TITLE: Stronger

SUMMARY: In the months after Baltimore, the crew of the Nathan James struggles to live up to the idea that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

RATING: T, for language and mental health issues. Reader discretion advised.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own, you don't sue. Also, I'm not a doctor or member of the US Navy, so I apologize for anything I get wrong.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I fell in love with this show last summer. It requires suspension of disbelief (like all good action movies) but it was a fun ride. I hadn't thought about doing fanfic, though, until I started reading some of the pieces on this site. Many thanks to all the other writers out there who inspired me. This story is my version of what happens after the Season 1 finale, with a (eventual) Chandler/Scott pairing. As always, feedback is welcome; flames are not.

CHAPTER ONE: THREE WEEKS LATER

As Commander Mike Slattery sat on the bridge of the USS Nathan James, he took a moment to enjoy the peaceful morning. Things were running smoothly onboard the ship and, for once, the Atlantic Ocean was somewhat calm and the weather was sunny. This was pretty much as good as things could get on the US Navy's last operating ship, and Slattery hoped it would last a while. He'd take anything that would make his job of as acting Captain easier.

It had been three weeks since they'd escaped Baltimore's harbor and little had been easy along the way. They'd had dead and wounded to deal with - including Tom Chandler, damage all over the ship to repair, and they were reeling from the shock of how bad things had become back home.

The first week had been spent hiding at sea, licking their wounds, while Mike contemplated their next move. What would be their purpose now, as the world fell into utter barbarism? It didn't seem like there were any simple answers. But when supplies ran short, they'd finally been forced back to land and encountered - and cured - a group of people struggling to survive on North Carolina's Outer Banks. It had reminded them all of who they were.

Non sibi sed patriae. Not for self but country.

Slipping down out of his chair, Mike moved to stand beside that shift's Officer of the Deck. She was pouring over navigation charts for the area near Wilmington, NC. The ship had been slowly heading south, stopping every few days to send teams ashore. They had a duty to help anyone within their reach.

"Anything I should be aware of, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Alicia Granderson jumped a mile at the sound of his voice. For a brief moment, Slattery could see absolute terror in her eyes, but then it was gone, hidden behind a fragile mask of professionality. "N-no, sir. It should be a pretty straightforward route."

Mike didn't need to ask where her mind had gone when he first approached. He knew, and hated the notion of what she was afraid of. Alicia had been bound, blindfolded, and battered when they found her in Baltimore, terrified of every sound and touch. Dr. Rachel Scott hadn't lost her fiery spirit at Amy Granderson's Headquarters, but it had earned her several bruises of her own. In the weeks since, neither of them had talked much about what happened, but Mike wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear the details. That was something he struggled with as he searched for some way to help those among the crew that were having trouble coping. It bothered him that, as their leader, he didn't have a solution for them. He'd never asked to be the one in charge under these circumstances, and he feared he was failing.

"Carry on," was all he told Alicia as he stepped away.

Baltimore had left wounds on the whole crew, some were worse than others. As Mike headed back to his chair, he passed the spot of the first casualty in the fight for the Nathan James. Like the marks on their souls, the bloodstain on the floor wouldn't fully disappear no matter how much they tried.

A Seaman at the rear of the bridge turned to him as he started to sit back down. "Sir, Chief Engineer is requesting to speak with you. They may have a situation."

Mike took a look out at the peaceful blue seas around the ship once more. The beautiful day taunted him. "Jinxed myself," he muttered under his breath.

The Seaman frowned. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"Tell her I'm on my way."

Slattery's visit to Engineering added one more item to his list of worries. A fuel pump had failed on one of their four gas turbines. The ship could run without it, but this was now the second one to be taken out of commision, which limited their top speed. Not to mention the fact that they'd be in hot water if they had another failure. The engineering department was doing everything they could to make repairs, but there was a chance it was beyond repair. They all had just one mission - keep the ship safe and moving. Since they had no one to trust on land, the bio lab on the Nathan James was their only hope for saving however much of humanity was left. Dr. Scott had been doing her damnedest to produce as much of the vaccine as possible, so they had to protect her and distribute the cure to whoever they could. Everyone onboard had to do whatever it took to keep the ship going.

On his way back to the bridge, Mike stopped by the wardroom to grab another cup of coffee. He had a feeling he'd need it to get through whatever else the morning decided to throw at him. The detour also allowed him to check up on three very special members of the crew.

