste all combined to give him pleasant memories and thoughts of "what may be."
Everyone aboard was pleased to see him returned to duty, without a blemish on his reputation. He looked up to the sky westwards, where he knew that his recently-acquired new lover was heading for "home".
A mere two weeks later, Alison would once again come face-to-face with death, in an incident which would almost result in Megan Austin suffering a 9mm lobotomy.
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Thursday 4th April 1996, 18:26hrs CET/ZULU
CAG's cabin, USS Seahawk; on station in the Adriatic Sea.
Tom ripped open the simple blue envelope. He had been on flying duties all day so had not indulged in his usual cigar habit since the previous day, out on the fantail. This meant that the delicate perfume caught his attention and he opened the letter, smiling as he recognised Alison's distinctive, precise handwriting.
This was her second letter to reach him since they had parted, with about a ten-day cycle of letters and mail between CONUS and the deployed task force parked off the Yugoslav coast.
His eyes narrowed as he began to read the second paragraph.
"I'm writing this alongside young Megan Austin's bed as we wait (or hope, as well as pray) for her to wake up after surgery. She took a bullet to the head but we think, hope and are praying that it hasn't hit anything vital. Tom, Stop It! I can see you smiling – please hold the blonde jokes!
"I was also lucky. The assassin took three shots at me and had previously tried to blow up my car with a device placed beneath my driver's seat. Fortunately young Mister Rabb was alert and some instinct had made him check my car. Otherwise I would have been spread across the car park, being fitted for wings and a harp and not writing this letter. It has been a crappy day with a mad assassin on the loose in DC.
"I am still sitting here with a blood-soaked blouse and my neck-tab is similarly scheduled for the trash can.
"God, Tom – I've been so lucky today. If I had any doubts about how much young Harm cares for his little Texan helper (within the regulations, of course!) then today assuaged them. Harm left me behind while running through the underground car park (hey, I had been in meetings, so heels made sense until the shooting started – stop laughing, Mister Boone!) but when he caught up with the assassin, he unloaded an entire clip into the vehicle.
"The ME is not even certain that they'll have enough of the head left to do a dental identification. I need to have a long chat with young Mister Rabb some time when this is over. His rage was palpable and - I think centres around his tall Texan partner.
"I also think that you and I need to have a long chat too, at some point.
"Tom, the events of today have got me thinking about the future – and it is a future which, I believe, has room for you in it if you want…"
Alison's next line was written with more haste.
"Tom; great news; Megan has woken up. I'm going to get this into the mail. Next letter in due course.
"Safe landings, my Flyboy.
Alison XX"
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Tom re-read the letter twice, then – unusually for him – strolled down to the little chapel and said a prayer for his blonde barracuda. He hoped to see her again.
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A/N: views, reviews, suggested next steps via PM please?
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End of "Nine gold rings" Ch02 – "Strike three"
Mike, United Kingdom, 21-08-2021