A/N — a bit of an inside joke here for srp2017 and Aspect, regarding a crackfic! prompt that I never finished. xoxo — kals

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Chapter 20

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"Hey Coop! You planning to wake up any time soon? Green's looking for you."

Sasha dropped her hand from the back of Tom's neck to his shoulder. She had known, without asking, that Tom would put a stop to things before they got out of hand. But she had been hoping for more than five minutes of privacy. That was clearly impossible. Frankie's less-than-subtle banging on the door would have woken the dead. Worse, the fact that Frankie hadn't simply walked in, the way he normally did, meant that Tom hadn't been quite as sneaky as he thought.

Tom brushed a kiss against her temple before stepping back. He glanced at the door. "How do you plan to get rid of him?"

"I'm coming! Give me a minute." Sasha called towards the door before reaching out to run a hand across Tom's chest, smoothing out any wrinkles that she might have created in his uniform. She was wrinkled enough from her "nap" that she had a built-in excuse. Stepping past Tom, Sasha opened her locker, finding her shower caddy. She turned, intending to tell Tom to wait until she was gone and then make his escape, but Tom was looking at something behind her. He reached out to lift one of only two pictures that hung in her locker. His gaze dropped to hers. "Did you ever hear from your parents?"

Sasha nodded, feeling her throat tighten. She had always known that her parents were survivors — they had to be as Jews growing up in Soviet Russia — but she still worried. The fact that they lived in New York City, a major hot spot, had only increased her concern. Thankfully, her parents had managed to leave the city before the quarantines began — whether because of the oblique warning from their daughter or because their own sense of preservation told them it was time to leave, Sasha would never know.

"Yes." Sasha heard her voice crack. "Shannon — my assistant — finally tracked them down. They did eventually take my advice and head to the cabin. But you know what my mom is like. When they're off the grid, they're completely off the grid. The only communication is via snail mail, and even that goes to the post office. Shannon had to send someone in person to find them. Mom said that they sent a letter but ..."

"We were at EMCON," Tom completed the sentence, the letter presumably with the other stacks of mail that would be sitting at Norfolk waiting for the Nathan James's return. "I'm glad that they're safe."

Sasha cleared her throat, her voice a whisper. "Me too."

Tom didn't respond, his attention apparently moving to the second picture, one of Sasha's favorites. The photograph was slightly blurry, taken from the wrong angle with the sun behind the people standing in a semi-circle, drinks held in the air. That was one reason Sasha liked it, the fact that identifying the people there was difficult in case the photo fell into the wrong hands. The other reason was how happy they all seemed. Tom's finger slid along the bottom of the photograph, likely identifying each person. Pablo, Frankie, Danny, Sasha, Jesse and Damien. Sasha and Damien had never been close, not the way she was close with Jesse, but Sasha still felt a sense of loss knowing that she would never see the man again.

"Is this Jesse's brother?" Tom asked softly.

Sasha sighed. "Yes, that's Damien."

"Make sure to give him credit in the official report," Tom murmured.

Before she could respond, Frankie banged again. "Seriously, Cooper. I don't have all day to stand here waiting for you. People are looking for you."

Picking up her caddy and slamming her locker shut, Sasha stepped out of her boots and stripped her socks, ignoring the smell, before shoved her feet into flip-flops. "Give me two minutes and then you can follow."

Stepping out of her cabin and swinging the door quickly shut, Sasha glared at Frankie. "Planning to play guard duty while I shower too?"

"Nope." Whistling, Frankie trailed her in the direction of the shower. "Just making sure that nobody was around when Tom appeared."

"There are times when I hate you, Benz."

"Eh, eh, eh," Frankie replied, shaking his finger at her. "You should be careful what you say. One of these days, I might actually believe you. Now go take that shower. And use extra soap. You stink."

xxxxx

"Good morning, sir," Tom said, facing the small screen containing General Williams. In the background, Tom thought that he could see an IV, making him wonder whether the man was working from the hospital. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you. I understood that President Gispert successfully reached Washington, D.C."

General Williams nodded. "He did, thankfully. But that isn't why I called you. I've been appointed chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, subject to Senate confirmation, and I want you on my team, Captain Chandler."

Of all the things Tom was expecting, this was not it. "Sir, I'm in the Navy."

General Williams chuckled. "I told Jed you would mention that."

"I didn't realize you knew my father," Tom replied, although mentally kicking himself. Williams was of a similar age to Jed and Secretary Marcus. With all three having Army connections, it made sense that the men would know each other.

