Disclaimer:

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

Gravitational Attraction

"Attention people of Baltimore, USS Nathan James is back under control of her crew. This ship is now engaged in a fight to free Baltimore and spread the cure for the Red Flu to all of its citizens. This message goes out to Amy Granderson and all those loyal to her, Nathan James has been liberated and has joined the fight against you. We demand your surrender. Lay down your arms or be subject to the full force of the United States Navy."

Dr. Rachel Scott felt a jolt of something central to her being when she heard XO Slattery's commanding dispatch ring out over the Baltimore harbor – it was a clarion call of sorts, a new gravitational attraction – one that occurred in conjunction with the swift change of tides in their favor.

She felt a tug of unknown origins pinch her heart somewhere special. Tears stung her eyes as she stood at the perimeter of the docks with Lt. Foster and Tex by her side, scanning the surreal image of the battleship gray destroyer – the USS Nathan James – standing strong in the glassy nighttime water as the ominous helicopters circled back and away, receding deep into the night.

She exhaled into the sudden quiet that encapsulated them – releasing a sigh of relief for the first time since she realized Granderson was a monster – the trumpet sound of her rhythmic heartbeat finally slowing down.

She exhaled again, releasing a modicum of her stress – the immense feeling of dread alighting from her persona – ever so slightly, certain now that they, her people, would be all right. The immense bravery of so many on her mind now along with the realization that Captain Chandler may have captured Granderson by this time and had indeed demanded her surrender. She glanced at her co-conspirators, noticing their faces as they too surveyed the scene with absolute relief and pride and adoration.

###

Later, as new day was born and the sun rose over the harbor, Rachel stepped into the RHIB with Lt. Foster and Tex that would take them back to the Nathan James, which had remained in place. The fearless Lt. Green, a man whom she had come to admire and trust, led the tactile team. Presently he positioned himself at the bow of the rigid boat next to Lt. Foster where Rachel watched the young soldier scrutinizing his lover's every move to which she responded silently, nodding in assent … she was all right.

And as they navigated across the open water – Rachel could do no more than look back from whence they came – a city torn apart by the virus, Granderson's antics … and utter panic. Her mind deluge now with news of what had transpired over the last eighteen hours or so, for there was much to ruminate about, chief among those reflections: the hostage situation of the crew of the Nathan James, Quincy's bravery and ultimate death, the death of the Captain's wife, Lt. Granderson's injuries at the hands of her own mother and the senseless murders and death sentences of thousands of innocent people set forth by Granderson.

Focusing her eyes again, she noticed now that there was no movement on land, that the power plant smokestacks looked more like relics now without their ominous plumes of black, malodorous smoke at work.

The stench of the city … it should have been warning enough.

Reflexive tears formed and she looked over her shoulder in an attempt to conceal her emotions before it was too late. Shaking her head – she berated herself now – for she should have known there was danger afoot when they first made landfall in Baltimore. She inhaled sharply, testing her senses, once again hit with that trigger – the scent of death and destruction and dreadfulness – for it was an essence she knew well. A barrage of memories hit her:

The manner in which the ashen debris floated, haphazardly throughout the city, microscopic particulate masses of it, swirling around in the foul, stagnate air.

And the dank residue and the way it stuck to anything and everything once it landed, without prejudice, a simple, unstoppable reminder.

And the scent of it all and the way it lingered in her nostrils, long after her work was finished, hanging on for dear life as if it had something to prove.

And finally, Ground Zero as it ultimately lay under and amongst thick layers of this toxic soot made of those tragic elements … burning metal … crumbling concrete … human remains … and jet fuel.

Her bottom lip began to tremble and therein she could not stop the steady flow of her tears. She stifled the bubbling pot of her emotions, locking them down with great effort as Tex found her eyes and cocked his head in alarm. She held his penetrating gaze, losing herself for a moment before she shook her head and hastily wiped those tears away. Alarm gave way to concern and the rogue soldier's features softened as he stood to move to sit next to her, but she swiftly put her hand up to stop him.

Because this was hers. She owned this one. And it too, would pass.

For she never felt close enough to anyone to even try to explain what these memories meant to her. It was her own vigil – this thing she clung to for all of these years after 9/11 – it her way of never forgetting something so unspeakable. Except that now there was this virus and the destruction it caused. And while the circumstances of the triggers were vastly different, the result was the same. Her insides twisted with scorn just the same. Niels. She fumed.

And so in hindsight, she believed she should have sensed it here in Baltimore – the danger, the stench, for it clung to her nostrils now once again – just a whiff … the essence, was all it took for her to fall back in time. She felt her jaw tighten along with the quick repairs she made to her resolve … because they were hers.

She owned them now. These trigger senses. These memories. Comingled forever in a way she would have never foreseen.

###

In no time they had raced to the Nathan James, each of them climbing the rope ladder; she made her journey first. And as she climbed up and up and up she chanted to herself – 'almost there, one more step and another and another, almost to the top, almost to there … almost … almost' – until she reached the top and found the steady eyes of an ensign, where he seamlessly took her hand and helped her climb on deck.

And it was here that she stood in place for a long moment, allowing the gravitational pull the Nathan James had upon her to reel her in, encapsulating her as she began to feel grounded and centered in a way she hadn't since she'd left the vessel yesterday – for it would seem, it was here that she found her footing again, oddly enough – and with that thought, a small feeling of satisfaction consumed her, recalling now how sea sick she felt for the first few days on board, in contrast to how at home she felt now … and it was a beautiful thing.

Her eyes swept the deck then – instantly sucker-punched by facts as they lay before her – quite literally in body bags, eight of them lined up … neatly, side by side, exactly how they fought to protect the Nathan James, their home.

Respectfully, she quietly thanked Lt. Green and said farewell to him and Tex. The elder civilian searching her eyes – back and forth, he vacillated, standing his ground, waiting for her signal – to which she nodded in assent, she was okay. Lt. Green received a communication from XO Slattery just then, who requested her presence on the bridge. Taking her leave, she informed Lt. Foster that she would check on her later.

And as she stepped away from the trio, despite the somber mood on deck and further evidence of their hostile battle all around her – blood, shell casings, indelible memories for all – Rachel Scott reveled in that feeling of arriving home to this special place where she somehow learned to seek solace, refuge, protection and asylum from the world all around her.

Heading with purpose now, she bypassed checking on the lab in favor of getting straight to the bridge, navigating her way she took the shortest route, which landed her on the outer small deck of the island, her eyes sweeping over the harbor city when she heard the ship's bell ring twice and then the ensign's call from below.

"Nathan James, arriving!"

And in that moment, Rachel paused, an intrinsic calming sense consuming her now – for she knew that Captain Chandler had just stepped aboard the Nathan James – and she smiled an inward smile at the Navy's procedural actions.

Peering over the deck, she watched with keen interest as Captain Chandler helped his children and father step on board, thankful for the rare opportunity to observe this tower of a man, privately checking on him now … instantly seeing how battered and bruised he was from his entanglements ashore. And though not physical in nature, these wounds were far worse.

For there was a change in his stature – in his demeanor and something altogether wild in his eyes – a distinction she noticed when they briefly saw one another during their escape from Avocet. And she saw it again now, just how beleaguered he was, and it was hard for her to witness. And so sad was she for his loss – that her heart trumpeted now – banging around against her chest as she glimpsed the stoic look upon his face, so easily able to see his absolute devastation at the loss of life that lay before him, not to mention the loss of his wife.

