an. Two updates in a single month. Crazy right?

References: St. Augustine, Chapter 14: 'Every December' and St. Augustine, Chapter 27: 'And You're Gonna Have To Let It Go Someday'.

Guest Review Responses:

Guest 1 Thank you! Slattery and Rachel are fun to write. I thought their dynamic was underused in Seasons 1 and 2 and have enjoyed being able to include a few scenes. Mike and Christine, urgh. I feel bad for them. Their lives have fallen apart and the world won't give them a break to breathe and focus on putting their marriage back together. One of the larger challenges with writing this series has been staying true to the central Tom/Sasha storyline, but there are so many stories going on with our other characters that I hope to write a few pieces for separately when I have time!

Guest 2 Don't apologize for ranting, I had the exact same issues that you did. They presented a scenario in Season 3 that only works on the acceptance that whatever happened between Tom and Sasha pre-canon had to be a deeply significant relationship for the immediacy of the emotions we were shown... and then the writers couldn't commit to spending even 5 minutes providing more context. I thought the showrunners' excuse that the show wasn't a romance was lazy too. I'm not asking for a romance, and providing adequate character development doesn't make it a romance either. Hell, they felt it prudent to write and film more personal scenes for both Tom and Sasha's flings, and the disaster that was Kelsi and her entire backstory/home life than they bothered to give their main character's long-term committed relationships in 5 entire seasons. It was ridiculous. We know more about Velleck's dead son than Mike's kids. We understand the inner dynamics of that shitshow of a family because they got so much screen time, but have no understanding of why Danny and Kara fell apart by season 5. They wasted unbelievable amounts of time writing content for characters that we don't care about instead of the main cast and it drove me insane. I hate how many contradictory things they did with Tom and Sasha post-S3, but what most pissed me off is that they turned Sasha into a doormat when that's not the character they introduced us to. Not just with Tom, but with Fletcher too. I could write my own novel of complaints, but I will respond to your review on the actual chapter now, lol.

Way too soon for them to be sleeping together, yes. And Sasha would never engage in another 'we can risk no protection' situation again given that's how the baby she lost was conceived. In St. Augustine, Tom reached the conclusion that it was an unplanned pregnancy, and ultimately, that would have occurred to him too once his brain kicked in. Tom would have taken that off the table. However, that's also not to say there aren't other effective methods to get off and he would have strongly considered engaging in those had Sasha remained game... lol. I think at this stage they'd ultimately still regret doing anything more than kissing, though. I'll admit that I get a kick out of writing jealous Tom. He was so unflappable and too good at everything in the show, that knocking him down a couple of interpersonal pegs and exploring some insecurities is a lot of fun. I have always suspected that Tom has a level of arrogance that he has to work hard to control and that he's a large product of his environment (raised in a traditional Christian family structure with distinct gender roles). He knows Sasha loves him, but it's more that his personality issues take over when he cannot immediately get what he needs by asking for it. He couldn't make her stay before, and he knows that he can't make her leave now, and he's blaming his lack of control over her safety on the wrong things like the fact that Jesse (whom he is insanely jealous of) existed. I think Tom has always been priority number 1 in almost every aspect of his life. Darien put himself, his career, and his wants first, and if he told Darien not to go somewhere because he felt it was unsafe, she wouldn't go. That isn't Sasha, and it's also part of what he loves about her. Sasha was/is the only serious relationship he's had where the other individual has remained independent of making him their world. I think that challenge is a large part of what made him fall so hard initially. It was completely different from everything he'd known, but when he's scared that she's in danger, he devolves into contradictory, unproductive, and false thinking patterns.

.

Come Tomorrow

i'll be gone

.

.

In the green room, Mike watched Kara pace, her knuckles white around the pen gripped in her hand. At the large conference table anchoring the space, Rivera, Shaw, and Michener sat listening to a first-hand account of the attack at Cat Bi. The Vietnamese soldier spoke broken English, but Mike had tuned out after hearing the words 'Seahawk' and'down'.