"While we don't speak often, I've known Jed for many years. He's a good man," Williams said, before briskly continuing. "What I'm offering you is a newly created position, Captain Chandler, as Vice Chairman for Civilian Operations. You would be working with all branches of the military dealing with vaccine rollout, as well as collaborating with the CDC and any other appropriate civilian agency regarding military assistance in spreading the cure worldwide. The President himself requested you specifically for the role, a vote that was seconded by Doctor Scott. It comes with a promotion to the rank of Captain, as well."

He was being offered a position with the Joint Chiefs of Staff?

Tom's shock must have been obvious, because Williams smiled, then his face turned serious. "I know you've been out of the loop for the past several months, Captain Chandler, but our armed forces have been decimated. Across all branches, we've lost almost fifty percent of all personnel and, as you can guess, those losses were significantly higher for the Navy and Marines sent in response to NATO's initial request for assistance enforcing the quarantines in the Mediterranean. Admiral Mullens himself was overseeing the operation and died in one of the first waves. There was no opportunity to appoint a replacement Joint Chief of Staff before Congress itself disbanded. We called up all available reserves and recent retirees, but we need people like you, Captain Chandler. People who were on the ground and saw what our boys and girls were dealing with first-hand. People that both the citizens of this country and the members of the military trust. That's what we need to rebuild."

Tom knew that the numbers were high, but fifty percent? He thought again of Senior Chief Lynn's daughter, lost along with her entire crew in the Mediterranean. If it wasn't for Sasha, that could have been Tom's ship, Tom's crew, all dead. Still, how was it possible that he, a Commander, was being offered a position usually saved for an admiral? On the flip side, how could he possibly decline?

"I ... would be honored, sir," Tom replied.

"Good." General Williams immediately turned to business. "I will be speaking with Captain Hurtado later today about accepting a position as Commandant of the Marine Corps, and my second-in-command Commander Steffes has accepted the position of Chief of the Army. I am offering the position of Chief of the Navy to Captain Edgeworth, former Deputy Commander, Region West. Are the two of you acquainted?"

"Only by name." The last time Tom knew, the Commander of Region West was Captain Moran. Taking the opportunity, Tom began, "About my crew..."

"Your orders are to head back to Norfolk, Captain," General Williams interrupted. "The USS Hayward is headed back to the United States as we speak, and will take your place as Solace's escort. You will return to Norfolk, at which time you, Captain Chandler, you will move to the Pentagon and Commander Slattery will take over as Captain of the Nathan James. However, before that happens, the President has requested the presence of your crew at a special ceremony to honor their valor. He intends to extend invitations to both you and Commander Zaslavsky personally."

"Thank you, General Williams. My crew has performed exceptionally under incredibly difficult circumstances." Tom paused. "I should also note that I identified several individual members for distinction."

"Your recommendations have been received and, for the most part, I believe will be accepted," General Williams said. He glanced to the side, as though checking for something, before lowering his voice. "By the way, Secretary Granderson submitted her resignation earlier today. The President has indicated that there will be a review of some of her recent activities and I wanted to make sure that you were aware, Captain, that I personally authorized the use of a C-17 out of Fort Sam Hueston, as well as the use of all other appropriate military resources, for the rescue operation in Mexico City. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings to come up in the course of the review."

Tom froze, his mind balking at another piece of unexpected news. Was Williams taking credit merely because the rescue of President Gispert was a political coup? Or did he know what really happened?

Any doubt Tom might have had was answered when Williams spoke again. "I've known Jeremiah Utt since he was a boy. A good kid, even if he did join the Marines. He understands the importance of loyalty. A value which has been unfortunately lacking in recent days. We all reap what we sow, Captain Chandler, for good and for bad. You appear to have a knack for making good friends. Very good friends."

As General Williams disappeared from the screen, Tom leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. The Joint Chiefs of Staff. The very idea was shocking, yet Tom understood what was at stake. Thousands of sailors just like those who served under him had followed their orders, and would never return home because of that. If Tom could spare a ship, or even a single sailor, from the same fate, he couldn't say no. In some ways, this job would be good for his personal life as well. Although the hours at the Pentagon would no doubt be long, Tom wouldn't travel as much and would be more available for the kids and Jed. Technically his divorce decree didn't allow Tom to move the kids out of Norfolk, but Tom didn't think Darien would put up too much of a fuss, especially with everything that had happened recently. Hell, given that Jed never sold the house they lived in back when Jed worked out of the Pentagon himself, Tom wouldn't even need to find a new home.

The only wild card was Sasha.

