Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction. I do not own The Last Ship, et al.

Catalysts

Tom looked to the horizon from the small deck off the bridge. The sun was setting. The cloudless sky was a gorgeous mix of orange, bright pink and yellow. And everything was silent, save the wind – he'd just given orders to halt the ship's motors and remain in place – for he needed time to think. Reflecting now, he'd seen a flash of relief cross over his Master Chief's stony face as he executed the order, for it had been a challenging day for all.

Inhaling sharply, Tom allowed the salty, fresh air to fill his lungs, silently wishing a restful, easy night for his children. His heart twisted. His mind skipped to Darien. And once again, he tried not to think of her final moments. Immense sadness encapsulated him akin to a dense fog on a cold night up on the island. Reflexive tears formed and the horizon became blurred and nondescript. And the great polar senses of unease and fury he'd felt all day tugged at him even stronger now.

He blinked and focused again; switching gears to the crux of his problem – Dr. Rachel Scott – for they argued a lot today and it had been a while since they were at odds with one another … and that bothered him, perhaps more than he realized or was willing to admit, until now.

"Have you forgotten what we're all doing here?" she shouted. "Find the cure! Save the world! Remember?" she demanded.

The vibrating pitch of her voice was haunting him. She was haunting him. Haunting him in the way she looked at him and especially the way she fought with him today. It was her fierceness, he had decided – and the way she challenged him with so much veracity – a veracity that he had come to expect from her, though today he noticed something new in her eyes. He saw a flash of disappointment. And therein he witnessed a deflation of her resilient spirit. And in an instant, he realized the remarkable dynamic they had come to share and rely upon was changed or marred, and this he regretted deeply.

He knew she was disappointed in his orders to pursue the reckless, murdering hacks on that sub, but even more than that, he knew she saw right through him. She saw the fear and anger and loathing he had worked so hard to suppress, to push down and cower and hide from.

She may have even seen a spark that revealed he had been disillusioned with her … unfairly. For he knew his despair and anger over losing Darien displaced onto her at times – misdirected of course – but that didn't mean she didn't see it or feel it at one time or another since Baltimore. He was pissed off and resentful at the way the cards fell and sometimes she happened to be in his line of fire.

And so in the end, Rachel Scott had observed his greatest weaknesses percolate to the surface and while he didn't care that she saw him in a different light or that he was somehow humanized, he did care about the catalyst.

He cared about the circumstances that changed him – he cared about what that did to this woman who fought so hard to get on the Nathan James – he cared what she thought of him now, for it was no secret that they had overcome some major trust issues and he hoped now that his reactive decision-making and displaced anger hadn't set them back to square one.

But Tom Chandler was also a realist. And he knew Rachel Scott was well aware of the change in his demeanor since the United States of America (and his life) had been tipped on its side in Baltimore. Of course she watched him with careful eyes for as long as he had known her, she was a scientist after all and she paid attention to the finer details of life and her surroundings and he could tell she knew he was angry at the world.

And he was.

So angry about Darien's death he could barely see straight! So worried he had to leave his innocent children behind! So incensed it made him breathless and sucked the life out of him sometimes. He knew that Dr. Scott observed this change in his persona, much like Slattery and Jeter had, for she was astute in this way … especially when it came to him.

But he also saw that she was bewildered by his actions today, completely thrown off course – and the wild look in her reflective eyes said it all – a swarming pool of emotions directed straight at him: a beautiful combination of anger, hurt, fear and disappointment. It was all there – lodged in the core of her being – and it was a lot like looking into a mirror. And he didn't like what he saw. He needed her to trust him. He needed her on his side.

He needed … help.

Exhaling, he entered the bridge and picked up the phone and pushed the call to CIC. "Lt. Foster, have my father standby for video convo," he ordered. "My at-sea cabin," he answered. "Thank you," he added and hung up.

