I don't own The Last Ship, et al.

Coming Home

"When you get back, find me."

The memory of his tone, low and deep, with an air of intimacy, pierced the veil of her subconscious. Smiling into herself, Rachel stepped out of the chopper and instinctively ducked, further retreating into her wool coat and oversized scarf. Walking with haste, she followed the two men on her detail across the windy tarmac and slipped into the sleek, black car. A vacuum of silence consumed her as she closed her eyes and listened to the faint murmur of the men before the heavy car was set in motion and began to roll forward, slow and easy and with purpose.

She was back. She stilled her heart. She exhaled.

And for the first time in four years – she felt a modicum of relief – an inner sense of balance and completion she had been searching for since her swift departure to chase the virus. And now her work was finished. The virus had been eradicated. And it was here, in St. Louis – on New Year's Eve – that she chose to make that declaration, first, to the one person (aside from herself) she knew it would matter most to in the world. And then her heart raced on and she breathed steadily again, for she had missed Tom, longed for him, and had eventually fallen in love with him … and now she was at the end of the path that whisked her away from him, or was it the beginning?

###

Her legs felt like rubber bands, her nervous excitement getting the better of her as she emerged from the car a short while later and was ushered into the old capital building, her sentinels escorting her down a series of narrow corridors and up two flights of steps where she presently stood just outside President Michener's suite of offices.

Having arrived several hours late, Rachel realized the staff was largely gone for the holiday weekend already and so she was relatively alone while she waited. She unbuttoned her coat, her body temperature regulating now. The floor creaked as she wandered along the tastefully decorated rotunda, ecru walls and blue carpet, her eyes gliding over the pictorial of the young nation's accomplishments: a chronology of photographs documenting Michener's successes in rebuilding what was lost. The process was slow and painful, but she could clearly see a rebirth of a nation ... and the rekindling of hope as it was restored throughout the years.

Likewise, her own tour of duty had been long and arduous and had taken her across the globe, traipsing and trailing after new viral outbreaks, no matter how small. Over time, her journey became one of self-discovery, and was often lonely, but quite exhilarating and worthy and full of hope too. Except that now, as she stood upon this precipice, she felt that nothing could quite prepare her for the feelings that went along with the finality of declaring this virus's end. The strain was gone from this earth. It was over. And those were the facts. But now what? A path had always materialized for her when it came to her work, except that with the eradication of the Red Flu, there was an ambivalence … there was no obvious direction to go: where should she turn next ... for humanity and for herself?

Feeling perplexed, she turned around to pace and then she saw it ... him ... a photograph of this wall Tom had told her all about in an email once a long time ago, the side of a building with his portrait painted as mural on it. She blinked hastily, fat tears threatening to fall as she tilted her head and regarded the image. It was everything he said it was: surreal and strange and bewildering. She held her breath and whispered the mantra of his name to herself, 'Tom' and leaned in for a closer look.

"Rachel ...," came Michener's smooth voice from behind her just then.

She froze; effectively pulled from her reverie. She turned and smiled warmly, "Jeffrey."

He smiled too and approached, "Welcome home, old friend. Congratulations, what an incredible feat!"

He looked well and more 'presidential' than she remembered. His sentiment resonated, 'welcome home', his weathered eyes searched hers, back and forth. "Thank you … it's fantastic, really, life-changing on many levels ...," she offered softly. "Again, I appreciate the transport on such short notice … though I'm afraid I've kept you waiting today, it's already after two ... it seems your offices are closed," she sighed and glanced at her watch.

"Nonsense, like I've said time and again, anything you need, just ask ... it's the least we can do ...," he smiled genuinely. "And ... for the record, you're worth the wait ... and you should know, I'm not alone in that line of thought ...," he speculated with a raised brow and a small grin.

Her cheeks heated. "Well ...," she cleared her throat and looked down and away, nothing but silence on her tongue.

Jeffrey turned back to the image of Tom and pondered, "It's quite a spectacle, isn't it?"

"Yes ...," she breathed and followed his gaze; she anchored her hand on her scarf, soft and comforting, and scrutinized the photograph of the mural again. She sighed and dared herself to ask, "Does he know I'm here?"

Jeffrey smiled, "No ... even with your delayed arrival, I managed to make an excuse for my not leaving when he and Kara did ... your secret is safe with me."

She nodded and smiled weakly, taking a measured breath to privately collect herself – for somewhere in the deepest reassess of her mind – she had always envisioned her reunion with Tom as a private one. Except now that she was here, in the moment – it occurred to her in a more realistic sense – that the holidays were upon them … and she suddenly regretted her timing. Because normal people made plans on holidays. People with families they cared about … made plans.

But regrettably, her childhood was anything but normal. And as such, even before the virus lay its claim upon the world, she'd always worked through the holidays. This was her status quo, and truth be told, her iron-clad rationale in avoiding her father and the family ties that bound her to him. Having never forgiven or understood her father's part in her mother's death, this was simply how life evolved between them. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't adult. But it was the truth.

And so, as time inched forward, the last four years had been no different – for there were even more facets of her life to compartmentalize and avoid (chief among them, her mounting feelings for Tom) – though given her task at hand, admittedly, she felt she had the license ... an excuse, also iron-clad.

She turned back to Jeffrey, "I truly appreciate your discretion in keeping my arrival to yourself … I hope I haven't kept you from anything more pressing with regards to your holiday plans."

He smiled broadly, "Not at all, just a gathering of old friends at Kara and Danny's to ring in the New Year." Tilting his head, he added, "A lot of people you know will be there, I'm sure you would be a welcome addition to the guest list."

Rachel's mind went wild. She blinked. "And Tom? Is he on that list?" she asked of him.

"No, actually ...," he smiled and glanced at his watch. "If I remember his schedule, he should be at home this afternoon ... until the dance starts at the high school …," he surmised with a wry grin.

"He's a chaperone?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Oh, poor Ashley …," she smirked at the thought.

Jeffrey beamed, "I'd say so."