And in her mind, there was no doubt – that much like she – he was feeling responsible.

Rachel continued observing as he moved slowly, flanked by Master Chief Jeter and Lt. Burk, nodding to the ensign as he progressed – his shell-shocked family following close behind him – the two children equally dazed and confused and timid. And there inside that moment, Rachel's heart truly broke, just a little bit for them. Unruly tears pricked her eyes and the horizon became blurred wherein she chanted a small damning wish to herself – a wish that would have made all the difference to Captain Chandler and thousands of others – a wish that they could have gotten to Baltimore sooner with the cure in hand. A futile wish, that she knew of course, would fall on deaf ears in perpetuity now.

###

And on that thought, she backed away from the railing and entered the bridge where she was hit with another overpowering odor – the unmistakable combination of ammonia and blood – wherein a surreal sadness materialized out of thin air and her thoughts moved on to Quincy, Kelly and Ava, a new the collection of responsive tears teetering on the edge of her floodgates now. Her heart shimmied, quaking in place, for it was almost too much for her to feel or to realize – the loss so damning she could barely breathe, Ava had lost her father – and it was here, she let the fleeting moment of guilt she felt over Quincy's presence on the Nathan James to begin with, consume her, just a little bit.

Pausing again, she exhaled and looked around, noticing how bright the bridge was with the morning sun filtering through the windows and how deafening the quiet was with the everyday intensity of the space at a relative standstill, surely quite different in comparison to last night when the ship was under siege. She spotted XO Slattery and noticed the injuries he sustained to his face – souvenirs of the dogfight they must have been in – his wounds still raw, though cleaned.

He smiled tightly when he saw her and without saying a word, he reached up and pulled the blessed container of primordial strain vials from the insulation that protected the overhead engine cooling pipes! Completely transfixed and bewildered by the container, Rachel could do no more than reach for it without hesitation, setting her hands over Mike Slattery's weathered ones, holding on for dear life now, the fleeting moment of human contact, so rare and yet so justified and meaningful that neither of party shied away or moved or hesitated inside the quiet moment.

"You saved it?" she whispered, still thunderstruck, her voice cracking under the pressure, though she didn't dare look away – she stared at him still – this man who fought so vehemently to protect what was rightfully theirs, this man whom she had worked so hard to prove herself to.

He shook his head and pressed his lips together. "Not me …," he exhaled. "Doc Rios … … and Quincy," he sighed on the truth and her heart shimmied, low and deep wherein all she could do was nod in assent. "Doc said to get that on ice ASAP," he added, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Right," she murmured, looking down at the vials, marveling at the idea that these fine men and women would protect the primordial strain with as much tenacity as they did the Nathan James herself. Looking up, she could do no more than smile – not trusting herself to say more – the astute XO nodded in assent and she took her leave.

###

Back in her realm, Rachel endeavored to ignore the mounting sensations of desperation and helplessness she felt as she closed the lid to the mini biohazard freezer and reset the temperature gauge.

Sighing, her weary eyes swept the expanse of the hangar, no longer a "lab", for the Granderson people had destroyed it. Papers and equipment were strewn in a single heaping mess that was truly representative to how she felt, the pressure almost too much to contemplate: the uphill climb, the tumultuous journey that was about to begin again … and the feat of cleaning the remnants left behind from Baltimore … alone. For everywhere she looked she could only visualize everything that was lost and chief among those visions was Quincy. Her consummate friend and trusted scientist who became adversary and then ultimately … a true hero to the mission.

Turning a small table right again, Rachel set the freezer upon it and located her laptop in the debris. Saying a small prayer to no one in particular, she opened it and turned it on – 'please, please, please, work, please … work' – those chants quickly turning to anguish as the keepsake photo of her with Michael appeared on the desktop, jarring her back to that quarantined bit of her reality.

She inhaled sharply, collecting this small piece of herself as she locked down – somewhere in core of her being – working with fierce tenacity to keep it there, though her efforts gave way to her weakening resolve as she felt this tiny fragmented piece of herself detach and spiral down and into the debris at her feet where it stayed at the top of the pile.

A new particulate mass of grief and this one truly belonged solely to her. For she could no longer deny the truth – that Michael was likely gone forever – lost to the tragedy of the pandemic: her one true love, now her one true tragedy.

She swallowed hard and fought the impulse to throw up while that image on her laptop of a happier, more tranquil time in her life became a blurred, overwhelming mess. Blinking rapidly, she attempted to gather those fragmented pieces of herself, but to no avail, it was hopeless to try, for the gravitational lure of her grief was so intense now that she could do no more than let it consume her. Devour her in a way she wasn't prepared for.

Steadying herself against the wall, Rachel willed her eyes to close and said a small prayer for Michael and bade him a symbolic farewell – her heart ablaze with sorrow now – pinching and twisting as she cowered alone in the corner of her precious space, that until yesterday, had represented hope and renewal for all of mankind.

And it was here, alone in this barren sanctuary that she allowed herself a moment to really feel the palpable losses that surrounded her … and came to terms with her failures.

###

Hastily, she had worked over the last hour or so, pushing her maudlin thoughts away until she had cleared a pathway along one end of the hangar. At least she could move around the space more freely now. Smoothing her hair back and away from her face, she realized she too smelled of soot and debris and fear – she was covered in "Baltimore" – she decided then, making a mental note that she'd need to break for a shower soon, but not before she made a house call to the makeshift sickbay located in the gym.

Exiting the hangar, she headed down the p-way, where the air – a different kind of stale – breezed against her akin to a wind tunnel in a city. Entering the sickbay area, she scanned the beds, making mental notes of the types of injuries she could discern from her same spot by the doorway. Spotting Bertrise immediately, she waved and the healthy woman approached her.

"I'm sorry about the lab, Dr. Scott," the young woman whispered in confidence, her dark, fluid eyes searching Rachel's.

"I'm so glad to see you, Bertrise," Rachel replied softly, setting her hand on her shoulder. "The lab can wait," she added. "What's happening in here is far more important," she exhaled.

As she spoke, Rachel scanned the space, noticing Lt. Foster was here too, checking on patients and appeared to be well, while Lt. Green sat with a vacant Lt. Granderson. She briefly made eye contact with Tex who was helping as well, his intense eyes fastened to hers for a beat – silently checking on her – before she nodded in assent and he pressed on, her keen eyes moving beyond him where she watched Doc Rios tend to a wound Master Chief Jeter had sustained on his bicep.

"I can meet you at the lab later," Bertrise offered just then. "I didn't know where to start on my own," she smiled weakly.

"I would be happy to have your help," Rachel answered sincerely; truly comforted by knowing Bertrise was well. "Perhaps we can fill one another in on our experiences while we work," she added thoughtfully.

Bertrise smiled her sweet smile. "I would like that very much," she said softly.

Doc Rios looked up then and nodded in her direction wherein she approached him. "Dr. Scott," he said with a cursory nod, standing up. "Welcome back," he smiled.

"Gentlemen," she greeted both he and Master Chief. "Doc Rios … I must thank you for being instrumental in saving the primordial strain," she said immediately, her eyes scanning his, searching for signs of fatigue, though pleasantly surprised to see the doctor was well and alert.

"I think at this point, there isn't a sailor on this ship who wouldn't have done the same thing, Dr. Scott," he smiled tightly.

"I would agree with that statement," Master Chief supported, his dark eyes clear and alert and endless.

"If you're finished with the dressing, may I sit and have a moment of your time?" she asked softly.