Nodding to CMC Jeter and Lt. Granderson, Tom exited the bridge and headed to the smaller quarters of his at-sea cabin. He swiftly closed the door and saw the paused image of his father on one of the monitors. He sat down and toggled the file, watching the image scramble for a second before it went live.

"Dad," he breathed, fastening his eyes to his father's, sensing once again how beleaguered the older man was. His heart shimmied. Damn it.

"Tommy, you okay?" he queried, leaning in.

"Yeah, yeah … just need to hash something out," he exhaled. "Kids okay?" he inquired.

"Yeah, they're in bed, asleep for now," he said, pressing his lips into a firm line. "We're all fine," he assured.

"Good," Tom smiled and exhaled. "Listen … old rules are gone …," he explained, training his eyes on his father's. "We can speak more freely than ever," he went on.

Jed Chandler nodded in assent. "There's some breakdown in the chain of command?" the career Army man inquired astutely then. Tom nodded. "It's normal, Son," he assured with a tight smile. "When things fly out of control, the top-down effect, a loss of control from the top, well – typical barriers become burdens – people feel more liberal and are more likely to become unpredictable," he advised.

"The crew, the Nathan James isn't of control, but I'm getting some pushback on wanting to chase this sub," Tom answered candidly. "Mike's not happy about it, he didn't voice an objection to the order – he skirted around that – but I can see … he's questioning, though that's not unusual for our working relationship," he added thoughtfully.

"And Russ?" his father asked of CMC Jeter. "How's he dealing with it, how are the enlisted?" he added.

"He's all right too, Dad," Tom assured. "Cautioning me of course, counseling the best he can … he'll pushback if things get crazy – but it's been a long, unpredictable six months and bold decisions have been made – we've all had to accept one another's actions, but our working relationships are operating within our usual parameters … with mutual respect and cohesiveness … and in my opinion holding up rather well," he went on, pressing his lips together.

"So … what's really troubling you, Son?" his father asked, tilting his head. He smiled tightly.

Tom sighed. "It's Dr. Scott," he breathed, searching his father's eyes for judgment.

Alarm crossed over the older man's face. "She's all right, isn't she?" he asked with haste.

"Yes," Tom answered firmly. "She's all right, physically," he sighed. "It's just … she's disappointed in my rationale – she doesn't understand why my orders are to chase those monsters down – she doesn't understand, nor should she, how dangerous it is to have to keep looking over my shoulder," he explained.

"So she's upset?" his father prompted.

"Vehemently," Tom answered, shaking his head.

"She's distraught about the labs," his father surmised. "It's understandable," he added thoughtfully.

"She is and so am I!" Tom insisted. "I'm angry … and I can't make her understand – we had an argument – and it was awkward, I felt like an tyrant!" he vented harshly. His heart rate sped up.

"You're no tyrant," his father disputed.

"Mike was there, it's too tense between us Dad – I'm misunderstood – there's a tension I don't want to maintain …," he exhaled. "Things were finally okay – as okay as they could be – despite the circumstances … even after I left her at Avocet!" he vented. "Blindly trusting those Granderson people like an idiot …," he gritted his teeth, his blood at a near boil.

"Hey, hey, take it easy on yourself," his father counseled, leaning in.

Tom shook his head. "Even then, she still was on my side …," he said gruffly, his eyes stung. "Even then, she still trusted me to have her back … don't you see, how everyone is suspect? I'm just trying to secure … our future …," he exhaled sharply.

The older man's façade remained steady. "You've always been this way, Tommy," he chuckled softly. "Afraid of disappointing the people you care most about," he sighed. "Me … Darien … your mom …," he sighed wistfully, a small smile gracing his tired features.

Tom swallowed hard and nodded in assent. Darien. In all the years they had known each other, they had only fought, really argued a handful of times, mostly when they were much younger and she was coping with his deployment. She was on her own a lot back then, young and afraid – battling her own demons of the fear of the unknown – she was a consummate cheerleader on the outside, but what those earlier deployments did to her … how timid they made her, it broke him, just a little bit every time he left. He exhaled, the sadness of her death taking hold once again. How did it come to this? How was it that she was gone forever? And that his life had become this tumultuous fight?