###

Having assured Jeffrey that he hadn't seen the last of her, Rachel relaxed back and into her seat as the driver navigated through the city of St. Louis via a series of back roads to a nearby suburb where he eventually turned down an idyllic tree-lined street. She glanced at her watch, she'd left Dubai about thirty hours ago and counting; her eyes dipped shut at the thought. She breathed, in and out, and then swiftly opened her eyes.

The driver turned and entered a gated community where the homes were well-maintained and far enough apart to allow for some privacy and patriotic American flags whipped in the brisk wind over every porch. It was a welcome sight as the late afternoon sun washed over the homesteads in all the right places and carefully hung Christmas lights came to life, twinkling amongst the shadows of the mature trees.

She sighed into herself and fought the overtures of her restlessness, absentmindedly reading the house numbers as the car rolled on, moving her closer and even closer still. Her heart raced and she formulated, again, what she might say to Tom, in person, after all of these years. Because although their relationship was one of substance and deep commitment, it was also one that had developed on a more personal level via a string of lengthy emails, brief phone conversations and occasional video chats. And this worked for them and the children ... because it had to, for this was the world in which they lived and the backdrop – the wild circumstances of how they met – was the very cornerstone of everything they ever meant to one another ... or had become to one another since.

And so over time, their polarizing issues regarding Neils Sorensen's death were resolved and they turned to one another quite frequently – she, seeking the solace of his voice after long days and nights in the field – and he, sharing his life with her, the successes and pitfalls of parenting ... and the waves of turbulence in the establishment of a new government.

They were connected in the most non-traditional of ways. They were intimate without the physicality of intimacy. And in the later years, they became rather frank with one another ... open and honest about their feelings and what their relationship might look like one day. Except that 'one day' had always been a far off and distant dream. Until now. Had they truly arrived at that coveted juncture: 'one day'? She swallowed the lump of uncertainty forming in her throat. Tears crowded her eyes and she blinked them into recession. She just needed to see him. One look from him and she would have her answers.

The car slowed down and idled at the curb. She peeked outside – the looming house, a modern Victorian, light blue with white trim – was situated back and away from the street. The driver opened the door for her and she stepped out and into the cold. The porch lights were illuminated and Jed Chandler emerged, a wide grin set upon his face when he spotted her.

"Well, my eyes must be deceiving me!" he called out jovially.

Rachel met him halfway, his weathered eyes teeming with excitement. "Jed, hello old friend, you're looking well," she said as he wrapped her into his arms without hesitation.

Small tears pricked at her eyes as she held him for a beat longer, his embrace was warm and welcoming. Pulling back, he took a good long look at her and she at him. He smiled brightly, "Finally home for the holidays? A short, much needed vacation?"

Rachel's smile matched his, "Something like that."

Jed pressed his lips into a thin line and looked to the car and the two men on her detail. "They with you?" he quipped.

"I'm used to it, they're part of my convoy, set up by Michener when I travel stateside," she explained. "A deal, I might add, brokered by your son back in the day," she smirked.

"One I'm sure he devised with your safety in mind," he surmised, setting his arm along her shoulders. "Tom's working on a lighting project out back, why don't you surprise him and I'll entertain these guys," he offered with a grin.

Rachel held her hand up to the men, they nodded in assent. "They're all yours," she joked and then looked over her shoulder toward the house.

"See that archway covered with ivy ...," Jed pointed. "Just follow that footpath along there and you'll find him," he smiled. Rachel exhaled, her heart raced slightly. "Go on ...," he urged quietly.

And so she did. She slipped her hands into her pockets and followed the pathway around the side of the house, the late afternoon sun almost gone from the horizon now as she passed under the archway and stopped on the other side, lingering to collect herself ... and find him.

And then she did ... find him ... perched high on a ladder situated amongst the trees at the perimeter of the garden. He was swapping out a string of Christmas lights, his head disappearing behind the branches for a moment before the lights went on all at once and stunned her. Pure magic was the only way to describe it really, for hidden throughout the trees were sprays of twinkling lights: red, blue, white and green ... an unexpectedly gorgeous display of holiday cheer.

Obviously satisfied, Tom grinned and privately admired his handiwork. He looked good, Rachel decided then, his hair was longer than she ever remembered it to be. And he looked younger, more carefree, like the boy he was once, a long time ago. And maybe it was just the street clothes, dark blue jeans and a cardigan – or the magic of the lights – but either way, she felt herself fall for him all over again, right then … right there, without a single word passing between them. She loved him. She knew that now. She shook her head and stepped forward and into the small cascade of light coming from the porch. She breathed, in and out ... and dared herself to call out to him.

"Tom ...," she heard her voice then from some far off place.

He cocked his head and looked in her direction. "Rachel ...," he breathed her name, a small smile forming along his face, his baritone, calm and familiar.

If he was shocked to see her, she wouldn't have known it. He descended the ladder and she met him halfway, stepping without hesitation into the protective cavern of his warm embrace ... and it was as if, she was home, for the very first time in her life. And then, just like that – everything fell into place – for aside from the memory of her mother's hug, an embrace had never felt so real or tangible or meaningful before. Her heart raced on and on.

"Surprise ...," she whispered into his chest after a long minute, her voice, quiet and small. "I know you don't care much for surprises, but –"

"I've changed my mind," he whispered cutting her off; he pulled her even closer.

And on that sentiment, Rachel willingly lost herself within his calming aura, with his warm breath fanning through her wild tresses and down the back of her neck and his chin pressed to her crown – and her arms slung low around his waist and her ear pressed to his heart – she listened to his rhythm, this slow and steady lullaby she never wanted to be without. Never.

Savoring their proximity now – she inhaled sharply and breathed him in – he smelled of aftershave and coffee and pine trees and she found she simply could not get enough of him. It was as if his embrace was the panacea she'd been in search of ... a cure for everything she'd been missing in her life to date. And so, as he swayed slightly with her to a tempo of his own making, she closed her eyes and allowed four years, plus a lifetime more, of stress to ebb away into nothingness. No ... there was nothing quite like the way he felt in her arms and she in his ... nothing. It was beyond compare. Succinct. Perfect. Forever.

"I have a secret ...," she whispered then, breaking through the thick layer of euphoric haze."I know you don't care much for those either but –"

Tom ducked down. "Try me," he said softly with a smile, his eyes so bright and clear and blue, she was stunned.