Without realizing it, Tom had somehow settled into the idea of the Nathan James working hand-in-hand with Rachel — and therefore Sasha. Now it seemed that Sasha might remain on his ship without Tom or, worse, would move on to other missions. Still, Sasha would eventually leave the Nathan James and, despite her file indicating that she was based out of Rhode Island, Tom was fairly certain that she officially worked out of the Office of Naval Intelligence in Maryland. Tom had heard both Green and Benz joke about Sasha dropping in at Quantico for coffee and, apparently, to babysit for Berchem's daughter. That was an hour drive, outside of rush-hour traffic, and totally do-able from Maryland. At least if Tom was in D.C., they wouldn't be ships crossing in the night, Tom out on deployment whenever Sasha was home.

Some of the shock of General Williams' call wearing off, Tom opened a secured line. Before doing anything else, he needed to talk to Jed.

xxxxx

"Back in the office permanently?" Sasha asked, feeling the frown on her face but not bothering to hide it from Shannon.

Shannon, in turn, rolled her eyes. "Yes. You are officially an Assistant Director with the Office of Naval Intelligence, even if you don't normally bother doing any of the required paperwork." Shannon's face then grew serious. "When things started getting bad, we moved our assets to Fort Detrick. When it was overrun, we lost hundreds of agents, and that doesn't include IOs lost on ships or in quarantine zones. Plus, most military personnel were called up for active duty and who knows when we'll get them back given everything else going on."

"I've seen the numbers," Sasha admitted. Although Shannon had run simulations that, unfortunately, turned out to be eerily precognizant, finding out that DIA lost close to seventy percent of their military assets was sobering. There was something very different between hearing a number and seeing the list of names. Thankfully the loses of civilian employees were not quite as bad, but Shannon's numbers hadn't reflected secondary impacts from the virus. Sasha liked her former boss, Admiral Branch, and hated knowing that the cure had arrived too late to save him from having a stroke, with resulting paralysis. The man would likely spend years recovering, and obviously was in no position to lead an agency. She was already hearing similar stories from dozens of other DIA employees, those who were either too sick to return to work or lost a spouse or a child and were in no condition to return to work.

In many ways, this was like starting from scratch.

Shannon was still speaking, "Given your role in discovering Doctor Tophet's treason and ensuring that Doctor Scott was able to develop a cure, you're a shoo-in for the Director position."

Despite being an apparent shoo-in for her dream position, the one she had been shooting for over the past fifteen years, Sasha could summon no excitement at the idea. Refocusing, Sasha studied Shannon. Despite being in a safe zone with four children and, Sasha assumed, no daycare, Shannon was in uniform and didn't even appear rumpled. "Who's watching the kids? Is Damien back?"

"No, Damien's in DC dealing with the Granderson fallout," Shannon explained. Sasha raised an eyebrow but Shannon shook her head. Although Shannon's husband wasn't averse to bending the rules and passing information along to Sasha via Shannon when appropriate, as a lawyer with the Office of the Attorney General, there were some things he just wouldn't share. "The kids are with Christine Slattery actually. She organized something of a daycare-slash-school for the crew's children. Once she found out that I was working for you, she insisted that I join their group. I don't know what her husband is like, but Mrs. Slattery is a force of nature. She's organized school, daycare, and food distributions. She'll make a good captain's wife."

"Captain's wife?" Sasha queried, storing away that information about Christine.

Shannon gave that superior nod she liked to use whenever she was about to give Sasha game-changing information — usually information that she wasn't supposed to have. "General Williams is being appointed Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff and he plans to offer Captain Chandler a newly-created position as Vice Chairman focused on vaccine and cure distribution."

"What?" Sasha demanded, feeling truly shocked for the first time since Shannon began speaking. Not because Tom wasn't the perfect choice for such a role, but she found it hard to imagine Tom away from the Nathan James. His ship, his crew, were such a fundamental part of his life. She had known that before she boarded the Nathan James, but seeing it in action was still different. Knowing versus knowing.

"Yup, massive promotion there," Shannon said, a self-satisfied smirk crossing her face. Sasha's eyes narrowed but, before she could speak, Shannon changed the subject. "That reminds me, I doubt Williams will want to waste time renovating the Maryland building, so you'll probably be based at the Pentagon. Turns out that keeping your D.C. apartment was a good move after all. You'll be much closer."

Sasha felt her chin drop, and then she couldn't help herself from laughing. The irony of spending so much time worrying about the practicality of a relationship with Tom.

Only to find out that they would be working next door to each other.