He focused on his father again, trying to articulate how he felt. "She's –" he stopped himself. "No … I feel so angry – She's. So. Angry – so disappointed in me … and the way she looked at me … I could barely stand it!" Tom's voice cracked. He hated to sound this weak, even in front of his father.

"What does she want, Son?" the older man asked softly.

Tom sighed heavily. "She has … had, I'm almost certain he's dead – a mentor, from Yale, a Dr. Hunter – we were going to head down the coast first toward his lab where she probably would have stayed on if it had been secure enough. This location was part of the secret network –"

"The secret network of labs that were blown up by those bastards?" his father interrupted sarcastically.

"Yes, Sir and I all but threw that in her face," Tom asserted. "But she still wants to go down there, to this destroyed lab!" he exhaled with frustration. "We got a fragmented video of Dr. Hunter trying to upload something for her to look at, but not before a gunman came in … and executed him," Tom sighed, his thoughts circulating around Rachel's distress.

"Wow … well, that must have been hard for her to see," his father empathized. Tom agreed, it was. "What is she hoping to find down there?" he probed. "She's a practical person, Son … surely she's looking for more than just closure," he added.

"I know … she is … I know," Tom reflected honestly. "She said Dr. Hunter was working on some way to aerosolize the cure so people could just breathe it in – she said it would be like crop-dusting – that it would eliminate the need for all of the lab infrastructure we just lost," he explained.

"That sounds like a viable lead, Tom," his father counseled.

"It is … it's a good alternative to building more labs but these bastards – they even knew about Baltimore, a hidden lab in the middle of the ocean aboard the Solace – so there's something we're missing, something we will only figure out if we get to that damn sub! They'll be no need for further experiments with the cure if we don't put this threat to bed!" Tom defended.

"Come on now, don't beat yourself up, Tommy," his father counseled evenly.

"It's just that she doesn't understand my point of view … or won't," he vented. "I'm just trying to mitigate threats to our success and security," he exhaled. "And the thing is – she gets it, how alarming their presence is – for crying out loud, she told me herself!" he exclaimed with this eyes wide.

"Now you're losing me," his father shook his head.

"They're all immune, Dad," Tom divulged.

"Immune to the Red Flu… wow," he whistled.

Tom nodded grimly. "Yep, Dr. Scott made a deduction from testing the blood of the guy we captured," he explained. "They all must be immune, not a single piece of protective gear worn when they attacked Solace … and they already took Europe, somehow," he went on. "On top of that we know – they're fanatical, in their approach, they must be elitists, a new order of supremacy perhaps, feeling of camaraderie because of their immunity – and I'm certain that none of our work or our people … innocent American people, will be safe from their wrath until we stop them!" Tom insisted fervently.

The men were silent for several long beats. Tom's mind was working on overdrive, still believing his gut instinct was correct – except that he felt like he was failing Dr. Scott – and he knew that hunting that sub seemed like a wild goose chase to her, a mirror of his own thoughts on her idea of chasing down the remnants of Dr. Hunter's research.

And so they were at a stalemate. An impasse. Tom Chandler and Rachel Scott.

But still, he was the Captain and their ultimate mission had not changed, Dr. Scott was right about that. But she was wrong in her assumption that Tom had abandoned her and her work. Rather his plan was to protect it – and any future they had – from the dangers galvanized by those lunatics.

"How do I make this right with her?" Tom wondered softly then, unable to hide his most closely guarded trepidation. "I can't have her mistrust me, Dad … I made the mistake of mistrusting her when we first met after all the secrecy … and I regret that start," he admitted candidly.

"You be honest with her," his father advised promptly. "She wants and deserves that from you, Tommy … as her Captain and her friend," he added. "And honesty doesn't showcase weakness, Son, quite the opposite, you know that," he deemed carefully.