He blinked and tilted her head up, his cool hands flanking her angular face. She smiled and watched her unexpected presence become a reality to him – his lips twisting as he shook his head in wonderment – his brow suddenly furrowed, his eyes glassy and translucent with unruly emotion ... mere hairline fractures to his otherwise smooth veneer. He blinked again and she watched several small tears pop from his right eye and travel down the smooth plane of his cheek. He let them be and stared at her still.

"Oh don't ... love ...," she comforted, raising her hand, she smoothed her thumb against his face, noting again how young and handsome he had become. High stress and fear, diminished. Fight or flight instincts, gone for the moment. "I'm here ...," she whispered. "I'm back ...," she asserted, feeling quite powerless against the intensity of her feelings for him.

He remained quiet and pensive, and for a brief flicker, she wondered what was on his mind. "You're gorgeous ... a picture of health …," he finally whispered, brushing his nose against hers. "A mirage … a sight for sore eyes ...," he muttered, his voice stacked; his hot breath fanned her face.

"So are you ...," she replied as evenly as she could; her voice shook and betrayed her.

Breathing in tandem with him now, she fastened her eyes to his, so intense and all-seeing that she lost herself within the depths of those reflective pools as she held on tight and grounded herself while he did the same.

"Rachel ...," he breathed, resting his forehead against hers, he searched her eyes for answers.

She nodded and brushed her thumb along his bottom lip, her heart racing at an unnatural clip now – the anticipation of his touch almost too much to ponder – until he did just that ... and hurdled over a boundary that had been an obstacle for them for so many years ... wherein he finally ... finally ... brushed his lips against hers and stole the last of her bated breath. The kiss ... simply perfect and blended with the precise balance of pressure, tenderness and eroticism, solidified everything she needed and wanted to know: that he wanted her ... needed her, as much as she needed and wanted him.

"What's your secret?" he muttered between pulses, his mouth a perfect fit. Pulling back, he found her hooded eyes in the relative darkness and reminded her, "You have a secret."

She smiled and inclined her head, flanking his skull in her hands where she held him close, kissing him once more before she trained her eyes on his again. "It's the virus ...," she breathed. "It's been eradicated, scientifically …. I'm done ...," she whispered her secret truths and made them real.

Tom stared at her. "You mean ...," he exhaled, his glassy eyes searching hers.

"It's gone from this earth ... yes ...," she confirmed, her watery eyes pinned to his, unwavering, steady.

Tom stared at her for a beat longer before he folded her into the envelope of his embrace, wherein she felt the last of his residual stress leave his body in a series of quivering tremors. Shouldering the burden now, she held him close and thought about the men and women of the Nathan James that perished on their mission. She was reminded of the vaccine trials … and El Toro and the monkeys … and her loneliness inside the quiet solitude of her lab. And then adrift to their heated misunderstandings … and the anguish of Baltimore. Baltimore and its dead end. It always stunned her – that singular turn of events – and how vastly different things had become for her and Tom as a result. Emotion clogged in her throat and she shifted in his arms, pressing her lips to his pulse where she waited for it to flicker against her touch … a sign that he was all right. That they were all right.

"The lights are perfect," she whispered, her nose pressed into the crease of his neck.

"Everything's perfect now," he exhaled.

###

A short while later, Rachel sat with Tom and Jed in the front living room and waited for Ashley to change into her dress – something Kara helped her choose – something Tom hadn't seen yet. Rachel could tell he was nervous and slipped her hand into his. He looked down at their hands and squeezed. She smiled and rested her head back against the sofa cushion and looked about the space – simple furnishings, well-stocked book shelves, plenty of light, a beautiful mantle and fireplace, and a gorgeous Christmas tree, definitely the focal point – it was a comfortable room, welcoming on any day of the week, but tonight … it was the heart of this home.

"Thankfully, she doesn't have a date … she's going with a group of girls …," Tom brooded quietly.

Rachel snickered, "That won't always be the case, you know … she's a beautiful young lady."

"That's what I told him," Jed chimed in. "Baby steps, Rachel," he smirked and rose from his seat. "I'm going to grab some more wood for the fire ... I'll be back in a little bit," he winked playfully.

Tom chortled and he shook his head, "Real subtle, Dad."

"I try," he smirked and disappeared.

Alone again, Rachel smiled and eyed Tom carefully. She glanced at her bags, situated at the bottom of the steps, for her original travel plan included accommodations at a hotel downtown. And although they hadn't spoken about the finer details of her staying with them – the decision seemed to be made as a group – even Sam, whom was the quietest of the family, made her promise she would stay … so she agreed. Of course, he'd since disappeared into the family room to watch a movie, but in his own way – when he hugged her the way he did – she knew where he stood about the status of her relationship with his father. And that made all the difference to her.

"I'm glad you're coming with me to this dance … I don't know what I was thinking," came Tom's voice.

Pulled from her thoughts, she turned to him and saw that he too, was eyeing her bags.

"So am I," she replied softly.

"How long will you stay?" he wondered, his voice, low and deep … hesitant. "Is this a … 'home for the holidays' kind of visit … or …," his voice trailed off and she could see his uncertainty so plainly. He turned back to her.

She held his unwavering gaze and felt a small smile form on her face. "I don't know …," she sighed. He chuckled nervously and reached for her. She glanced at the entryway before she closed the small distance between them and kissed his lips … soft and quick, familiar already. "I don't think it's called a visit … if I'm coming home …," she whispered quickly into their confessional. Pulling back, she searched his eyes for answers. "Am I … coming home, Tom?" she asked softly.

Eyes glassy again, he merely nodded and drew her near, his warm hands flanking her face where he held her there inside the cherished moment. "I didn't think you would ever come back … to me …," he whispered; his voice cracked. "I hoped … for many years, I wished … for all this time …," he smiled weakly. "To just see you and feel you ... to know you're safe … and healthy …," he rambled on before he kissed her cheeks and then her lips, languidly this time.