Their SH-60 was taken out mid-flight. He'd signed the damn order placing Daniel Green on that same chopper; the one intended to transport him to base so he could return to St. Louis and be with his family.

A surprise.

The horrific irony rendered him numb.

How the hell was he supposed to explain that her husband wasn't MIA with the Nathan James and that the hope to which she clung was in reality futile? Despite his years spent working in homicide, Mike found nothing could adequately prepare him to look Kara in the eye and deliver the news that would shatter her life.

Dennis twisted around, holding out a set of cans, and Kara stopped pacing, lips terse, to snatch them up. Only a few seconds later, she said, "Sir, Captain Chandler is on the line."

Presidential Palace, Hong Kong, New China

From the same armchair she'd tossed Tom's jacket over hours before, Sasha watched Val type furiously on a Navy-issued laptop. The hammer of keys was loud in the over-quiet room. Moments earlier, Tom had emerged from the en-suite in civilian dress and re-packed his belongings on the double while Val worked. Not twenty minutes had passed since Wolf interrupted Peng's luncheon, and they were split, Tex and Wolf downstairs securing transport to the airfield, and Pablo looming by the window, surveying the grounds while holding the sheer slip curtain askew.

Val handed the laptop to Tom. "I encrypted a new channel, but with how advanced their algorithm is, I'd give it a day, maybe less, before Peng decrypts the recording."

"Understood," Tom said, accepting the headset Val produced.

While Tom spoke with St. Louis, Sasha half listened, contemplating how she and Pablo would make it back to Jesse without hitting the checkpoints. How long they'd have to reach the helo before MSS was on their tail. Where they'd go next. They'd be crazy to return to Hai Phong in this heat, and Shanzhai was close enough to Peng to keep her anxious, but if she was going to identify the smoking gun which made his anecdotal connection to Wu Ming undeniable—

"The five-inch?" Tom clarified.

The James had been forced to fire?

The comment garnered Pablo's attention too, who dropped the curtain, a look of concern marring his brow. Like a glimmering ball of light at the center of Sasha's psyche, the mystery of what was happening to the US Fleet threatened to take control. She forced it from her mind. No matter how much she wanted to help Tom, he had a solid exfil and the entire US military at his disposal. Jesse didn't. This wasn't something she could reconsider until they were well away from Hong Kong.

A few moments later, Tom ended the call and ripped the headset off.

"What's going on?" Sasha pushed away from the bedpost upon which she'd been leaning.

"What do you know about a pirate named Takehaya?"

Dread flooded her system, and Pablo shifted. "He's a ghost," she answered. "No one's ever seen him, but his group operates a lot of trade and ships in that area."

"The base was leveled by rounds from the five-inch. Our Seahawk was shot down a mile out to sea in the middle of a supply run to drop more cure—"

"W-what?" Sasha interjected."That doesn't make any sense. The pirates want the cure. It's the most valuable currency anyone has… if pirates hijacked the Nathan James, they wouldn't bomb the base."

"The James ID'd three unknown ships loitering in the harbor forty minutes before the attack. It was part of the last data dump they did before communications stopped—all the local partners concur that those vessels belonged to Takehaya—"

"Peng did just plant the seed that the US created the virus," Pablo interjected, his comment directed more toward Sasha than the Captain.

"Misplaced revenge? But they still need those doses," she said. "He wouldn't be trafficking people if he didn't."

"What are you talking about?" Tom spoke.

"You don't know?" The clarification had left Sasha's lips without due thought. A tick of frustration colored Tom's expression, no reason to ask, if he knew. "It's common knowledge around here that a transfusion from an immune, uninfected, or vaccinated donor can slow the progression of the virus…"

She saw in Tom's body language the recognition. "Just like it did for Mike's family in Norfolk," he sighed. "Doctor Milowsky encountered a few communities that were using blood from people with antibodies, but the donations were voluntary—you're saying he's kidnapping people to trade them as… blood bags?"