"I know, 'it's what sets one person apart from another' … I know, 'there are no fear of consequences when being honest'," he recited, knowing his father's stance on facing the hard truths in life.

Nodding his father continued. "Also, don't forget, she's a civilian on board a Navy destroyer," he chuckled with a wry grin that reached his eyes. "She doesn't have to understand or even abide by rank and file – she needs to heed your orders for her safety – and that's what you need to impart upon her," he advised. "You care about her work and in doing so – you also care about her – and there's no shame in that," he counseled.

"I do …," Tom agreed – care about her – he whispered to himself. "It's just the starting off point, just making her see that I'm not a monster … you didn't see how she looked at me – how disheartened she was – like I was someone she barely knew, which is rough because she gets me more than most …," he exhaled, his chest tight with concern.

Tom's father hesitated and shook his head. "From where I sit, the missions are still one in the same – she just needs honesty from you, instill her confidence – you have to figure out how to tackle all sides here, how to let her pursue this aerosolized cure and go after the sub concurrently," he advised.

Tom regarded his father and nodded in assent. "They are one in the same, 'find the cure, save the world'," he agreed, repeating Rachel's fuming sentiment.

"I'm hearing what you want, Tom and it's admirable," he sighed. "And I think it's possible – the Navy hand-picked you for this you know – they could have gone with anyone, yanked any number of personnel of your rank and stuck them on this … but they chose you, you've got to remember that, Son," he counseled. "You're the best of the best because you have a unique ability to assess all outcomes of a situation – you've always been that way, fearless, yet calculated – it's one of the reasons I admire you most," he smiled, holding Tom's unwavering gaze. "And it's the primary reason your people admire and revere you so … it's why Mike and Russ broke rank and orchestrated your rescue off the Vyerni," he smiled broadly with pride.

"And thank the Lord they did," Tom agreed, his singular thought landing on Rachel Scott and her instrumental part in that rescue and how cohesive and trustworthy to one another they became thereafter … sealed with a kiss. "All right … good night, Dad … and thanks for everything," he smiled tightly.

"Good night, Son … anytime," his father answered with a similar smile.

The transmission ended and Tom picked up the phone, engaging with CIC. "Lt. Foster, find Dr. Scott's location and have her meet me in the wardroom," he ordered, listening. "I'll be there directly."

He hung up the phone and exited his at-sea cabin and headed for the wardroom, his thoughts centralized on his father's advice – open, honest communication – he could do that … he could steer the course of their relationship, change their trajectory … if she was open to hearing from him.

###

The wardroom was empty as expected – illuminated only by a smaller set of floodlights – he could hear some activity in the adjoining scullery, but for the most part he and Dr. Scott would be uninterrupted and for that Tom was glad, for they'd fought enough in front of his subordinates today and he wanted to focus solely on their issues and have an open dialogue without censuring himself.

Exhaling, he moved toward the small entertainment bar (though the Nathan James was dry) and busied himself with preparing two glasses of ice water before moving to sit on the sofa in the lounge area – he didn't like waiting around, he hated idle time – but he knew this conversation was essential to any forward movement that would be made, whether that be for their relationship or the Nathan James, for at times, the two seemed one in the same.

The door creaked open and Dr. Scott stepped inside, her eyes sweeping the dimly lit space. Tom stood and she smiled tightly. "Hello, Captain," she greeted softly.

"Good evening," he replied, pressing his lips together, he scanned her face quickly. Her eyes sparkled against the lights. He could tell she was fatigued, beleaguered by the status of things. "Come in," he invited.

"Thank you," she said, retreating into the relative quiet within.

Tom regarded her for a beat longer before he spoke again. "Can we talk?" he queried softly, trying to assess how she was in triplicate: physically … mentally … spiritually.

"If you'd like," she answered as she approached the lounge area.