Lost within everything he did to her now, Rachel's heart shook, pinching her from somewhere low and deep, this small place she saved just for him a long time ago. A place where everything was ideal and serene and peaceful. Where a cross-section of herself only he understood resided. This version of herself that belonged solely to him ... finally, safe and sound ... and home, with him.

"On this earth …," she whispered. "And trust me, I'm well-traveled ...," she laughed breathlessly and found his eyes again. "There's no place I would rather be … but home, here with you ...," she said softly. Fat tears flooded her eyes and he became blurred. She blinked and found him again.

Tom smiled, the depths of his eyes, clear and blue with flecks of silver, without a storm in sight now. For he suddenly appeared more whole and healed, and repaired by some kind of miracle … he looked like she felt: relieved, happy, sated.

"Welcome home, Rachel …," he whispered then and it sounded like a clarion call ... a wish ... a dream come true.

###

The dance was held in the recreation room at the library and as it turned out there were about as many parent chaperones in attendance as teens. The mood and decorations were festive and the lights were dimmed. The punch bowl was filled ... music and conversation were flowing easily ... and what they lacked in number, the teens made up for in spirit.

Standing off and to the side, Rachel observed the scene before her now, smiling at Ashley as she danced with a group of friends – carefree and happy – her woes behind her, at least for the moment. For Rachel was well aware that a certain degree of post-traumatic stress and guilt lived on in perpetuity in all survivors, herself included. She felt saddened again by Darien's passing and pondered (again) how different Ashley and Sam's lives would be today, had she and Tom gotten to Baltimore on time to save her too. Deflated, she thought of her own mother and the impact of that loss upon her, and vowed (again) to invest herself in their ongoing recovery, something she lacked as a child.

Her mind wandered then and landed somewhere back on the Nathan James – wherein she mulled over her extended family – and the supreme legacy they left in their wake ... and the lasting impact they had on her since she first stepped onto the ship. She thought of Russ Jeter, Tex and Danny and Kara and of Carlton Burke and Andrea Garnett and of Mike Slattery ... and his reunion with his beloved Christine. She smiled and thought about the idea of family and what that meant to her now that she had one, as unconventional as it was. Her eyes swept the room again and her thoughts migrated back to her parents and her own childhood, also unconventional.

Ashley waved to her enthusiastically and she suddenly felt overjoyed at the blessing of being able to share this evening with her, having never been to a high school dance of her own. She sighed somewhere deep inside and let her old regrets and misgivings go, avoiding that pang of sadness that permeated to her surface from time to time. She blinked her emotions back and away.

Switching gears, she turned her head and found Tom watching her from his post near the punch bowl, his keen eyes instantly fastened to hers. He smiled reassuringly. She smiled in return. He promptly ended his conversation with the other chaperone and made his approach, double-fisted.

He winked and offered a cup to her. "Cheers," he joked with a wide grin. She laughed at his antics and took a ceremonial sip of the syrupy drink. She pursed her lips together. "Good stuff," he chortled.

She smiled, her eyes moving along the room, "As it should be ... there's a lot to celebrate."

He draped his arm along her shoulders then, soothing her without words. She leaned into his heat. "You all right? You were a million miles away before ... pretty deep in thought ...," he probed gently.

Rachel looked up to him, quite mystified, "How do you do that? Know me so well?"

"Years of practice," he replied softly with a reflective smile. He sighed. "You know, I could ask you the same question ...," he added thoughtfully, and she knew that was true.

Leaning into his embrace, she slipped her free arm around his waist and rested her head into the crook of his shoulder. She trained her eyes on the party again and breathed, "I was thinking about Ashley and Sam." He turned to her. "And then about my parents and my childhood ...," she disclosed quietly. "You know, I never went to a dance like this, in all of my youth," she went on.

Tom exhaled, "I see."

He smiled and took her cup from her and set it down with his, a mischievous grin plastered to his face now. She laughed and he slipped his hand into hers and lead the way – circumnavigating along the perimeter of the space until he abruptly turned into a reading alcove meant for smaller children – the room, lit only by the glow of shadowy moonlight as it shone through the skylights above, was vacant ... private.

"Tom?" she turned to him, hers eyes flicking to his.

"Shall we?" he asked, taking her hand.

Her cheeks heated like a schoolgirl, suddenly shy, she answered, "I would like that."

And so he drew her near. And just like that, they were dancing, slow and steady – his chin pressed to her halo, his arms wrapped around her – the din of the party, the soundtrack for the moment as she closed her eyes and set her ear over his heart, listening again to his muscle ... waiting for the world to fall away, until all that mattered was their arrival at this moment. Together. Alone. Forever.

Tom shifted, moving them deeper into the private corner of the sanctuary. Rachel opened her eyes and peeked up at him. She smiled and he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. "You know ... Ashley's sleeping at Monica's house, the brunette," he said softly.

"Nice girl," she replied, her eyes pinned to his, they swayed together.

He nodded. "My original plan was to stop by Danny and Kara's before heading home ...," he went on, searching her eyes. "But if you're not up for it ... we don't have to," he said with a weak smile.

Rachel smiled in tandem, for as much as the idea of seeing her old friends sounded like a grand idea, there was a small part of her that wanted more time alone with Tom and the family tonight, simple and peaceful without a lot of distraction.

She scanned his face and then answered, "I'd like to do whatever you want, go wherever you want to go."

He laughed and cupped her face with his hands, "You've learned a lot about diplomacy."

She beamed. "Only when it comes to you," she quipped playfully.

Leaning up, she brushed her lips against his, still sweet like punch. Cupping her face, he deepened their oral union and she released a guttural moan as he drew her flush against him. He whispered her name, the air between them hot – his fingertips nestled along her hairline before she kissed him again – one hand set upon his heart and the other on his pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lithe touch.

"We're skipping the party ...," he muttered against her mouth, his tenor, deep and soulful, vibrated through her akin to the strum of a guitar.

###

It was close to nine before the dance wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse. Rachel walked with Tom from the car with Ashley's overnight bag, watching the small group of teens with interest as they stood near the front of the library with their hosts, two single mother survivors that now shared a home. Dressed casually in jeans and sweaters, the women were their contemporaries, likely in their mid-to-late forties and in good health.

"They're nice people," she offered then.