"By all means," Master Chief answered without hesitation, shifting backwards, he sat with his legs crossed to offer her some space. Doc Rios nodded and took his leave.

"Thank you," she smiled at Master Chief Jeter, perching herself across from him on the gurney, raising her eyes to meet his where she could tell he was also checking on her. "How are you feeling?" she asked of him then.

"I'm well, recovering as expected," he smiled like the professional he was.

"And the Captain's children?" she asked, having been told he was with them while under siege.

"They are recovering … Sam, the Captain's son, did have a reaction to the cure –"

"What kind of reaction?" she wondered; suddenly alert. "Any number of reactions would be considered normal – fever, nausea, hallucination – perhaps I should see him?" she said, peppering the Master Chief with her suppositions; her heart beating so fast now, she could barely stand it.

Master Chief smiled. "He recovered nicely, though I can't say anyone would object to you giving him a once-over," he encouraged. "And you?" he redirected then, his steady eyes watching her carefully. "How are you, Dr. Scott? From what I've been told the last twenty-four hours have been rough for you," he added thoughtfully.

"I'm …," she sighed, 'failing, flailing, falling apart' she wanted to say, but instead she said, "I'm all right … I'm not sure my experiences are any more painful or remarkable than any one else's," she deemed thoughtfully. Exhaling sharply, Rachel swiftly changed the subject. "I actually wanted to ask you for some counsel regarding Mrs. Tophet, Quincy's wife," she sighed, her eyes pricked with tiny tears.

Master Chief smiled and said, "Go on."

"I want to speak with Kelly, Mrs. Tophet and check on her – Quincy's death, while completely horrifying and difficult for me to come to terms with, must be insurmountable for her – but I worry about what our more recent history has done to our relationship," she exhaled.

"You're feeling guilty for having asked Quincy to assist you in the first place," Master Chief surmised evenly.

"Yes … we've known one another for a long while … but … it's been a rough time all around, from his betrayal … to the hostage situations we all encountered – the pressure has been immense from the very beginning – it's been a long five months and for Quincy to end up –,"

"A hero," Master Chief interrupted, his voice, smooth and strong and just like that he derailed her shame spiral. "He was there, in the dogfight, Dr. Scott … a fierce protector of everything you both worked for," he counseled, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he tilted his head and regarded her. "He redeemed himself … and that is something to hold onto – his ending was admirable – and no amount of guilt you carry with you or foster will change that outcome …," he pondered carefully.

"No … I suppose it won't," Rachel smiled weakly, holding her waiting tears at bay for now. She exhaled sharply … he was a hero, a true friend. "I just … I wonder if I will encounter some resentment for his being on the Nathan James to begin with …," she exhaled, finally expressing the root of her guilt. And I'm …," she hesitated, 'scared', she whispered to herself. Master Chief waited. "I'm not sure what to say to her or how to explain myself should those sentiments arise …," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

"And yet, without Dr. Tohpet there to assist you, perhaps there would be no vaccine – no cure to speak of – and then it would have been even more likely that the family would have perished regardless," Master Chief wondered aloud, searching her eyes.

"I agree …," she acquiesced gracefully. "The odds of survival without the cure are abysmal at the moment," she sighed heavily, besieged by self-doubt now. "Though perhaps they would have evaded the virus – or sustained themselves together – and they would still be a complete family … somewhere safe … waiting …," she suspired and blinked wherein everything became blurred around the edges, her heart on fire now as she thought of young Ava.

Fatherless. Traumatized. Scared. Paranoid. Fatherless. Fatherless.

"You must know, Dr. Scott … that there is no quintessential right answer here," Master Chief asserted. "There are no means by which we can avoid the tragedies confounding our world right now …," he sighed.

Rachel twisted her lips. "I agree …," she sighed heavily, her thoughts surrounding just how close they had been to mass-producing the cure here in Baltimore.

"Further, if they had not be on the Veyrni and rescued by our tac-team, there is a strong likelihood that they would have perished at home by now, so either way –"

"They're better off?" she wondered philosophically.

"Perhaps … or maybe it was a gift of some sort – that they were blessed with time together and were bolstered by the joy of their reunion upon the Nathan James – father, mother, child, together again as a family?"he prompted. "A rescue, I might add, that you were instrumental in orchestrating and carrying out," he further rationalized.

Rachel smiled weakly, realizing just why Master Chief was also the Chaplain of the Nathan James. She sighed and shook her head, marveling in his unique ability to see all sides of a situation.

"Intellectually I hear everything you're articulating and yes, I can point all of these facts out to Kelly to try to dissuade her from setting the blame upon me … but I find my issues are deeper than even that –"

And it was here that she stopped herself – for it had been so long since she was able to hash something personal (and not related to the virus) out with someone that she began to feel selfish … guilty, awkward. She shook her head and looked down at her hands, thinking now she should just let this man be.

"Dr. Scott …," came the Master Chief's smooth voice, she stared at her hands still. "Please do not censure yourself with me," he intuited. Rachel looked up and found his eyes and therein, the depths of his understanding. "This is what I'm here for," he reiterated. "So …you were saying …," he prompted with a small smile that reached his eyes.

Waffling, Rachel could only smile in kind. Shaking her head she continued. "Ah … okay, intellectually I know you're right – it's the emotional pieces of myself I'm grappling with – this residual guilt … I find it so difficult to strip it out of my reaction to how this ended for Quincy –"

"Then don't," Master Chief interrupted. Rachel eyed him carefully. He smiled. "Don't suppress or strip away the emotional interest and investment you have in people and in your science, Dr. Scott," he implored fervently, leaning closer. "For isn't it that gravitational hold you felt, that emotional gut feeling that fueled your tenacity to find the primordial strain in the first place?" he wondered, impressing upon her. "You had an emotional fight with the United States Navy to even requisition the Nathan James," he reminded her.

"I did," she agreed, thinking now of what an arduous journey it had been before she even stepped aboard the ship.

"You fought to find the primordial strain – you put yourself on the line, physically and emotionally – and well, from where I'm sitting, that emotional investment of yours may just end up saving humankind," he breathed, his liquid eyes never leaving hers … where she suddenly found herself lost within them – those deep pools of wisdom – and therein life felt a little easier.

"So just be myself … the emotional wreck that I am," she chuckled softly.

"Yes," he answered with a wry grin. "Just offer her a shoulder to cry upon, a chance to grieve – do what you do so well, Dr. Scott – be present and offer her your emotional support," he counseled. "And if you like, I will accompany you," he offered simply.

"You would do that for me?" she asked of him, quite mystified.

"Yes … I know you do a lot on your own on the Nathan James, Dr. Scott." he navigated carefully. "I know being at sea can be a lonely place for enlisted personnel … so and I can't pretend I haven't marveled at your stamina as a civilian – we all have – the way you've proved yourself … everyone believes in you …," he sighed.

She swallowed hard. "Everyone …," she wondered, her voice trailing off.

"XO Slattery, myself …our crew," he added. "And yes, Captain Chandler," he said softly, somehow sensing her more deeply rooted insecurities. "You must realize how essential you are to him … and to us ...," he answered firmly, his keen eyes fastened to hers. "And I know there isn't a lot I can help you with in the lab … but this I can do – if you need my emotional support or a listening ear – I'll be there for you," he smiled genuinely.

"Thank you …," Rachel answered sincerely, her heartbeat now at a slow, steady pace. "I can't imagine how busy you are, but … thank you, so much," she said softly.