"Take a seat," he smiled and motioned for her to sit down. She did so and chose the seat next to his so that when he sat down they were situated side-by-side on the sofa. Tom sighed. "I prepared some fine ice water," he smiled radiantly at his lame joke.

"Looks very lovely," she smirked, taking a small sip. "Refreshing," she smiled.

"Well ...," Tom cleared his throat and sat back, trying to relax with his hands in his lap. "I wanted to say some things to you – to apologize in private – to explain myself," he sighed unhappily.

"Oh well, I'm not sure that's necessary…," Rachel backpedaled.

But Tom pressed on. "Listen … I'm not happy with my behavior today, or as of late … and I may seem like a monster, but … really … I'm not," he defended quickly, his eyes never leaving hers as he tried to articulate his feelings. "And I can't … I can't stand the way you looked at me today, the disappointment in your eyes … …"

Before long his words trailed off … and he found himself lost within a small smile that appeared on her face and despite his internal tirade … he decided it looked good on her, observing now that although she had on typical Rachel Scott garb (yoga pants, t-shirt, sweater), he could tell she didn't come from the lab. Sitting close to her like this, he noticed her hair was damp and up and away from her face in a messy bun and she smelled of soap and sea air. Her angular face was softer somehow and her neck appeared longer and more regal and all of this humanized her – tapering her intensity – in a good way until all that was left was the woman she was at her core.

"Captain," she whispered into their space. "I'm a realist if nothing else," she breathed. "And I can't pretend to understand how hard this ordeal has become for you … but I am disappointed … of course, I am – but not in you – it's just that I want to succeed with this cure … so badly," she sighed and shook her head vigorously, suddenly burdened by trying to maintain her composure. Tom looked down and away to spare her.

"So do I, you have to know that I do," he insisted after a moment. "But you also have to know that as a the Captain of this vessel, a Navy destroyer – I don't back down – and the last thing I want to do is look over my shoulder! This sub – it never runs out of fuel – and there's a group of fanatical terrorist on board!" he muttered harshly, his eyes pinned to hers. "They're wild cards, that you and I both know are immune!" he went on.

"Yes … it is precarious," she agreed, her voice soft.

Tom exhaled in frustration. "Listen … I know it's hard to think long term – but we have to – because out of this virus a new world order has been born," he articulated. "Our infrastructure is gone … our allies are gone … and it may seem apocalyptic to think this way, but I'm serious when I say, 'it's us against them' and running away at this point will be a lifelong mentality … cure or no cure …," he exhaled.

Dr. Scott stared at him, her face softening slightly as she turned into him. "I believe you …," she said, tilting her head, her lips pressed together. "And I know you're not a monster, Captain," she whispered, fastening her eyes to his, stitch, stitch, stitch. Tom stared back at her. "And for the record – I hate when we argue – I hate the stress it adds to an already awful situation," she huffed. "And the way you are – I don't fault you or blame you for that either – the stress you're dealing with is insurmountable … and I know Baltimore was …," she sighed and shook her head. "I know it was a rock-bottom time for you …. with loss of your wife …," she rambled on, her voice finally cracking into the quiet. Leaning forward she continued. "Please don't apologize for what this has done to you – or to me or to your kids or to Quincy or his wife or anyone for that matter – we both are well aware that none of this is fair!" she beseeched him with anguish, her eyes instantly glassy … her lips quivering now … and in an instant, she was drowning.

And therein, Tom Chandler lost himself too, unable to stop his own emotions from percolating to the surface … pop, pop, pop, went his tears and for once he let them be. Let them roll down his face of their own free will. Freeing himself from Dr. Scott's intense gaze, he looked down and away from her, focusing on his hands instead, his wedding band sparkling against the dim overhead lights … sparkle … sparkle … he focused on the relic until it became blurred by his untamed emotions. Darien. His heart ached. He felt Rachel inch closer and then her delicate hand as she lay it upon his shoulder where it stayed.