Eight-year-old Sam Chandler, eleven-year-old Ashley Chandler, and twelve-year-old Ava Tophet were sitting together in the back corner of the room. "Hi, Commander!" Sam cheerfully called when he saw Mike come through the door.

He offered the children a smile. "Hey, guys. What are you up to today?"

Ashley was seated in the middle of the trio and raised the book she was holding so Mike could see it. "Reading Peter Pan," she informed him. "Grandpa found it in the library. We'd all seen the movie before but never read the book."

Slattery smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My kids loved the movie, too," he told them, his voice a little thick with emotion. The trio suddenly reminded him very much of his son and daughters.

"We're each picking our favorite characters," Ava explained. "And then Mum said to write an essay about their favorite thing and biggest fear."

"Mine's Peter!" Sam announced, to the surprise of no one.

Mike smiled at the idea; it was a clever assignment. "Sounds like fun."

For the past couple of weeks, every morning once breakfast was finished, the wardroom had become the children's classroom. It was far from a normal school environment, but at least they were kept occupied and educated. Jed Chandler and Kelly Tophet had taken responsibility for the kids during the day; they conducted lessons on everything from geography and writing to math and science.

"How's your father doing?" Mike asked Ashley and Sam as he went to pour himself some coffee. They glanced at each other.

"Okay," Ashley replied with a shrug, but she sounded anything but certain.

Mike had hardly seen Tom Chandler since Baltimore. Things had gotten pretty FUBAR during their op at Granderson HQ. The Captain sustained the worst survivable injury: a gunshot just below his left knee. His leg had been a total mess and he'd come close to bleeding out by the time they got back to the ship. Doc Rios had had him in surgery for hours; the Nathan James was not supposed to be a trauma center, but they'd been forced to make due. In the end, Tom had pulled through, but it supposedly wasn't going to be an easy recovery.

Jed Chandler got up from his spot at the table, having heard the XO's question. "My son's recuperating," he answered for his grandchildren. "We're just taking things one day at a time."

Mike nodded. "You'll give him my best?"

"Of course, Commander."

Jed's appraisal of his son's condition had been purposely vague and noncommittal. It could maybe even be considered a little overly optimistic. At that moment, Tom was lying on his bed in his darkened stateroom, in the same clothes he'd been wearing for days.

He hadn't eaten anything yet; the tray of breakfast his father had brought him was still sitting untouched on his dresser. The only things he'd ingested were pain pills, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to take them on an empty stomach. He didn't care. His left leg was propped up on pillows, encased in a plaster cast and bandages. Despite the medication, it still throbbed. But that was just the start of his pain.

In his hand was a photo with well-worn edges from handling. His children and late wife's faces smiled back at him. The picture had been taken two years earlier; Sam had a big gap in his grin from losing his front teeth. Ashley was sporting French-braided pigtails; she'd always loved it when her mother did her hair that way. And Darien… Tom had to fight tears whenever his eyes landed on her image. She'd been kneeling between their children, an arm around each of their waists and a bright smile on her face. She'd organized the picture as something he could take with him on deployment to remind him of their family. Now, a couple photos were all he had left of her.

After all that Darien had done for him over the years and all that she'd sacrificed, he felt like he'd done nothing but let her down. He hadn't been able to save her and now he wasn't able to take care of their children, the things she'd treasured most in the world. When Ashley and Sam were enduring the scariest few days of their lives, Tom had been unconscious in sickbay instead of being with them. Right after losing their mother, they'd been further traumatized by seeing their father on death's doorstep, hooked up to tubes and wires. Thank God his father had been there for them; Tom relied on Jed for nearly everything now. With his injured leg, he could hardly get around and the pain meds made him sleep a lot. He wasn't able to do much of anything for Ashley and Sam… although even if that wasn't the case, he wouldn't trust himself with them. He didn't trust himself at all.

He'd let down the most important people in his personal life and also failed to live up to his professional responsibilities. He'd abandoned his crew in the face of a hostile invasion force. They'd barely gotten the ship back, and unfortunately not everyone had lived through the experience. He'd left Dr. Scott and Alicia Granderson in unfamiliar territory without protection; they could have both been killed. Several members of his tactical team had given their lives to correct his mistakes. He'd been fixated on his own problems, his own family, and other people had paid dearly for it. What kind of leader did that make him?

Tom put the picture back on his nightstand and closed his eyes. He didn't have much incentive to get out of bed at the moment. They were all better off without him in control.

TBC...