Moaning, Rachel shut her eyes, sprawled out on her bunk, listening to the creaks and squeaks of the Nathan James as it skittishly navigated rough seas. She covered her eyes with her forearm, reveling in her not so small victory. Oh, no—it was huge, make no mistake, the hugest. She'd discovered 'The Cure' for the pandemic scourge several hours ago and she still couldn't believe it. Now, nearly zero two hundred hours, she was still wide awake, painfully aware that her mind and body demanded that she get quality sleep. How many hours of sleep of that type had she gotten since this mission had begun? Precious little. Thus far, she'd barely been comatose an hour and a half, though it felt as if she'd been sleeping for days. Groggy, Rachel sighed. Aside from her achieving hard-won success, something else on her mind prickled. Her breathing hitched momentarily when she thought back, reliving the encounter with the captain, who had been desperate to know if the survival of the 6 meant salvation for those who remained on the planet. From all reports, terrestrial population was dwindling faster each day. All Rachel had seen in his intense crystal clear eyes had been strain mingled with torture. Every touch, each glance, every emotionally charged word from Captain T. Chandler left her wanting more. She scolded herself, ever mindful that his wedding band was not for show. He loved his wife dearly. He didn't have to say it, the captain lived and breathed it. He would go to hell and back for her and their two children.

Not knowing his woman, she envied her, wondered what about her had attracted Thomas Chandler. Rachel rolled her head from side to side, imagining, and speculating if perhaps she possessed hints of those qualities and attributes. Grimly, she decided, she'd better stop thinking like this, or risk complete and utter dysfunction. Easier said than done, she lamented, again going over what she was thinking, welded with the lack of rational thought. Was she crazy, or was she burned-out, allowing herself to feel anything other than admiration and high regard for the hunky man's man? He was all that a naval officer needed to be, this stalwart commander, who was stealing a little more of her somber heart day-by-day. She knew that in no way was he pouring on the charm. Some days, it was the opposite when stress, fatigue and the unknown preyed on him.

"Rach," she muttered, hearing the firmness in her voice. She'd given herself that nickname at the age of 8, had her relatives using it by the time she'd turned 9. "You'd better get a grip. Remain calm and carry on... And I don't mean carry on, carry on with him. There will be no affair." Pursing her lips, Rachel half-smiled as the ship funneled into the trough of a 30-foot wave beginning to crest, poised to crash over the Nathan James' foredeck. Right, they had kissed, in the line of duty and had hugged just a while ago because in his eyes she'd come through to save the day, optimistically followed by many more to save the infected. It was best not to dwell on those unpredictable incidences, which underscored her bouts with melancholia, a by-product of the life of dedication, toil and commitment she'd chosen of her own free will.

She moved, shuddered as she shifted onto her right side in the cramped space. The ship rose and the pit of her stomach sank lower. Why was she this nauseated, so disoriented? After all this, why was she suffering from seasickness? If indeed that was what this was. The Nathan James pitched and rolled, never deviating from its mad slicing through the storm-churned ocean. Rachel clutched her stomach, forcing herself not to hurl, which wasn't easy. She felt as though she might at any moment. What had she eaten? Then she remembered; she hadn't, not a morsel since morning. She'd forgone lunch too and had picked at, and nibbled dinner. Was it any wonder her practically empty stomach growled? What with all the constant research, deliberation and experimentation, Rachel was becoming a gaunt semblance of her former, appreciably more vibrant and fuller-figure self. She loved food, all sorts, Italian cuisine especially. Abstinence from sustenance wasn't her norm, but since the whole world had changed, for the worse, so had her eating habits. They'd become dreadful, unwise, but a result of crisis upon crisis. She devoted her waking thoughts to ridding the world of this malignant malady, and on this singular day, she dared to believe she had.

They possessed the virus-specific panacea, rushing full steam ahead to deliver it stateside.

The buffeted ship bore up, slip-sliding as it rode these obscenely turbulent waves. Rachel grunted, ruing her grumbling gut and her treacherous feelings. Stealing the affections of a woman's husband was beneath her. A woman who would do such a thing was poison, with a capital p. If that was how she really felt, why wasn't she squashing all thought of making herself more desirable to the handsome, virile captain of the Nathan James? Guilt washed over her and Rachel, distractedly, drew the navy-issued covers closer against her neck, cocooning herself with it, finally. Could she just be fond of him, and leave it at that? She'd work on it, work really hard at it, because her actions would set the tone. Didn't the woman always set the tone in matters of the heart, or was that only true in romance novels and romantic comedic movies? Well, supposedly romantically comedic. In a split second, she recalled having seen a movie not all that long ago, touting the premise that a woman should think like a man. Okay, she'd do it, making sure she did nothing that might suggest she was leading the captain on. Although he was a 'big boy,' quite capable of not having the wool pulled over his eyes, Rachel wouldn't hand him a cap.