"A pleasure, Dr. Scott … anytime I can be of assistance," he answered.

"I'll leave you to rest …," she said softly. "I do so appreciate your time and I must say, you're very good at what you do," she complimented, meeting his steadfast gaze for a beat before she rose.

"So are you, Dr. Scott," he quipped, looking up and she could see that he meant it.

###

Curtailing her weakening resolve, Rachel had gone directly to Kelly and Ava's stateroom following her conversation with Master Chief and upon her exit now, she released a breath of air she didn't realize she was holding on to and let go, ever so slightly, to some of the stress she had worked so hard to suppress. Walking slowly toward the lab now, she ruminated.

She was unquestionably running on empty – her head a veritable mess, deluge with thoughts of her own insecurity – her nerves fraught, so frayed around the edges now that she felt their endings … exposed, raw, weak. For what she saw in Kelly, the vulnerability, the paranoia – it was more than skin deep – it was somehow intrinsic already and as a scientist, Rachel could not help but wonder how humankind might end up … both now and the future.

Would people always wonder when the other shoe might drop? Would society ever be able to fully recover from the emotionally taxing component of survival of the fittest?

For what truly resonated with her now was Kelly's fear – and her profound desire to leave the Nathan James – of course not in Baltimore, for this city took her husband … but she made no secret that departing from the ship was her first priority as soon as it was deemed safe to do so.

And so it seemed that this was where she and Kelly diverged greatly in their ideas of survival, for it dawned on Rachel, that she hadn't considered leaving the ship – not once, not ever – not even after she had the cure in hand … she never considered leaving.

And perhaps this was because she knew there was no place for her to go – no lab secure enough for her yet – but more importantly, she realized she did not want to leave and this thought alone was enough to spark a new variety of panic within her … for if she didn't or even worse, couldn't stay on the Nathan James, where in the world did she belong?

An upsetting idea to contemplate indeed, for if Baltimore had taught Rachel anything it was that the world as they knew it had been marred in ways they could never have imagined. And this, the fear of the unknown – the fear of not knowing where she belonged in this changed new world – was the final push that propelled her into a choppy sea of depression.

###

Determined to let her work consume her once again, Rachel avoided her stateroom and headed directly to the lab where she found Bertrise. The young woman smiled at her, alighting Rachel's spirit as she did.

"Hello Bertrise," Rachel greeted with a smile of her own.

"Hello," the young woman smiled her sweet smile. "You just missed Captain Chandler," she reported, her melodic voice echoing in hangar.

Rachel's skin pricked with heat at the mention of Captain Chandler, for in the back of her mind she supposed she was avoiding him all day. For she was particularly apprehensive to come to terms with how she felt about his wife's death – for even though she knew she couldn't have saved any number of the billions of people who had perished thus far – there were a select few she felt responsible for once they had the cure in hand … and the Captain's wife was definitely one of them.

Clearing her throat, she dared herself to ask about him. But instead, she meandered in a different direction. "Did he say anything about his plans for the Nathan James?" she inquired. Bertrise smiled. "No … but he did say he would get us some help to rebuild the lab," she elaborated.

"Now that would be ideal, with a couple more sets of hands, we could get back to it within a day or so," she smiled broadly. Leaning over, she reached for a large storage container, but suddenly felt light-headed and stumbled backward.

Bertrise was on her in an instant. "Maybe you should sit down, Dr. Scott?" she prompted, pulling up a chair.

Rachel sat down immediately, keeping her feet planted on the floor, she closed her eyes, listening to the cacophony of her heart thumping wildly into her ears as goose-skin covered her arms and neck.

"I'm okay," she chanted, willing herself to be just that … okay. She felt Bertrise's hand cover hers. Breathing in and out, in and out, her heartbeat slowly became more normalized. Sitting back and into the chair, she let her mind wander and before she knew it she asked, "How is Captain Chandler, Bertrise? How is he holding up, do you think?" she wondered into the quiet all around them.

Rachel opened her eyes and looked to Bertrise, perched on a chair next to her. She breathed, in and out. Bertrise smiled warmly.

"He seems … all right … he wanted to know the same thing about you," she sighed. "He wanted to know how you were coping … and … if you had eaten or rested at all … he said he was concerned …," she went on, her deep eyes searching for those answers.

Rachel felt dizzy again. She swallowed hard and smoothed her damp palms along her knees. "And what did you say?" she wondered without judgment.

"Well …," Bertrise sighed, hesitating. "I told him I didn't really know the answers to his questions …," she stated evenly. "But … I also told him …," she exhaled, her voice trailing off. She looked away for a beat and then found Rachel's eyes again. "I said that I am also worried about you …," she confided, her eyes still searching. "I said I thought you were feeling very sad …," she exhaled, her watery eyes pinned to Rachel's now.

"That I am," Rachel admitted in confidence, acute fatigue claiming her now as sat within the ruins of the lab. "I'm nothing if not honest, Bertrise," she added softly.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Bertrise wondered, her eyes never wavering.

Rachel smiled. "I adore you, Bertrise, do you know that?" she answered with a wry grin. Bertrise smiled in return. "I'm so happy you're here and that you're all right – what you have had to endure on your own – is more than any one person should have to witness in life," she elaborated, tiny tears of happiness pricked her eyes. She blinked.

Bertrise smiled. "I'm happy to be here with you too," she exhaled softly, her round face sated, her aura both calm and tranquil.

"You know, Bertrise," Rachel said softly. "You give me so much – just by being here – after all, you're one of the markers of our success in this lab," she smiled brightly. "And … I need you as a reminder right now … you make me happy…," she smiled, tilting her head, she watched Bertrise's sweet smile reach her eyes.

The women sat together for a few moments, each lost within their own thoughts. Before long, Bertrise coaxed Rachel into the idea of refreshing herself or taking leave to her stateroom, that the lab could stay as it was for a little while longer and that Rachel should find her when she was ready.

Reluctantly Rachel agreed, knowing she had to decompress somehow, but as she closed the door to her stateroom and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light therein, she realized she made a dreadful mistake. Panic rose akin to a storm surge, suffocated now by the mounting pressures inside the small cabin, Rachel made a mental note to give in.

Sitting down, she felt stunted – immobilized and stymied – now by a ruthless combination of fatigue, anxiety, sadness, anger and guilt, and therein, she dared herself not move. For she realized there was no where to go – nowhere private enough where she could truly allow herself to fall apart – there simply was no way to flee from her demons. Her exhausted eyes swept the small space, the walls began to close in … and this time she let them.

Reflexive tears came then, free flowing as the ghosts of her mistakes arrived in full force, her thoughts swirling around the death toll – billions – billions of nameless, faceless people … like those on the streets of Baltimore, dying together and alone in mass, the number too great to contemplate. She heaved, inhaling a large gulp of the stale air, suddenly so hot she felt she would pass out.

Acting quickly, Rachel quickly stood and swiftly exited the confines of her space, making her way down the p-way to the nearest exit to the main deck, her legs like rubber bands, her thoughts fuzzy, her heart on fire.

Once there, the cooler air slapped her in the face – the sun high in the sky, the water calm and fluid. Purposely she turned her back on Baltimore and rushed to the front of the ship – bile rose from her stomach and she felt as though she might throw up – her heart pounding into to her ears now as she reached for the front railing, gripping the cool surface where she willed herself to breathe – 'breathe, breathe' – she chanted, working tirelessly to suppress her internal tirade of cries and moans and wails, locking them down, compartmentalizing them until there was nothing left to do but allow the numbness, fatigue and culpability claim her once again.