"They are," he agreed. "Humble and hardworking like most survivors ...," he nodded.

Looking ahead, Rachel scanned the parking lot again, her heart racing as it struck her again just how many single parent situations may have resulted from the outbreak - for there were a great many parents accompanying their children to this dance on New Year's Eve - a rare occurrence, that had somehow become the norm. She slipped her hand into Tom's and squeezed. He looked to her and she to him. The world had changed and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Here you go," he smiled at the group as he handed the bag to Ashley.

"Thanks, Dad," she said happily, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she leaned up to peck him on the cheek.

"Welcome," he answered with a small smile. He set his hand low along Rachel's back and turned to the women. "Pamela, Diane ... this is –"

"Dr. Rachel Scott ... we know, we recognize you ...," Pamela said, cutting him off. She held her hand out, her smile, sincere.

"A pleasure," Rachel blushed and shook her hand.

"The pleasure is ours," Diane interjected then, her dark eyes glassy. "We were there that day, in the courtyard when your ship docked ... of course, we didn't know one another yet ... but ...," her voice trailed off.

"Thank you ...," Pamela went on, pressing her lips together. She looked around at the group. "You saved us ... all of us ... we're honored to meet you ... girls, come and say hello to Dr. Scott," she encouraged.

Rachel smiled as she hugged the girls while Tom and Ashley looked on, but she secretly cringed. And the uneasiness wasn't because of the sudden outpouring of emotion from the girls and their mothers – but rather, because in some shape or form – she was reminded of what was lost ... the people in their lives, fathers and siblings that likely didn't survive and therein she felt like apologizing more than anything else. Pressing on, she smiled through her sadness as she and Tom hugged Ashley tight and wished her a Happy New Year.

"I'm glad you're home, Rachel," Ashley said quietly, having moved away from the center of the group.

Rachel caught an intensity in Ashley she hadn't seen until now. "Me too," she answered softly.

Ashley glanced at the group and then back to her. "And you ... and Dad, everything's good between you?" she asked quickly.

Rachel's cheeks heated and a smile formed on her face. She turned away from the group. "Everything's perfect ...," she assured, tilting her head.

Ashley's eyes became glassy and she looked down and away for a beat. "I just want everyone to be happy," she whispered then, her voice quivering. "Especially my Dad ... he's been lonely ... he has his work ... and us, we have so much, we do ... but he wants you too ...," she rambled on, a small set of tears popping free as she did.

Rachel instinctively drew Ashley into a hug and held her close, her arms wrapped around her, safe and sound wherein she suddenly felt ... maternal ... protective. Inhaling sharply, she pressed her lips together and opened her eyes to find Tom watching them. She smiled, reassuring him without words, they were all right.

"Everyone is going to be happy again, including your Dad ... I promise," she hushed softly. Pulling back, she smiled. "My work is done ... the virus is gone, completely ...," she informed her then.

"It is?" she asked, her eyes wide and laden with hope. Rachel nodded, holding her gaze. "So does this mean you're home for good?" she persisted excitedly.

"Yes, sweet girl," she smiled and hugged her again. "It seems I am ...," added and she felt the last of her tensions ebb.

###

It was almost ten by the time she and Tom walked into the quiet house, soft yellow light illuminating the foyer and living room.

"Dad ... Sam?" Tom called out.

He set his keys down on the small table in the entryway and moved to help Rachel off with her coat. She smiled and he hung their coats up. The house was warm and comfortable and quiet and after closing the door, it felt as though the world outside was gone. She really was home.

Jed emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of B&B in hand. "Hi," he smiled.

"Hi Dad," Tom grinned. "Sam's asleep?" he prompted easily.

"Yep, about a half hour ago," Jed answered, turning to Rachel he explained, "Poor kid can't stay up late, he's too much of an early-riser."

Rachel laughed, "I see ... I was the same as a child."

"How was the dance? Ashley okay?" Jed asked.

"She's just fine ... happy, excited …," Tom sighed, pressing a chaste kiss to Rachel's temple.

"Shall we?" Jed smirked, raising the dark brown bottle up.

Tom chuckled, "I don't see why not." He set his hand upon Rachel's lower back. "How about it?" he asked.

Rachel smiled. "Sure ... I haven't had a brandy in years though and I'm jet-lagged ... so I'll warn you, I may get rather tipsy," she said playfully.

"I think I can handle that ...," Tom smiled. His father disappeared into the kitchen and he drew her close. "Might actually enjoy it too," he flirted shamelessly; her laughter echoed in the hallway.

###

True to form, the brandy warmed her from the inside out. The elixir didn't go to her head as much as her entire body ... and rather suddenly she felt warm and heavy and free of tension. Her cheeks were hot to the touch. Tom set the glasses into the sink and Jed gave her a quick hug.

"Happy New Year kiddos ... I'm off to bed," he announced happily. He clapped Tom on the back and headed down the long hallway to his quarters. "I took your bags upstairs, Rachel," he called after them and then he was gone.

"Night Dad," Tom chuckled and turned to her, shaking his head. She smiled, her eyes heavy. "You're tipsy ... exhausted ...," he intuited, tracing his fingertips along her hairline.

Rachel sighed, leaning into his touch. "I am ...," she conceded.

Tom laughed, "Come on, let's get you upstairs."

The pair ambled together as Tom turned the lights off and they made their way upstairs, only a triangle of light remaining in the hallway to guide them. At the top of the landing, Tom turned to the right. "Sam's room," he pointed, inching the door open. They peeked inside, he was safe and sound. Rachel looked up to Tom and smiled. He closed the door an inch and turned to her. He glanced down the hallway, his eyes suddenly wide. "The guest room is down at the end there," he pointed. "And my room is at the opposite end on this side ...," he turned his head and pointed, Rachel followed his gaze and that's when she saw her bags ... where Jed had placed them, just outside of Tom's doorway.

Her heart raced, suddenly flushed, she whispered, "As you said, he's subtle."

Tom nodded and turned to her, his eyes vacillating, back and forth. He smiled and leaned back against the wall and drew her close, wedging himself there. Her heart raced on and on ... their proximity somehow made real again. He sighed and she looked up. "I would be a liar if I said I didn't want you in my bedroom with me ...," he exhaled. "Tonight ... every night ...," he went on softly, his intense eyes fixed on hers.