"I am … so sorry though … for being so angry … and for leaving you at Avocet …," he muttered quickly into their confessional, trying to keep his voice steady. "For trusting them … with you," he husked, his motionless eyes trained on his wedding band.

"How were we to know?" she wondered, adding pressure to his shoulder.

Tom looked up to her. "I have to tell you … seeing you in the hallway with Tex that night … was a gift …," he exhaled, remembering how much easier it was to focus on capturing Granderson once he knew Rachel was safe. "And even though I was harsh today, I'm truly sorry about the labs," he breathed. "I'm angry we couldn't protect them and all of those remarkable doctors … especially your friend Dr. Hunter," he exhaled, his voice hitched into the quiet space.

The pressure mounted again, Tom's heart banged around against his chest and rang into his ears as the world swallowed him up completely this time and everything became hazy around the edges.

Rachel said something to him then about them being able to move on. She also deeply regretted that they didn't make it to Baltimore earlier, but it was here that Tom stopped her – firmly pressing his hand on the top of her knee – for they both knew they couldn't have saved Darien. For in his mind, it was sheer luck and a miracle that he found the kids and his Dad at all in that hellhole. She did her part he assured her … he promised her that he wasn't upset with her, apologizing for any misdirected anger. He also asked her to promise him that she would try to forgive him for his insensitivity.

And it was here, in this moment – this catalyst – that their relationship sat perched upon a new echelon … one of greater understanding and wholesome intimacy.

###

"You know," Tom chuckled after a long while; he tilted his head and held her gaze. "I remember whenever my Dad did something that upset my Mom … he would make some kind of grand gesture … give her flowers or some sort of coveted gardening tool – she loved gardening – it was her passion …," Tom recalled with a small reflective smile. He shook his head and his eyes became glassy again. "So … I wish, I want to do something for you –"

"Captain –" Rachel interrupted.

"How about just Tom for tonight?" he asked of her with a sidelong glance.

Her cheeks heated. "Just … Tom," she repeated wistfully, her melodic voice hanging in the air between them.

"Hmm …," Tom smiled and nodded his head. "Just Tom … and I want to know more about this aerosolized cure Dr. Hunter was working on," he exhaled, finally offering an olive branch … his grand gesture.

"Really?" she breathed with a big smile, quite mystified and unable to hide her surprise.

Tom smiled at her reaction. "Yes … it sounds like a promising lead and something that we better look into – I'm sorry for dismissing you on this during our fight – but … I would like to know more now," he exhaled with a genuine smile.

And so as Tom listened to Rachel, he noticed the way those more serious flecks he'd witnessed in her eyes became brighter and brighter still as she began animatedly speaking to him about the work Dr. Hunter had done to aerosolize a measles vaccine. She reiterated how many people were saved via this method and how noble of a man her mentor was and how much she admired him.

The more she spoke, the more her passion for her work – the science of it all, of her lifelong career – returned to her spirit, tenfold … lifting and carrying her with it until all Tom could see was what made her one of the greats – and all the passion and tenacity that landed her on the Nathan James in the first place – her brilliant spirit … her succinct way of teaching … and communicating. And he was thankful for it and for her.

Enthralled, he focused intently on her rationale and therein he could tell she had thought long and hard about this, the longevity of the idea of trying to finish this mission – 'find the cure, save the world' – without the need for a worldwide network of labs.

Sighing with relief that he'd made some inroads in repairing their relationship – Tom felt more at peace, noting that her cheeks were heated with rosy excitement. She was flushed with an ardent look in her eyes and he decided now that she never looked more like her true self than right at this moment … for she looked at peace … and she was beautiful.

###

"So, we'll head south tonight and get down to the lab," Tom eventually said.

"Thank you," Rachel replied, exhaling with relief, a small smile playing across her features. "Will you permit me to join the tac-team?" she asked cautiously, her hopeful eyes sweeping his, and he could tell she was pushing her luck.