Snug in her little bunk, she yawned, about to begin counting sheep. She got as far as 'one,' when the knock came on her cabin door. Alertly, she called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me. Tuh—uh—Captain Chandler." He sucked in a deep breath and stared holes into the barrier separating them. His throat was killing him, deep within it. Unshed tears stung his eyes. His heart shambled as it beat.

Tom, raced through her mind. Her heart bucking, she tore out of the bunk, the first foot hitting the floor, skidding, as she sent the wool blanket diving to the floor. She almost tripped, her feet getting tangled. "I'll be right there," Rachel stammered, grimacing, certain that he must have heard how breathless she sounded. Keep calm, keep calm, she upbraided. "Just a sec." She smoothed out her T-shirt and sweats, made sure her ponytail wasn't lopsided, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Frowning fiercely, she lurched for the door, the Nathan James helping with that. The sea had become rougher. Taking deeper breaths, she settled herself, the static in her brain coalescing.

"I know it's late. If I've awakened you, I'm sorry." Anguish tinged his contrite words. Noiselessly, he rammed the blunt end of his fist into the door, followed by the perspired side of his sheeny face. "I have to speak with you. It's important," he said, all choked up. Urgent, his mind re-emphasized. "Please..." Wearily, he scrubbed his face with his other hand and internalized, There's nobody else on this ship who can really assure me. There's only you—only you…

Nodding as she opened the door, Rachel was immediately struck by the commander's misery-riddled countenance. Her practiced, aloof attitude morphed into one of acute concern. "Wha-?" Chandler veritably toppled into her cramped quarters, forcing her to spring out of his way. While wrapping her arms about herself, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet, she demanded, "What is it?" Hysteria tinctured her words. Had the newly-cured patients fallen gravely ill again? Her heart raced along with her mind.

"You're one hundred percent sure this is the cure?" jumbled from his mouth. His forehead was a sea of deep creases. "Not only a vaccine, but you can cure people." There was no hint of it being a question.

Softly, ever so softly, which she had discovered was the best way of arresting his full attention, she deferentially replied, "As certain as I can be under these conditions, Captain." A pervasive warmth spread from her heart, outward. He looked lost, needing coddling. "What's wrong?" Instinctively she knew there must be something terribly amiss. His manner was all over the place where rigid control usually was.

The captain broke down, his composure destroyed, his will to be strong demolished. No longer the man of elegant steely resolve and purpose, he crumpled before her very eyes. The demoralization in his voice brought Rachel to his side, a comforting hand reaching for him. His eyes searched hers as they filled with tears. "It's—it's my family." He forced strength into his timbre. "Darien, Ashley and Sam…" His voice got very small, tight and rough. "Dad was able to get through to us. They're all infected—my family! They're sick—they're dying!"

With no further thought, Rachel gathered him into her arms tenderly, whispering encouragement that it was going to be all right. Said as convincingly as she could make it. Decisive, Tom grappled her body to himself like she was a life preserver, intent on cleaving to her with every ounce of strength he had. "We'll get to them on time," she murmured, fully realizing now that despite this wicked storm, it was full speed ahead. Gradually, they moved as one, she coaxing him to sit on her bunk.

"What if we don't? What if we don't?" he whimpered, like a frightened child. In his mind's eyes, he pictured his loved ones suffering in agony the way the 6 had.

"We will," Rachel drove home, epitomizing what it meant to have backbone. "Captain, they'll be cured. Don't allow yourself to dwell on anything other than that." She pulled herself together, sensing that he was trying to do the very same thing.

As disciplined as he could manage, Chandler responded, appreciating her fortitude coupled with her compassion. "Thank you, Rachel. You've been a rock through all of this and I can't tell you enough how much that means to…me." Not holding back, he kissed the top of her head and arched with the rolling of his battle-tested ship.

Rachel jerked her head to the side, smiling into his eyes that penetrated the depths of her soul. "It's been my consummate honor to serve…" Although initially hesitant, she blurted nevertheless—"Tom." And brushed one of his hands she'd raised with her lips. "Without all of your support, I'd have accomplished nothing."

She'd done it again, as easily as his little girl could make her mother laugh. Rachel put his mind at ease. "We make a good team."

Nodding, she knew that to be truth. "We do."

The captain took his time leaving.