"That's why everyone in Hai Phong still wears masks around the city and docks," Sasha confirmed. "No one wants to look like they've been cured. It's his main feeding ground."

"Which means if he took my crew, it wouldn't be to kill them."

Solemn Sasha shook her head. "No… and if that's the case?" She glanced between both men. "Then it makes even less sense for him to blow up the actual cure in the process."

"Then who else could pull something like this off?" Tom promoted.

For that, Sasha didn't have an answer, beyond Peng. Sharing her theories without concrete evidence, however, when international relations were this delicate, was a gamble she didn't want to take. Not when Tom was this hot, and when all she had was a lottery ticket and the fact the woman had said Peng's name. "I don't have an answer for you."

Thirty minutes later, the scenic cliff roads lined with lush vegetation gave way to the concrete vista framing Victoria Harbour. After crossing the barrier securing the peninsula, the airfield came into view, and Peng's parting statement was echoing in Sasha's mind:

"You see now, Captain, who is the true enemy of peace. I suggest that you be careful of the company you keep."

Tom had spent the entire duration brooding, and for once Tex had remained eerily sedate, but it wasn't until the C-130 came into view that it hit. This pipedream she'd semi-entertained where they ended up together? It was juvenile. Something based in the same fantasy she'd indulged before. Not until that knowledge smarted did Sasha perceive that parts of her had begun to believe. The idea of them was the perfect escape from a world of madness, but the more time she devoted to it, the more it would crush her when the odds destroyed it. She didn't need a repeat of Andrew. Couldn't allow herself to stay blind to the situation before her in favor of twisted hope. Whatever was happening was big. The kind of big that started wars.

Breaks squeaking, the Humvee stopped, and everyone gathered their belongings.

She could see it. The conflict raging through Tom, pushing him closer to doing something entirely reckless.

"Jesse can get us out," she affirmed quietly, though his reaction was… unexpected.

"I thought Jesse was dead."

"No?" Narrowing her eyes, Sasha replayed the handful of conversations they'd shared over the past twenty-four hours. Where before she'd thought Tom's demeanor couldn't devolve further, the way he worked his jaw proved otherwise. She glanced at his grip around the worn leather handle of his duffel. Too tight.

"And what makes you think you'll make it that far?" he ground out, abandoning the pretense of approaching the plane. Two-thirds the way removed from the C-130's ramp, Tom's back was now turned to it, expression thunderous, and eyes boring into hers.

Stalling.

Scrambling to summon the correct combination of words to satisfy him, Sasha chewed her lower lip, and then looked away.

"I can catch the next ride," Tex roused, words mumbled through the toothpick hanging from his mouth.

Knowing that to argue would further lower the chances of Tom complying with Michener's orders, Sasha held her tongue.

"Ain't nothin' I got in St. Louis that can't wait a few weeks," Tex continued upon Tom's stubborn refusal to yield.

"As soon as we get Jesse, we'll leave Hong Kong. We can help Tex get to Guam," Sasha added, leaving out the minor problem of knowing their flight range was limited, and 'getting to Guam' would involve bartering Tex onto a ship. Tom didn't need to know that. The less information he had, and the more assumptions he made—such as believing there was still a plane at her general disposal—the better.

"We leave now, we'll have a head start," Pablo stated, shifting the ruck up his back. "Even better if Tex is with us."

Silence followed, Tom's gaze passing over each of them before holding hers.

"We'll be fine," Sasha said softly. "I'll contact you as soon as we're out of Chinese airspace."

The cogs were turning, and she could see that Tom was only half listening. "The Hayward finished their UNREP at 1100," he began. "They were still within radar range of the James. There's no way three ships could take on two of our Destroyers—"

"Tom—"

"—They either had to board and seize both… or one of our ships is waiting for backup at rally point beta—"

"And standard protocol would have required them to communicate that to St. Louis—"

"Not if they thought the comms were insecure," he fired back with a distinct flare of arrogance.