The rhythm of slow, heavy footsteps behind her jarred her from her reverie and then XO Slattery appeared at her side. "Everything all right?" he ventured, without looking at her, his gaze set far out over the horizon instead.

"Yes," she lied, though unkempt tears filled her eyes. Craning her neck back she forced them into recession.

"Rough day?" he surmised evenly.

"Yes," she told the truth this time, exhaling into the wind, feeling a momentary reprieve from her burdens.

They watched nothing together for a long while until Slattery spoke again. "I know I haven't always been supportive, but I like to think we've moved beyond all that, so … if I can do anything … I would like to," he reflected.

"We have moved beyond our tumultuous beginning," she assured him, her eyes still focused far and away. "I'm all right, all things considered … you have enough on your plate," she added sincerely.

"Well … if not me … maybe the Captain?" he persisted, clearly trying to offer her some way of finding relief from her troubles.

"I do not want to be a burden – the man just lost his wife – his children need him … the crew … needs him …," she exhaled sadly, looking down at the railing and found that she was holding on for dear life. "The last thing the Captain needs to hear at this moment is a status update on the lab and what we need to rebuild it," she rambled on.

"I wasn't talking about the lab … but I think you know that …," Slattery responded, turning toward her and therein she finally looked to him. "I was talking about you … what might be troubling you," he persisted solemnly. Rachel could do no more than stare into his serious eyes, her lip quivered. "The Captain mentioned to me that you've been elusive today … that he's heard you're feeling troubled but hasn't been able to catch up with you," he elaborated slowly.

"I am," Rachel admitted to her own surprise, her voice cracking into the silence as she thought about her conversation with Master Chief Jeter. She blinked rapidly. "I'm … feeling a bit … lost … and exhausted … and defeated," she explained guardedly; the wind came and carried her woes out to sea.

"I can only imagine," he replied simply.

"Yeah …," was all she could say, her emotions threatening to claim her yet again.

"You know, the Captain … he can help, Dr. Scott," he explained, his eyes softening around the edges ever so slightly. "He's a good listener," he went on. "Just something to think about … before long he'll summons for you anyway …," he sighed with a small grin.

"So this is a warning?" she wondered, her eyes narrowing.

"Nope … just the way it is ... when he cares …," he surmised evenly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

###

Rachel stood under the scalding hot shower and focused intensely on drain at her feet, somehow entranced by the spiraling swirl of worries, death, debris as it all symbolically circled the drain. She scrubbed her skin tenaciously – her stifled cries echoing now throughout the chamber – falling on deaf ears as she finally permitted herself become entangled …consumed … and swallowed up by the pressure of it all.

Her thoughts became strange, her mind moved across her mother and father, memories of school friends and pets and houses she lived in – and her beloved Michael – and Quincy and that bastard Ruskov, the henchmen with the bullet hole in his head from her gun, Tom Chandler and his dead wife, his motherless children. Her thoughts went on and on and wove a story for her, one that was mostly sad, but also had a dreamlike quality – and she let it happen, let the stories unfold in front of her eyes – the good, the bad … the cherished and the ones she would rather forget.

Leaning against the wall, she stood completely still and finally stripped herself of those fissured pieces, those emotions that had been dislodged and were now falling free – those miniscule emotions she fought so long and hard to protect – finally falling from her akin to towers of concrete falling to the ground … particularly when combined with fire and metal and jet fuel … yes, she let all of it go now, washing it all away until all the remained was the person she was now … a fierce survivor.

###

Feeling marginally better, the fog of her depression lifting ever so slightly, Rachel found herself vacillating outside Captain's stateroom where she finally knocked.

"Come in," came a baritone from within.

Rachel sighed and entered the quiet stateroom, somewhat surprised to see the Captain's father and children there, not that she could imagine where else they might have been. She smiled politely, her eyes surveying the family, especially the boy, remembering now that he had a reaction to the cure.

"Hello," said the older gentleman. "I'm Jed Chandler, Captain Chandler's father … this is Ashley and Sam," he introduced. "You must be the formidable Dr. Scott," he beamed.

"Yes … ," she said softly. "But let's stick with Rachel," she offered with her best disarming smile, holding the gaze of the beleaguered children, first Ashley and then Sam. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she murmured to them.

"Rachel," Jed sighed with a smile. "Tom – ah, the Captain – isn't here … he's staying in his at-sea cabin while we get situated and just left to get organized up there," Jed went on, explaining the Captain's absence.

Rachel smoothed her flyaway hair away from her face. "That's quite all right," she replied. "I … I heard from Master Chief earlier that Sam had a reaction to the cure," she said softly now.

"Yes," Jed confirmed. "But I think he's all right now, right Sam?" he added smiling at the boy.

Sam nodded in assent, remaining rather stoic. Ashley shifted in her seat. "My dad told us that you cured us," she said slowly, her voice soft and sincere.

"Oh, well … that's generous," Rachel smiled. "A lot of people helped me along the way … your father included," she added thoughtfully, her heart rate picking up slightly.

"Regardless," Jed stepped forward. "I marvel at your intellectual aptitude, Dr. Scott – my son is right – you're a force to be reckoned with," he smiled tightly.

"Well, we did the best we could with the cards we were dealt," Rachel replied evenly. "I only wish we could have solved this problem sooner … before … everything else happened …," she suspired, her voice trailing off, her watery eyes scanning the older man's steadfast gaze. Jed nodded, silently conveying his understanding. Rachel smiled weakly. "My apologies … it's been a long day, I'm sorry for your loss," she added, recovering quickly.

"I know …," Jed answered softly.

"Will Sam get another fever?" Ashley prompted then, her serious face piqued with interest.

Rachel smiled at her curiosity. "No … not from this virus," she answered softly.

"So that's it … we don't have to worry about it now?" the girl asked cautiously.

"No … it's … over, you cannot get sick from this virus again," Rachel answered firmly, attempting to put the girl's residual fears to rest.

"You're amazing," Ashley determined then. "My dad was right," she concluded, a small smile gracing her serious features, wherein Rachel could only smile in kind.

###

Having never been to the Captain's at-sea cabin before, Rachel navigated her way to the bridge, following the directions she received from Lt. Foster after having checked in with her, where all was fine and the young sailor showed no signs of distress from the horrifying experiment Dr. Hamada attempted on her baby. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the Captain's recognizable voice.

Rachel turned the knob and stood in the doorway wherein Captain Chandler stood up, his lips pressed together into a thin line, noticing straight away that he looked better than he had when she'd seen him earlier – he had showered and shaved and was standing taller – more like the Captain and man she was used to seeing … and this made her feel comforted, in some strange way.

"Hello, Dr. Scott," he greeted easily and she watched as he surreptitiously checked on her.

"Hello Captain," Rachel greeted, matching his tone, she stepped inside the smaller space of his at-sea cabin.

"Please … have a seat," he motioned to a smaller sofa in the corner, the single room equipped with the usual communication monitors and a work space on one side, with a bed, night table and entrance to a lavatory on the other side … the energy inside the cabin was so sheltered she somehow felt … safer.

Rachel sat down on the sofa, wringing her hands in her lap. Captain Chandler smiled and to her surprise he came to sit down next to her. And there in that moment, encapsulated by what she could only describe as the Captain's aura … she exhaled and for the second time since she stepped back onto the Nathan James – she felt grounded and centered – and at home. Her heart shimmied, low and deep at the thought.