"Once the lab's cleared, I will," he answered, pressing his lips together. "I want to warn you though – what we'll likely find will upset you more than you may imagine – and honestly that concerns me …," he added thoughtfully, his mind on what was surely a massacre.

I'm aware …," she replied softly, her resolve wavering.

"And … there's no way I can prepare you for that," he added sincerely. "Or protect you from it … ," he continued, and how he wished he could. "And I know … I know you've seen and done things since this whole ordeal started that you've never imagined you would have – but when it's your friend you're standing over – I assure you … it's different," he intimated from experience, his mind wild with the implications of letting her be subject to the full force of what these lunatics surely had done hundreds of times over in the last five months.

"Will you be there with the team?" Rachel asked of him then, her eyes suddenly glassy again. She set her hand over her heart. "Will you be with … me?" she articulated, more timid than he'd ever seen her before.

"Absolutely," he affirmed holding her gaze, trying to allay her trepidations.

"Then I'll manage …," she exhaled firmly. "I'll be fine, getting there and finding any and all information is critical now to continue my work … and our mission," she asserted, her eyes never leaving his. "Everything else is … circumstance – as horrible as it all is – I just need his work and knowing that I'll have it … will help me cope with his loss and continue his legacy," she suspired evenly.

"You're a strong woman, Dr. Scott," Tom declared suddenly then, quite captivated by her.

She smiled. "How about just Rachel for tonight?" she asked of him then and he chuckled.

"All right … Rachel …," he repeated softly, her name rolling off of his tongue so naturally it surprised him. "And you are strong," he insisted. "One of the strongest people I know," he said with sincerity.

"I can be," she agreed, looking away for a beat. "Though I'll admit … this last six months has been taxing … my nerves are frayed, shot … how do you do it?" she wondered breathlessly. "How do you sleep at night?" she suddenly prodded.

Tom stood up suddenly and held his hand out without thinking. "Come with me," he smiled, looking down at her.

Rachel took his hand and stood up and smiled, pinning her eyes to his for a split second before the pair left the sanctuary of the wardroom and zipped down the long, narrow p-way and out and onto the main deck, the island and bridge right above them now as Tom wedged himself between the railing and the tower, swiftly pulling Rachel into the small triangular space with him. Breathless, they looked out over the glassy, still water together wherein Tom easily found the comfort he expected to find.

"I forgot we were idle," Rachel exhaled breathlessly. "Everything is so … calm … peaceful … gorgeous," she whispered, setting her hands on the small section of the cold railing, her back against the tower. Tom nodded in assent, inhaling sharply, his lungs filling with the crisp salty, air. It felt like home.

Smiling, he pointed in front of them. "See how velvety black everything is?" he asked of her. "It doesn't matter where you look – everything is black and thick and pure and clean – especially when the moon doesn't rise," he sighed. "It's a perfect night ... tonight … it's everything I need it to be," he declared.

"It is relaxing – though we aren't in motion – is the wind fierce when the ship is moving?" she asked.

"No, that's the thing, we're protected, in large part because of this overhang here," he explained, pointing up. "The wind doesn't circulate under this small lip here … see … we're secluded," he exhaled, pointing to the water on their right, the slight overhang above them and the tower they were wedged against.

"So if you can't get to sleep, you come here?" Rachel breathed, her eyes sweeping over the enclave.

"I do … I like to stare into the smooth darkness of it all – strain my eyes – try to see if I see anything …," Tom mused. "But mostly I allow myself to think quiet thoughts … about the kids … Darien … just life …," he exhaled, his voice quivered; the tightness in his chest returned.

He felt Rachel's hand on top of his where she applied pressure. Startled, he looked down at her small, warm hand and felt the comfort of human contact – skin on skin, the most rare gesture – and therein, a fleeting sense of unease covered him … but he didn't dare move. Instead he took that gesture and relished in it.