Sasha briefly clenched her eyelids closed and exhaled through her nose. So this is what he'd been doing while brooding out of that window. "And if you're wrong? Then you're stranded just the same, except you'll be without backup in Vietnam waiting for the Shackleton to arrive, and putting their crew at risk by needing to approach the harbor—"

"And if I don't, the trail will be cold by then," he muttered, side-stepping her to walk back to the Humvee, while Val stared.

"Tom!" Sasha insisted, "You can't just deny a direct order from the Commander-in-Chief."

"It wouldn't be the first time," he drawled, returning his luggage to the bed of the Humvee. "If I'd followed my orders after the James was attacked in the Arctic, we wouldn't have a cure."

Checkmate.

Briefly, Sasha peered at the sky. Like it mattered, or as though she actually believed there was anything or anyone up there orchestrating this insanity, and then glanced at the others. Wolf was suppressing a grin, Tex was chewing his toothpick, and Pablo almost seemed… impressed? They barely tolerated each other. All it did was further prove that she'd fallen into Wonderland.

"And I assume you're expecting me to get you to rally point beta?" Sasha prompted sarcastically.

Ignoring the remark, Tom addressed Val. "Tell St. Louis I went back to Vietnam to hook up with one of the ships. Mike will be able to figure out the play, but wait until you're in secure—"

"Yeah, yeah—I got it," Val cut him off, appearing bewildered by the stark change in plans.

"Wolf—"

"I'm with you, sir," he confirmed before Tom could finish speaking.

A quick nod was Tom's only response, and Sasha finally conceded that this was happening. Tom remained triumphant, standing beside the truck with his arms folded, and after confirming that Pablo and Tex weren't listening, and noticing that Wolf was walking Val to the plane, she approached, stopping only mere inches from him.

"Full cowboy." Her tone was provocation and reprimand combined.

A spark lit in his eyes. "I'm trusting my gut."

Somewhere in the South China Sea

The first thing that Danny registered was a searing pain originating from his ribcage. The second, that he was cold. Third, wet, and fourth, disjointed memories of alarms, smoke, a death spiral and then nothing. Gasping, he jolted up, vision full of blurred shapes. A hand contacted his arm, and he ripped it away, the action immediately firing more pain across his ribs. Vaguely, he processed muffled sounds, but they were indistinguishable and muted. Like he was still underwater.

It came to him. The understanding that the Seahawk was shot down over the sea, but he was on something solid—The James—and whether or not a conscious decision, the fight seeped like blood from his body. Slumping back, Danny closed his eyes again and let darkness claim him.

White House, St. Louis, Missouri

With a couple Advil's in hand, Mike shuffled into the cafeteria. Before the virus, this area of the courthouse had hosted a small gift shop too. In many ways since returning, it had become Mike's sanctuary for the simple fact that Bacon was the White House' head chef. Sometimes if he squinted, Mike could almost transport himself back to the wardroom. The thought died when he noticed Kara nursing some coffee with—if he had to guess—the communications transcripts spread out before her.

"Thought I sent you home?"

Kara tensed. Clearly he'd startled her, and it only twisted the insidious guilt more. Still yet to muster the courage, he'd decided to punt responsibility until definitive confirmation arrived that Danny was gone. He'd rather beg forgiveness than cause that kind of distress without all the facts.

Eyes bloodshot, she opened her mouth and then sighed. "It wouldn't make a difference," she whispered. "Stare at the ceiling driving myself insane?"

She sounded exhausted as he felt. Over 20 hours now since the day had opened with Peng's bombshell, and he'd been debating taking a nap in his office while they waited anxiously for Tom to make contact after clearing Chinese airspace. Mike didn't have the right words, so he remained silent but allowed his empathy to shine.