She took a shaky breath in and let it out, further relaxing inside the quiet solitude. She heard the Captain sigh in tandem – in and out, they breathed together, their tempos aligned – and somehow connected. She shifted then, turning slightly toward him, intent on asking him how he was coping with his wife's passing.

"What is it that they say?" she whispered into their space, her words hovering in the air between them. "Permission to speak freely?" she inquired, her eyes searching his.

The Captain smiled. "What?" he chortled, his eyes sparkling against the interior lights now.

"What is it your people say when they want to just talk to you like a regular person?" she blinked, further explaining herself.

"What do you mean –," he began but then stopped himself.

And to her great surprise – Captain Thomas Chandler laughed out loud – his hearty boom radiating around the small space wherein Rachel could only smile and watch him as he became completely unhinged, his eyes watering as he started to speak again, but his fits of infectious laughter just made him keel over wherein he could do no more than to fold into himself and ride it out.

Soon Rachel began to laugh too and mostly because every time he raised his head and looked at her, his fit started all over again, for he could do no more than point in her direction and shake his head.

Finally … finally … after several minutes, he was able to collect himself … his boyish charm on full display as he wiped his tears away from his heated cheeks and stared at her with his eyes so happy … so clear and so bright she could have sworn she was with a different person entirely.

Shaking her head, Rachel twisted her lips together and finally dared herself to speak. "What, pray tell, was that all about?" she asked, her intrigue piqued.

Captain Chandler smirked. "It's just that …," he chuckled regaining the last of his composure. "Don't you realize, you pretty much speak freely with me all the time?" he cackled, his sparkling eyes dancing now.

"What?" she exclaimed, sounding the alarm of her voice. "I do not!" she insisted fervently, leaning away from him, her eyes locked on his, she felt her cheeks heat.

"Oh yes, you do! With all do respect, you fight with me!" he exclaimed happily.

"No, no, no – we debate – that's different than fighting!" she defended with a smirk, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Is that what we're calling it these days?" he quipped, still egging her on. "Let me ask you something," he conspired, leaning in to their shared space. "Do you see anyone else on this ship challenge me the way you do – so passionately, so unequivocally – in all likelihood, the closest you might come to that would be XO or Master Chief and even then … they're not excitable people," he breathed with a small smile.

"I suppose no … I don't," Rachel sighed, realizing now that she had been privy to a different relationship with the Captain all along.

"So … a certain freedom has been there from the beginning, between us …," he exhaled, his voice softening around the edges.

Rachel huffed. "I suppose it has," she smiled at his rationale. Reflecting, she added. "I don't mean to fight with you by the way," she sighed, sobering up.

"Well … it works … for us, for our mission – this is complicated stuff, your virology stuff – I don't always understand where you're coming from," he elaborated, eyeing her carefully now. Exhaling, he begged the question. "So … you wanted to ask me something … personal, I presume … to speak freely, but not to debate," he said with a sheepish grin.

Rachel smiled too. "Yes … I did … and definitely not to debate," she exhaled, a thin veil of unearthed regret or sadness cloaking her now.

Hesitating, Rachel held the man's gaze for several beats wherein she felt this invisible pulley tug at her – this thing, a taught fishing line of sorts that she always felt was there between them – especially at the beginning when he first embraced her mission and supported her for the first time, revealing her to the crew in the hangar – it was a gravitational force of sorts – one that over time kept her centered, grounded and aligned with him. And this pulley thing, she decided, she wouldn't trade it for anything. And so … tethered by this lifeline now, she dared herself to be honest and true.

"I'd like to ask you … how you're coping with your wife's death," she breathed, her steady eyes never leaving his. She watched him blink several times in rapid succession, collecting those tiny pieces of himself, so sure now that they were floating to the ground just like hers. "I'm so sorry we were too late," she murmured, inching closer.

"Me too," he breathed, rolling his shoulders forward as he leaned on his knees for support. He inhaled sharply and looked at her sideways. "All I can think about is what their lives will be like – my sweet kids – without their mom," he muttered. "It's … I'm … heartbroken … ," he whispered simply into their confessional where he suddenly seemed so much like she imaged he was as just … a husband … a father … a son … and a friend.

"I wish … I could have spared you this pain ... my friend," she breathed, her voice hitched, cracking into the quiet solitude of the tiny cabin.

"Me too …," he admitted softly, barely holding himself together now wherein she watched him grapple with his emotions, looking at him as if into a mirror.

The Captain stared at her and she at him for a long while then, looking down and away and then nodding in assent, each silently working their way through a conversation that need not be spoken.

Tilting his head, he regarded her now and Rachel wondered if he was somehow seeing her differently too … and suddenly she didn't mind, for all day she attempted to conceal her vulnerability from him, believing that he – the great and all-inspiring Captain Thomas Chandler – wouldn't want to, or have time for her veritable weaknesses.

And now, as she stared into the depths of his eyes, she wasn't so sure, for perhaps there was no right answer … no right way to handle the emotional circumstances they found themselves surrounded by, just as Master Chief had explained to her.

"It's your turn … my friend …," he eventually whispered. Rachel shook her head – 'no' – to which he only replied, "Yes."

"I don't want to burden you," she said softly, looking down and away from his steadfast gaze.

"You're no burden … let me be clear on that," he exhaled, leaning down to look at her. "And I've expressed this sentiment to both XO and Master Chief – for between the three of us – I'm sure we can help you if you need … us," he elaborated. "See … you don't have to be so alone," he smiled. "None of us are, so there's no reason for you to be either," he exhaled.

Rachel once again found herself stymied – stuck somewhere in a storm of uncharted territory – she had no idea how to proceed, how to show her true emotional weaknesses to this strong man, this force to be reckoned with … and still press on be able to focus on her work, for admittedly, weaknesses in her book were mere distractions and the last thing the world needed was for her to be distracted.

Captain Chandler continued. "I want you to know, these people within my circle of people … are concerned about you, myself included," the Captain sighed. Rachel could do no more than stare at him still. "Tex … this morning, intimated to me that he thought you may have been reluctant to return to the Nathan James … and I want to know if that's true," he breathed his concerns, a woeful expression spread across his handsome face.

Rachel shook her head in protest, her eyes pinned to his. "Quite the contrary," she stated evenly. "I want to be here … in fact, I thought about where else I might belong and … I came up … empty … …," her voice trailed off and she could not finish her sentiment.

The Captain regarded her for a beat. "He also indicated that you were 'distraught' … he said he'd never seen you so upset …," he persisted, his eyes scanning hers for answers.

Rachel held herself upon a precipice then – perched upon a sled on top of hill after a night of snowfall – teetering there, one tip, one lurch forward and she would be gone, sliding a slippery slope of weakness and over-sharing … or she could stop altogether and retreat inside. She exhaled and tipped the sled into forward motion.

"If I'm to be honest – I was as he put it, 'distraught' – but it was just an old memory I got swept up in … a trigger brought on by what was happening in Baltimore …," she breathed, suffocating in symbolism now.

The Captain looked as though he'd been sucker-punched, alarm reaching his eyes, he inched closer and stared at her still, his eyes so wild she could see tiny flecks of unease therein.

"I'm sorry," he said fervently. "For leaving you alone there …," he confessed then. "For trusting them with you …," he intimated, craning his neck back. "Damn it," he muttered, looking away from her, he breathed in and out, once again collecting himself.