Rachel's heart bottomed out and she sobered up. "Every night ...," she breathed, searching his eyes.

Tom nodded, a handsome smile gracing his face. "Whatever makes you comfortable ...," he sighed, taking her hands in his. "You're tired ... it's been a long day ... we don't have to act on anything ... intimate ...," he uncharacteristically rambled, searching her eyes. "I just want you with me ... need you, with me ...," he enunciated slowly.

Rachel breathed and then closed the small distance between them, setting her palm upon his heart ... racing just like hers. She laughed breathlessly, her mind wild – and maybe it was the lovely brandy or his racing heart or maybe it was just the idea of finally making it back to him – but suddenly none of it mattered. None of it, not even the circumstances of their unconventional meeting ... or their endurance of pain and misfortune or the tenacity with which they fought, to arrive here, now.

"I would be one too ...," she inclined her head up. She smiled. "A liar ... a big liar ... if I stayed apart from you ... for even one night," she whispered into their confessional. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the warmth of his neck and soothed, "After everything ... I'm here ... I need you, want you too ... above all else."

A spark of recognition swiftly settled onto Tom's face and within those finite seconds, it seemed their fates were sealed. Wasting no time, he began to kiss her, slowly, as they moved together and he guided her down the long hallway to his bedroom. Bags shoved inside, he closed the door behind them and stared at her and she at him for a long, quiet moment. The room was dark save for a small cascade of moonlight. She blinked and stepped into his embrace, chasing his innate heat, arms wrapped around one another where they stayed, her lips pressed to his neck ... and his to her shoulder.

"We're alone ... alone ... for the first time ...," he husked before he kissed her again, slow and steady. "Hmm, brandy ... tastes so good on you," he whispered thickly, his open mouth descending upon hers again where he kissed her senseless as if they'd been lovers for years already.

With all space and time lost, Rachel let herself go, cognitively losing herself for the first time in a long time, her fight or flight instincts, gone – she had nowhere to be, nothing to run from – and all that mattered was Tom and everything he did to her, from the inside, out. Shoes were kicked off and with her mouth fused to his, she unbuttoned his shirt, while she too lost pieces of her clothing (and of herself in tandem) as he slowly undressed her. Almost nude, they were suddenly at the foot of his bed, his large hand palming her tush, her hands splayed upon his muscular chest.

Pausing to catch her breath, she found his hooded eyes in the relative darkness, her body flush against his: virile, lean, muscular ... hot. Desire pooled at her core. She kissed him again and the idea of "first times" struck her ... along with new beginnings and rebirths (hers and his) ... and everything it took to get them right here, now, and on the precipice of a brand New Year. Spying the entryway to the master bathroom, she had an idea.

"Shower with me ...," she whispered suddenly, searching his eyes. He pressed his lips together and regarded her. "I want a clean slate ... with you ...," she articulated quickly, seeking the clarity she so desperately wanted. She blinked and stifled her mounting emotions. "Just ... us ... alone, for the first time."

Tom smiled and stepped closer, his body heat encapsulating her now as he slipped his fingers under the straps of her bra before he began to kiss her neck just under her ear. "I want us ... alone, like nothing else ...," he whispered hotly. "But I won't be able to keep my hands off of you ... if we do that ...," he warned, his voice, low, intimate ... honest. A responsive pulse of ragged energy zipped up Rachel's spine as he continued his assault on her senses, slowly backing her up toward the bathroom. "I won't ...," he persisted.

"And I'm not asking you to," she countered as they crossed over the threshold and into the unknown ... together.

###

They left the lights off, the bathroom aglow with steam and a blue sheen of filtered moonlight that shone into the enclave from a small opaque window. Chasing their brand of heat, the new lovers explored one another slowly … each caress and kiss, tender … each moan of pleasure, unspoken praise. Eyes and hearts open, they kissed and massaged and washed each other clean until all that remained was Rachel and Tom … and Tom … and Rachel … and the new spark between them that would become the light of everything they would covet and protect: the power of 'them'.

Eventually, the water became a degree or two cooler and Tom turned the faucet off and reached for an oversized towel, light blue, fluffy and warm, he wrapped Rachel up and took one for himself. With her eyes wide open still, she stood before him and stared at him for a beat, her heart racing. She smiled weakly and leaned into his heat and kissed him again. His tongue, responsive – though she set their rhythm this time – unhurried and gentle. Reaching for him, her towel fell open and he stepped closer wherein she pressed her mouth to his chest and then over his heart, lingering there … his muscle, beating on in perpetuity for her.

She felt him exhale sharply and then his towel fell open too, tufts of his body heat released upon her now as her fingertips danced along his sinewy chest and ribs, resting at his hips where she held herself steady. Her eyes dipped shut, their euphoric haze permeating her every fiber as he whispered her name. His heated call echoing throughout the misty chamber as he danced his fingertips along her neck and then downwards where he brushed the pads of his thumbs across her nipples, back and forth he went until her responsive flesh hardened under his touch and she released a guttural moan … one that hung, vibrating between them.

"So beautiful ...," he whispered into her ear. The fine hairs on her neck bristled and then he was kissing her again before he pulled away and followed that same pathway with his mouth – gently nipping at her rosy pleasure points, his hot breath fanning her chest as he cupped her breasts – his short wet hair tickling her as slowly had his way with her.

Rachel's whole body hummed; she exhaled and braced herself, one hand nestled on his halo, pitching forward, she kissed his neck and shoulder. "Come to bed ...," she whispered into his ear. He kissed her flesh once more before he traversed and made his way back up her torso where she opened her eyes to find him.

###

Exiting the bathroom, Rachel quickly found her bag and slipped an oversized t-shirt on along with a pair of yoga pants. Her skin was hot and the cooler air was a welcome relief. Tom took her towel, he had donned a pair of pajama pants and an undershirt, dark blue. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. She held her toothbrush up and he chuckled. Entering the bathroom together, he flipped the switch on and they took turns brushing their teeth. And as they watched one another through the mirror, all she could think about was how natural this felt …. like they'd performed this ritual dance together thousands of times before in their lifetime.