"The more I review these logs, the less it makes sense that the pirates were able to overcome both ships simultaneously."

A spike of energy bolted through him and eyes keen, he took a seat opposite her. "I've been thinkin' the same thing."

"So you agree that one of them's still out there, waiting for backup at the second rally point?"

"I do," Mike confirmed.

Hong Kong, New China

When Tom tried to picture the safe house during the drive through mainland Hong Kong's eerily vacant streets, somehow a penthouse hadn't occurred. After reaching the 27th floor, calves burning, it became clear why they had chosen it. Tactically, winding your opponent before they engaged was advantageous, and while Tom considered himself to be fit, his lungs still felt dry and his pulse was hammering. Evidently, Sasha had not been idle during the three months. Given how gassed she'd been in D.C. after tackling the stairs to her condo, he was surprised by how well she'd fared. He also didn't expect to hear bass thumping from three floors below in the dim zig-zagging stairwell, and when Shemanski opened the door, a wall of sound greeted them.

The place was still covered in bedrolls from their fallen comrades. It was open concept, high ceilings with exposed ductwork. Floors of stained polished concrete. Large storage crates filled functions better suited to furniture—of that, there was a curious lack of—including the absence of pants on the woman seemingly passed out drunk upon the singular sofa.

"Jesse," Sasha yelled over the music.

"That's Jesse?" No sooner had the proclamation ripped itself from Tom's mouth did he regret his lack of control, for Sasha was now staring at him, quarter the way turned, with her head quirked.

"You thought Jesse was a guy?"

Tex chuckled, grinning wide. "She got you on that one, boss."

While thankfully Sasha didn't comment, her grin was wry, and he could hear her goading him.

"Oh hey guys, nice of you stop by," Jesse slurred, limbs lackadaisical as she removed herself from the couch.

The music cut off. Tom glanced and saw that Pablo had a remote. Beside him, Tex made an appreciative sound, and leaned closer to his shoulder. "Always thought that pants were overrated myself."

"Let me guess," Jesse continued, retrieving a crumbled pair of jeans from the floor and tugging them on. "You need the helo?"

Shemanski shook his head. "Time to ex-fill. MSS is on our tail."

That information appeared to sober the woman, though judging by the number of empty liquor bottles littering the coffee table, sober might be several hours removed. Jesse glanced at Sasha, Tom assumed, for confirmation.

"No time to fill you in. Pack fast. I need you to get us all to Vietnam," Sasha said.

At that, Jesse made eye contact with him, and he held it.

"I thought you were done with the Navy," she said to Sasha. It confirmed the gut feeling that he'd been recognized.

"It's complicated," Sasha dismissed. "But if you want answers? He's the one who can help us get them."

Jesse's apparent scrutiny lasted only a few seconds more before she nodded. "Ditch most of the gear. Six is maximum capacity, and we're gonna need every ounce of fuel we got."

Sasha was anything if not prepared. Whatever items she'd lugged halfway across Asia clearly held no significance, for she discarded that bag and entered one of the bedrooms. Tom followed. Curiosity driving him to linger while she chose a different one—smaller—pre-packed and stuffed in a near empty closet. As with the rest of the penthouse, the furnishings were sparse. A nondescript nightstand, a bed, and a mirror… but upon the nightstand was his watch.

Sauntering over, Tom retrieved it, shaking the winding mechanism to hear the familiar mechanical whir.

"I promise it still keeps perfect time." Sasha's voice came gently across the space.

He pivoted and was met by the knowing glimmer of her eyes; the dimple in her cheek.

"Thomas Chandler," she drawled. "Were you jealous?"

Refusing to defend against Sasha's facetious remark, he made a dismissive facial gesture and finished fastening his watch. Val should have hit secure airspace by now, meaning Mike would have the sense to stop delaying the Shackleton. At flank Captain Hicks should arrive in just under three days with a half tank of fuel left to join the search for the Hayward or James.