He looked out to sea and fixed his gaze on the invisible horizon … steadily searching for something … anything … nothing. The duo was silent for a long while then, both lost within their own world of thoughts as the ocean lapped against the Nathan James and the moon refused to rise … and the chaos of the world seemed on another space and time entirely.

"May I ask you a question?" Rachel whispered then, her request carried out to sea.

"Sure," he answered casually with a tight smile.

"After we get to the lab, are you still going to chase those crazies on that sub?" she wondered, though he noticed now, without judgment.

"Yes," he answered candidly. He felt her exhale sharply and therein he looked at her, scrutinizing her side profile, waiting for her protest, though he saw now that she was simply frozen … perhaps with fear. "Rachel … look at me …," he implored and she turned to him, and though her face was stoic, he could see a storm brewing in her eyes. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "You know – this immunity they have, its emboldened them – you saw it with Juan Carlos and I saw it with the wild-eyed perp I shot at on the Solace," he further explained. "There's no peaceful coexistence with people like that … we have to be realists here," he exhaled, his eyes pinned to hers.

"Yes, I know … this much we agree on," she conceded gracefully, though he knew she wanted to argue with him, except that she surprised him instead. "May I admire your bravery, Captain?" she said quite formally then.

Tom tilted his head. "Oh, we're back to that?" he cackled into the night. "Only if I can admire yours, doctor!" he quipped.

"I'm being serious!" she laughed, shaking her head at his antics. "No … really … you're so calculated …," she insisted. "Your way of seeing things is so …," her voice trailed off as she trained her eyes on the black horizon. "All-encompassing … sometimes I focus so much on the minutia, I don't see the bigger world – I can see why the Navy hails to you so – why they chose you … for me …," she breathed, her eyes glassy. "You're really something else, Tom …, " she articulated into the wind.

"So are you, Rachel ...," Tom breathed, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, still trying to see what she saw out there, though he knew it was exactly what he saw: the comfort of the endless, black, empty canvas of water.

"Do you still trust me?" she asked of him then, so softly he could barely hear her. She looked up to him.

A smile formed on his face. "Yes … do you trust me?" he wondered, his eyes searching hers for the truth.

"With my life," she answered firmly, her unwavering gaze fastened to his.

And in that moment – this catalyst – without another singular thought, Tom draped his arm along Rachel's shoulders and drew her near, making sure of her, wordlessly trying to offer her the comfort he imagined she was depleted of … just as he was. He felt her flinch at first, but then her body became pliant and she relaxed into him, so naturally – it should have startled him – except it didn't.

"Thanks for showing me your place …," she said simply, looking up to him with a smile she seemed to save just for him. Her cheeks were rosy … radiant.

"A pleasure," he answered, drawing an innate comfort from her heat.

Rachel craned her neck to look at him and Tom noticed how at peace she seemed at the moment and for that he was relieved – for he could only imagine the horrors they would find in Florida – and he was thankful she had this momentary reprieve from all the madness. This place was good for that … an enclave of escape … and he was happy to share it with her, for many of their burdens were one in the same.

He knew this now and he was happy to share in hers … just as it seemed she was happy to share in his. Because they cared deeply, for one another. That much was evident … and proven now.

And as he became more sated, Tom watched her reluctantly turn her focus to the horizon again and therein he joined her, once again following her steadfast gaze – instinctively retreating to his quiet thoughts – at peace with himself for the moment as she leaned into him and he into her, offering silent comfort to one another in the wake of the calm before the storm … and it was a beautiful thing.

And so as they stood together – Captain and doctor, friend and friend, Tom and Rachel … Rachel and Tom – tucked away, deep inside their shared enclave and even deeper inside their own quiet thoughts, Tom dared himself to dream of a time in the future when things would become more predictable again.

A time that existed on a different plane of existence … a time when his children and father would be able to sleep at night without worry … a time when he and his crew and the formidable Dr. Rachel Scott would be able to look upon one another with trusting, honest eyes and know this: that they did right by one another in the face of darkness.

END