Tom rinsed his mouth and Rachel passed the hand towel to him. He patted his face dry and turned around to face her. Leaning up, she kissed him. "Hmm, minty," she smiled.

He chuckled and kissed her again before switching the light off and draping his arm along her shoulders wherein they slipped back and into the quiet solitude of his room and further into one another as they tumbled into the warmth of his bed together, the linens, ecru with blue trim.

Sighing in tandem, they rolled into one another and smiled. "We made it," he whispered, lacing his legs through hers. He propped his head against his palm and leaned down to kiss her.

"We did," she agreed, deepening the kiss, her hand at the nape of his neck now, his hair soft, he smelled of shampoo and tasted like toothpaste.

Pulling back slightly, he smiled, his eyes suddenly dancing. "Rachel … look …," he prompted softly.

She followed his gaze, right in time to see the clock move forward one minute and into the new year, it was midnight. Her heart raced and she turned back to him. "Happy New Year, love …," she whispered, her eyes fastened to his.

"Yes … it is … the first of many …," he smiled, his eyes sparkling against the fragmented light. "Best new year … ever …," he breathed, inching forward, he kissed her, soft and quick before retreating into the linens with her again – wherein he pulled her close – his lips pressed to her halo now … her ear over his heart where she listened for that all too familiar strum of his muscle. "Happy New Year, Rachel …," he whispered, his arms encircling her.

###

She felt warm and at peace. Balanced and safe. These were her first coherent thoughts as she opened her eyes, curled into Tom's embrace just where she fell asleep. She watched him breathe for a moment – the rise and fall of his chest, lulling her – slow and steady. She blinked and let her eyes adjust to the predawn light as it began to filter in through the sheer curtains, the world still asleep … and quiet.

Careful not to disturb Tom, she looked about his room … his safe haven, where she saw so much of him here. Small relics of his life: photos of the children … many from their early childhood and gifts from them, decorated frames and paperweights. A bookcase, tall and filled to capacity. Tilting her head, she noticed a framed drawing of Tom sitting with his father, the likeness incredible. Upon a closer look, she was surprised to see Sam's signature scrolled along the bottom and smiled at the thought of him as such a capable artist – for she knew he enjoyed art – she just hadn't realized how naturally talented he was.

Continuing along her journey, her eyes moved across the balance of the room, pausing when she came to the mantle over the fireplace on the far side of the space. Craning her neck, she spotted some smaller framed photographs of the children with Darien – her heart trembling akin to a leaf on a vine now as she realized she had seen these photos before … many times – in Tom's quarters and in his office on the Nathan James. Also there, a bracelet that was familiar too, colorful and made by a child, Ashley perhaps. And alongside the bracelet, was a half of a clam shell – Tom's wedding band, still bright and shiny – was situated there. Rachel blinked at her a memory of a video chat in which she noticed that Tom had removed his ring. She didn't say anything that day and she knew she didn't have to, but she remembered feeling crestfallen over the finality of that action.

Small tears gathered and she stared at the images still … Darien, so gorgeous and full of life as she stared back at Rachel now with her smile, warm and inviting and so very happy … as she smiled perpetuity, perched upon this mantle now … all relics of their mission to chase the cure, a private alter of sorts. All important to him. Important to her. Important to them. And with those acknowledgements, she closed her eyes and set her tears free … along with a wish of lasting happiness in her heart for Darien's legacies, Ashley and Sam.

Feeling restless now, she carefully slipped from the warm confines of his bed – stopping to drape a large navy blue cable knit blanket over her shoulders, warm and thick – the floor creaking under her feet as she approached the door wherein she turned the handle slowly and stepped out and into the cool hallway. She exhaled and padded her way along the darkened space and down the stairs to the kitchen when she noticed a small triangle of soft light coming from the back porch. Instead of switching the light on, she peered outside and saw Sam's silhouette. At just before six, she was surprised to see him there, but then remembered, he was an early-riser.

She approached the connecting door and gently knocked. He turned around and smiled brightly. She pushed the door open and greeted him softly, "Happy New Year, Sam."

"Hi Rachel ... same to you," he smiled; his hair, on the longer side, was a mess. "I'm watching the sunrise, want to wait for it with me? I made hot chocolate ...," he went on; his voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

"Sure ... I would like that, very much," she answered.

Carefully, she made her way down two steps and crossed the small enclosed porch, the hardwood floor, cold against her bare feet. She sat down next to him on the wicker couch where he'd set up camp – a small space-heater nearby – radiating just the right amount of warmth. The porch light was dim and from where she sat now, offered an expansive view of the backyard and beyond, toward the horizon where a small glow of morning light had already been ignited. Sam reached behind him to a credenza from which he produced another mug.

"I make fantastic hot chocolate," he commented smartly as he nodded his head and poured some into the mug from a carafe situated on the coffee table.

He smiled and handed the mug to her. "Thank you," she murmured; the mug warmed her hands up as she took a small sip. The sweet morning treat, rich chocolate, with a hint of cinnamon, went down smoothly.

Sam eyed her carefully, "So?"

She laughed. "You're right, it's pretty fantastic," she praised and took another sip.

And then all was quiet between them for several beats then and she watched with great interest as he kept his eyes pinned to the horizon – reminding her so much of his father in that moment, that she thought to tell him so – but in the end, she resisted and held her tongue, and instead simply enjoyed the moment and his company and the quiet reflection that went along with it.

Shifting, she set her mug down and folded her cold feet underneath her and settled back and into the oversized blanket, inhaling sharply, the essence was familiar ... deep sea ... coffee ...Tom. Warming up, she looked about and noticed a sketch book on the coffee table nearby, a stack of colored pencils there too.

The sun rose a bit higher and a beautiful spray of warm light came with it, the clouds under the bulkhead, tamping it down, but not for long. She sighed and found herself holding her breath – watching as the sky all around them became a swirling blend of pink and orange and goldenrod – in symphony now with the chirp and chatter of the birds as the world slowly woke up.