"Don't be," Rachel answered simply. "You came back for me," she whispered into their space. "I can't hardly believe it," she shook her head.

"Why the hell not?" he asked of her, his now stormy eyes searching hers for answers. "My mission … ourmission isn't a mission without you …," he breathed, a small smile forming on his face. "What are we if we don't have each other in this mess?" he persisted. "What more can we do than trust one another – I would never have left you there – you're part of my circle …," he exhaled, his eyes searching hers for acceptance. She nodded in assent. "Will you please tell me what's really bothering you …," he suspired, his voice gruff, sentimental now.

Sighing into the quiet space, Rachel turned to face the Captain, jackknifing her knee so she was leaning against the arm of the sofa. The Captain watched her intensely, turning slightly to face her. He pressed his lips together and tilted his head and so she tilted hers tandem and waited … silently grounding herself deep within the protected enclave this sanctuary. Everything became quiet, even her thoughts became mere murmurs. Her heart pounded and all she could feel was her own rhythm, the world around her falling away now until all that remained was this man whom she trusted infinitely.

"The air is rancid here," she exhaled into the quiet then, surprising even herself.

"Come again?" he asked of her.

"The air here … in Baltimore … it's rotten …," she whispered, pinning her watery eyes to his and therein he became blurred and nondescript. Her heart pulsed; boom, boom and she dared herself to continue. Long ago, I studied dust … when I was just a student …," she began.

"Dust …," he repeated slowly.

Rachel nodded. "Dust …," she whispered thoughtfully. "Dust and the idea of how it fell and rested – and the more I studied, the more curious I became about contaminates and how viruses or sicknesses could get lodged within dust particulates – and then move around, surreptitiously … only to later become airborne viruses … and viruses not necessarily passed on via live human germs … but just from dust mites …," she exhaled, taking in the quizzical expression on the Captain's face.

He smiled. "So far … I'm following you," he encouraged.

She smiled too. "Anyway, I became so entranced that I did my dissertation on this field of study – all of which came to a head in May of 2001 while I was studying at Yale – where my radical thinking eventually grabbed the attention of one of my professors … and so … naturally … when 9/11 happened later that year … I went to New York … to Ground Zero specifically and began to analyze –"

"The dust …," Captain Chandler, whispered, quite mystified.

And there inside this moment, years and years and years later, tucked safely away inside an at-sea cabin that belonged to a man and Captain she very much admired, on a navy destroyer presently docked in Baltimore, Maryland, Dr. Rachel Scott finally broke down.

"The smoke stacks … the power plant," she cried, shaking her head. "The stench … the debris – the trigger scent from Ground Zero, it was so vivid – I don't know why I didn't run in the other direction when we made landfall … perhaps I just wanted to believe in something good so badly that I ignored the signal … this stench … it's sticking to everything all around me … again," she said rapidly, her mind on overdrive now.

"Hey, slow down …," he implored, his eyes wild. "There's no way you could have known what Granderson was up to," he persisted, trying to maintain her gaze.

"It was daunting work …," she recollected softly, her eyes roaming around the small cabin. "The debris, the dust – it was everywhere, everywhere I went – everywhere … even though I wore a hazmat suit and a surgical mask … it seeped into my pores … became the air I breathed …," she sniffled. "Gray and thick and endless and made of the imaginable," she swallowed, struggling to breathe.

"You were how old?" the Captain wondered, forever dismayed by her resolve.

"Twenty-six," she exhaled and he eyed her carefully. "It was a horrible, necessary thing to study and given my dissertation, it was a chance to analyze an organic substance …," she muttered, covering her vacant eyes with her hands.

Inching closer, the Captain set his warm hands over hers and pulled them away from her face. "Look at me, look at me … Rachel …," he beseeched her, her name rolling off of his tongue, a beacon in a storm as she found his eyes, calm and steady. "You're … so determined … so hard on yourself …," he breathed, his face inches from hers. "Don't give it that much power … please …," he counseled with a weak smile somehow meant just for her.

Unable to look away, Rachel lost herself for a long while inside Tom Chandler's eyes then. "You know, I never … explained that to anyone …," she confessed.

"No?" he pondered, his eyes searching hers for what that exactly meant. "Why me?" he wondered.

"Because – you never judge me, even when we fight – and because I trust you," she explained softly, her eyes suddenly so tired.

The Captain smiled, relief shrouding his strong features. "That's good because I trust you too," he sighed.

The pair remained silent for a long while then. Rachel shifted in her seat, leaning back and into the cushion slightly, realizing now just how fatigued and achy her body was now that she sat down. The Captain smiled and stood, crossing the room to his desk where Rachel watched him with interest as he began to work … and for some strange reason, she never considered getting up.

###

Rachel opened her eyes with a start, her hand flying to her heart as she righted herself – realizing she was still on the sofa in the Captain's cabin – her gasp hanging in the air as Captain Chandler turned around in his chair and smiled broadly, where he regarded her without moving.

"Captain …," she exhaled, her body stiff. She blinked rapidly, adjusting her eyes to the dimly lit space.

"Sleeping Beauty," he answered with his same smile.

"Not funny," Rachel countered. "Horrifying."

He shook his head in disagreement. "Totally funny," he chuckled. "And necessary," he sighed. "It was only a cat nap – don't be so hard on yourself – plus, it's no secret you're a bit of an insomniac," he went on, fastening his eyes to hers.

He stood and came to sit next to her again. She sat up straighter. "It's true … sleep evades me most nights," she admitted softly into their confessional.

"Were you always like that?" he wondered, pressing his lips together.

"Yes … when I'm stressed or under duress … no sleep for the wary I guess," she huffed.

"How bad has it been?" he asked of her then.

Rachel started to reply, but then she watched the genuine concern set in his eyes, his question so sincere, so in tune – that it seemed too domestic … or real … or sincere all of a sudden – so she held her tongue instead, in favor of repairing some of their old boundaries.

"That bad, hmm?" he surmised.

Her resolve weakening, she could do nothing more than nod in assent. A lone tear popped free and slid down her face, lodging itself in the crease of her neck. She left it there.

"Yes … I find it hard to relax my brain enough to sleep ... or to eat … sometimes …," she exhaled, folding under his scrutiny.

"It's stress," he deemed thoughtfully, leaning closer. "It can feel like panic attacks," he confided, watching her carefully now.

"Ever so much … yes …," she agreed, her eyes pinned to his: blue, clear and sound. "I'm just so out of my element here – scared out of my wits for months on end now – you would think it's the new normal … but it's not …," she exhaled, shaking akin to a leaf on a vine. "I'm truly restless most of the time," she admitted then, looking away and not in shame, but for survival.

"So am I … sometimes … especially when it comes to your work, all that happens on this vessel that I don't have control over … I feel lost," he sighed sincerely with a weak smile.

"A new normal?" she prompted softly.

"Something like that," he sighed. "I wasn't prepared for this to be …," he exhaled, keeping his eyes trained on hers. "Such an emotional battle and now with … Darien gone … the dynamic is … forever changed …," he breathed, his eyes glassy now.

"So, how will you try to cope?" she asked gently, her concern evident. "I mean … the losses, surely will be catastrophic for others on the Nathan James as we move forward," she sighed, searching for answers.

"Catastrophic …," he repeated slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line. "We're going to have to spend a couple of days here and then move on to Norfolk so the crew can look for their families … and then I do agree … things will get much harder," he sighed heavily, once again beleaguered by the virus and its havoc.