Tom didn't expect to find Sasha so close, however, nor the transparency in her gaze.

"I would have done the same for you."

Before, he added mentally.

The risking her life determined to find a person with no reasonable evidence that they'd survived? Sure. If he hadn't cemented the impossible wedge between them, Sasha would have done that for him. That was the depth of her loyalty.

'I would have tried.'

Lately, her statement from a decade ago had been haunting him too. Differently than it had in the past. Wisdom borne of age had a difficult way of unraveling truths he'd been adamantly sure of in his youth. Like believing there was only one correct way to move forward. One version of right, when there was also grey.

'All you did was inform me of the decisions you'd already made, and that was it. I just had to accept them.'

And perhaps his choice had been made, in part, because he needed to control his own demise; anticipate the way he would break his own heart.

Sentimentality had no place in a crisis though. And most of Tom regretted that. Once again, they were standing at the impasse of making any meaningful progress in this mess of emotion between them, and there wasn't a damn thing that he could do about it.

"We need to go," she whispered.

No sooner had they returned to the main living space than the door to the penthouse splintered apart.

White House, St. Louis, Missouri

Dead silence resonated.

C-130 Hercules on course to Guam was gone. 45 minutes into its flight, via open channel, the pilots had declared an inflight emergency, and seconds later, a distinct explosion occurred, and then static had reined.

In a chair, President Michener slumped, expression harrowed, and for once Shaw and Rivera had nothing. Not a goddamn thing to say. Any of them.

First two crews and Danny… now Tom and Val?

Oxygen felt stamped from Mike's lungs. Coincidence and conspiracy. Wasn't that his friend's modus operandi? Mike played it back. All the logs he'd been pouring over. The timeline, the questions left lingering unanswered… except all of those had been focused on Hai Phong. A thought bloomed, and he stared hard at Kara, waiting for her to sense that someone was watching. When she registered that seemingly universal unease, her gaze found his and Mike jerked his head in the direction of his office.

Behind the privacy of the heavy wooden door, he immediately rounded the desk, hammering in his security credentials while Kara waited impatiently.

"Sir?"

"I'm checking the logs of all the communications between the White House and Hong Kong after Tom landed," he murmured, focused on the screen. A moment later, Kara was hunched beside him, scanning down the list in unison—everything was in order—nothing jumped out, until Mike saw a request for an immediate background check on Tom's translator.

That had been pre-cleared and submitted days before the summit started. A referral from one of the local partners who'd operated an international container shipping business before the virus, and had been instrumental in providing a network of couriers to aid in spreading the cure.

Adrenaline peaking, Mike opened the file, first having to input another series of passwords.

'Natasha Davis. 37. Aid Worker. Médecins Sans Frontières,' written right beside a picture of Sasha's face. Given that the headshot matched the cover, taken inside what resembled the tent of a foreign refugee camp, Mike had to assume this was a persona Sasha had employed in the past. And there was obviously a reason that Tom had seemingly approved every trace of her service record being wiped from the database.

"I guarantee you Tommy didn't get on that plane," Mike began, but Kara was already in agreement, a marginal relief relaxing her features despite the weight of knowing that Val was likely gone.

"There's no way that he didn't come to the same conclusion about our ships," she hedged.

"Agreed. But we keep it between us for now."

Over that, Kara's brow creased.

"There's still a chance we're wrong… either way, they won't object to deploying the Shackleton. If we're right, Tom's relying on it, and if we're wrong? It's the only chance the James and Hayward have got."

For a moment Kara considered the situation, and then murmured softly, "You don't trust them, do you?"

Mike sucked air through his teeth. "At the risk of sounding like a conspiracy theorist?" He was relieved when a knowing amusement arose from Kara, and continued. "We've been delivering the cure for months without incident, and now all of a sudden Peng wants to hold talks just as we're applying the pressure in regard to Japan? The whole thing stinks. I don't have anything concrete, but somethin' ain't right."