She blinked and absorbed the subtle beauty of it all, privately basking in the afterglow of her heated reunion with Tom and the magic transcending in front of her eyes now, realizing once again, just how happy and sated she was. Her cheeks heated in response and she looked down and away from the horizon in an effort to maintain her composure.

Effectively pulled from her reverie, she tilted her head and saw that Sam had begun to sketch the scene before him. His drawing suffused with a glorious display of color as he managed to catch the light as it fell across the tops of the trees in the garden. The drawing must have been a work in progress. She smiled at his tenacity, watching closely as he bent over his work, his shoulders just beginning to broaden, his voice changing too – she would have imagined him to be a typical middle school boy – but she knew he wasn't. She knew … there was so much more to this remarkable young man, just coming into his good looks and fine personality.

He glanced at her at her then, his long hair falling into his eyes. "You're watching me," he observed casually. She smirked. He smiled and put his pencil down. "That's my Dad's blanket ...," he announced softly without judgment. Reaching out, he ran his fingers along a line of stitches. "Soft, isn't it?" he pondered.

Rachel blushed, "It is ... I borrowed it this morning."

He chuckled, a silly grin on his face (again like his father). "You know ... a long time ago, my Nana made that blanket for my Dad ...," he laughed with a crooked grin. "The story is that she was poking fun at my grandpa because he was a career Army man ...," he explained easily.

Rachel smiled. "I see ... and your father chose the Navy," she breathed, thinking of the first time she met Tom on the Nathan James ... twenty or so years later.

"Exactly," Sam chuckled; he shook his head. "And my Nana ... well, she knitted and knitted this navy blue blanket for months before Dad joined the academy just so he could take it with him ... and let's just say, that may or may not have gotten under my grandpa's skin," he explained with a wry grin.

Rachel sighed and thought of Jed and how feisty he could be. She giggled and so did Sam. "I'm sorry I never had the chance to meet your Nana ... she's sounds like a marvel," she offered then.

"She was tough," he acknowledged with a small smile. "She would have liked you ...," he complimented as he chose a yellow pencil and resumed the contouring of the light as it moved against a tree located on the far left of the yard. Rachel tilted her head and followed his line of sight … captivated by what he might see … and draw.

"There you are ... you disappeared on me ...," came Tom's smooth baritone from behind them then. The pair turned around. "Morning buddy," he said to Sam. "Happy New Year," he smiled broadly.

"Hi Dad … Happy New Year," Sam smiled happily. He set his pencil down and closed his sketch book.

"Good morning …," Rachel breathed, her eyes fastened to his, bright blue and dancing already. Her heart raced.

Tom sauntered over and leaned down. He winked and pressed a lingering kiss to Rachel's cheek, his touch familiar. "Good morning," he whispered, his hand resting on her shoulder.

"And that's my exit," chortled Sam.

Rachel and Tom looked up. They smiled and Tom drew him into a hug and rubbed his back. "It's going to be a great year," he said inside of the embrace.

"It is," Sam agreed with a broad smile.

They watched him go and smiled at one another when the door closed. Tom sat down next to Rachel and sighed. "He's so talented, isn't he?" he doted on Sam's work.

Rachel turned her face and kissed his cheek. "He is," she agreed, tilting her head up, she added, "We were just talking about your mother ... and this blanket I've fallen in love with."

Tom pressed his lips together and nodded in assent. "That makes two of us ...," he exhaled and instinctively ran his fingertips along his mother's handiwork.

Rachel opened the blanket and handed the corner to Tom. He draped it around his shoulder, his body heat encapsulated immediately. He shifted and drew her closer, his lips pressed to her halo, her lips lingering on his pulse point as she breathed him in: sleep and Tom and shampoo … and something else, a new element, perhaps … belonging to her. She closed her eyes and listened to her man breath and to the birds calling to one another wherein she was lulled by the peacefulness of the moment … and found herself drawn to the simplicity of it. And this crazy idea of home residing where the heart was … hers and his … theirs.

"You know, I took this blanket with me to the Naval Academy ... but it wasn't until just recently that I found it again ...," he whispered. Rachel opened her eyes and turned to him. "Unearthed in a box of stuff that was packed in my parents' attic in Norfolk …," he breathed, his voice soft and reflective. He blinked and sighed, "It still had my mom's handwriting on the side of it … 'TOM – NAVY' it said," he smiled weakly. Rachel inched closer and set her hand upon the plane of his cheek and he turned his face and kissed her palm. "I'm okay …," he said then, searching her eyes.

"I know you are," Rachel answered as she drew him closer. "You're healing, like everyone else … we do what we need to do … we're survivors …," she whispered, her thoughts migrating to the mantle in his bedroom … where his recovery belonged to him and was relatively private.

He smiled. "We are …," he whispered. "Many of us … because of you …," he sighed, his eyes suddenly glassy.

"Oh well ...," she whispered; her heart raced.

"And I'm not just talking about the cure …," he shook his head and blinked and so did she, desperate now to maintain her composure. Pushing her chin up, he leaned in and fixed his eyes to hers. "It's more than the cure for me, Rachel …," he sighed. "It's deep love … and admiration … and it has been, for years …," he whispered quickly. Her waiting tears fell and he kissed her lips, once, twice. "I love you … so much …," he declared, resting his forehead to hers.

Rachel smiled through her unruly emotions. "I love you too … and have for so long …," she replied softly, her voice quivering now. "It's just you … and this lifeline you tossed out to me, cure or no cure …," she whispered thickly, brushing her lips against his. "And the way you love me so quietly … and with so much dignity …," she rambled on. She kissed his mouth and blinked the balance of her tears into recession.

Tom smiled and brushed his thumbs along her damp cheeks. "I'm just glad you made it home … here … where you belong, with me …," he murmured, smoothing her wild tresses away.

She held the intensity of his gaze. "Me too …," she answered, because it was the truth.

A comfortable silence consumed them then as they quietly basked in the joy of their reunion, wrapped around one another and their brand of connectivity, kissing, praising, caressing – safe and sound, and nestled deep inside his most treasured blanket on New Year's Day – a day that could have been like any other holiday … but it wasn't, because she found her way back to him … and they were finally home … together.

END