"Don't you find this all so conflicted?" Rachel wondered. "I mean, there's very little human connection permitted here – ordinary people, civilians … they support one another so differently without the Navy's stringent boundaries – we embrace one another when things get rough …," she smiled, leaning into their shared space. "We reach for one another, hold one another … hug, kiss, make love … you know, anything that helps mitigate the pain of losing someone …," she sighed, her glassy eyes pinned to his. "There's going to be something lacking here … emotionally, very soon …," she whispered, her voice cracking into their sanctuary.

The Captain exhaled sharply and his eyes became glassy, reflective pools. "I know … it's been hard to be an outsider to all of this naval protocol," he related, swiftly collecting himself. "But … naval vessels, especially wartime vessels, cannot operate as societies without those boundaries, trust me …," he defended.

"I do …," she smiled.

"But … I know you're right … I'll talk with Master Chief and see if we can't amp up our spiritual meeting times," he said thoughtfully.

Rachel reflected for a beat before she asked. "May I ask you how you would normally combat stress?"

"Working out is probably be the biggest stress reliever," he answered sincerely.

"Magic endorphins," she exhaled with a chuckle.

"Yes … something like that," he laughed. "Or you could just cry in the shower like everyone else does," he chuckled with a wry grin, trying his best to lighten things up.

Rachel snorted. "Really?" she breathed, dismayed by this revelation. "You cry in the shower?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Wait!" she held her hand up. "Only answer that if we're speaking freely here," she laughed.

He smiled. "We are … always ...," he breathed. "And … I'm only human, you know – under this fine macho exterior – I'm just a regular guy …," he smiled with a sheepish grin.

"Good to know," Rachel answered, turning toward him, taking in his more playful demeanor.

"What can I do to alleviate some of what you're feeling?" he asked of her then, leaning into their space. "As long as we're … free … spirited," he smiled genuinely.

"I … I don't know," she answered softly. "It's just so … arduous, and even though it's been a race against time – I never thought it would come to this – I never thought we would be … this late," she sighed, admonishing herself, tears crowding her eyes now until only the storm remained and she was once again cast out into the sea of her raging emotions.

The Captain leaned in even closer and whispered. "I still don't know what I can do to alleviate some of this stress for you," he breathed, his intense eyes filled with concern.

Rachel shook her head, 'nothing', she whispered to herself. She turned away from his intensity. "I never imagined so many people would perish – billons – billions of people!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "It's just so hard to live with … and Baltimore!" she turned back to him. "What happened to our human spirit? That monster Granderson, playing God like that! The people I met on the street … my God, Tom!" she panted, her breathing shallow.

And it was here, that Rachel's heart finally gave in to her more powerful tears wherein she curled into herself, covering her eyes with her hands as she held onto herself for dear life, collecting her emotions, pushing them down and into herself, suppressing her outrage as she had done countless times since stepping onto the Nathan James – alone in her stateroom in the middle of the night, alone in the lab when no one was looking – suffocating and drowning by her own free will now, her shame spiral just too steep to climb up.

And then in an instant, she was standing!

Pulled out of her reverie by Tom Chandler who stood in front of her, holding her in place with his hands on her shoulders, his concern palpable as he stepped closer to her and pushed her flyaway tendrils out of her face, where he stared at her with his endless all-seeing eyes … cradling her skull in his capable hands now, willing her to really stop and look at him – and so she did, suspended in time for a quick second before their gravitational attraction became even too great for him … pulled so taught from both ends now that it snapped in the middle and he swiftly pulled her into the large envelope of his arms.

And even though they had embraced on one other occasion – this was different – for it was there, inside this very intimate moment, that the duo became something more to one another than just their titles. They became trusted friends, solidifying their commitment to one another, new tried and true emotional allies – that finally allowed themselves the freedom to feel wholly connected – their mutual dependency so overwhelming now … it was literally the stuff of survival.

And this, she decided, was a truth she inherently trusted, for she felt it in the way he held onto her and she held onto him without restraint. And as she further relaxed into their brand of heat, with her arms wrapped around his torso and her ear over his heart – she listened to his heartbroken rhythm, committing it to memory now – and therein she was lulled by it … by him and everything that made him tick.

He moved even closer then, pulling her flush against him and into their perfect fit, with his nose pressed into the crease of her neck now and his arms wrapped tightly around her, he exhaled and they began to sway slightly inside that embrace, so that to passerby, it might have appeared that they were dancing. And then he whispered into her ear.

"Don't ever wonder where you belong, you hear me?" he said urgently then, his voice low and fervent. "You belong here, with us … with me … Rachel …," he husked into her flesh. "I can't do this without you," he entered his desperate plea. "I don't want to do this without you …," he murmured, his voice cracked.

"I know, nor can I … without you … I'm here …," Rachel suspired, his broken heart beating on and on for her ears only now.

Where all she could do was open her arms wider for him, coveting him … welcoming him further into her embrace – because people needed human connection – and because it was his hour of need, for his deep woe and shock of losing his beloved wife was so powerful and all-consuming now that all she could was try to mitigate it – try to escheat it from him somehow – on a cerebral level she didn't realize existed between them until just now.

"There's got to be a reason why we ended up here together," he theorized, his hot breath fanning her neck as they swayed in a congruent manner, rocking back and forth, lulling one another with their tempo.

"I know … yes … I know there is …," Rachel breathed, because in truth – she did know – that everything happened for a reason … reasons beyond their control … reasons that had yet to be revealed.

He held on tight as if to a lifeline, a tether. "It's true that things for the Nathan James are only going to get harder and more complicated," he exhaled. "But … if it's emotional support you find you need, I'll give it to you … freely," he vowed then, his voice smooth and comforting.

"I know ... and I'll give you mine …," she breathed. "Of my own free will …," she sighed and only then did she feel him truly relax into their embrace.

And so there they stayed for a long while, swaying together under the dim lights of his at-sea cabin – two wayward souls – two people who, on this day, vowed to emerge from this emotional mess of a war on civilization and humankind … together … and of their own free will … because they were survivors.

###

Later, as the sun was setting – Rachel stood at the bow, transfixed by the whiskey-colored sky, larger than life – focusing now on those last rays of sunlight that would soon give away to darkness. Once again turning her back on the city's skyline, those ominous smoke stacks, foreboding and unchanged there in the background – she inhaled a deep breath and locked the essence of the trigger scent down for safe-keeping – for old times sake as she said a small prayer to no one in particular … a healing prayer than only she needed to hear.

Soft footsteps approached from behind her and this time Tex came to stand next to her. "What a difference a day makes … you're looking better, Doc," was all he said, his voice gruff as he too took in the sky.

"I am … feeling better much better …," she smiled and briefly met his eyes where she without another word, let him know she was all right.

Smiling now, she turned around – feeling that imaginary fishing line tug at her – that gravitational attraction that had her so entrenched, wherein she added pressure of her own, leaning back against the cool metal railing, peering up and into the bridge – the Nathan James standing tall in all of her glory once again – blood and debris and shell-casings all cleared away from her battleship gray exterior now … and she was exquisite.

And there inside this tiny moment, Dr. Rachel Scott once again felt connected and safe and secure under the watchful command of Captain Thomas Chandler. Straining her eyes now, she looked up and scanned his perch … trying to see if she could find him on the bridge – and even though she knew couldn't see him from where she stood – that didn't matter because she knew he was there … for them … and for her … in mind, body and spirit.

END