Chapter 5

Thomas
Wednesday, one week later

Two days after his fever broke, he was able to sit up in bed. A day after that, they removed his catheter and allowed him to take short, fully assisted walks to the bathroom. Two days after that he was attempting brief walks around the floor of the hospital, clinging to his IV pole for dear life.

Rick and TC were with him every literal step of the way. The muscle pain stole his breath if he moved too suddenly or for too long a time. He felt like he'd literally wrenched his muscles from his bones and taped them back again. His legs trembled with each agonizing step. His arms refused to lift for longer than a few minutes. Frustration with his own weakness warred with relief that he was able to move at all.

As the days passed, his muscles slowly recovered, his shoulder reluctantly began to heal. Only his eyesight seemed to be stubborn about its recovery, though Yeats repeatedly reassured him that it was temporary and that he could already notice improvements. Thomas clung to that promise, to each stronger step, each clearer view, as miniscule as it was. He focused only on that, not on what had triggered his yearning for escape, not on the hours alone. Each day, he made healing his entire purpose.

But each night, he dreamed of the ocean.

He would feel himself caught in its rolling embrace, bobbing on the surface, tugged beneath the waves. Dreams of the ocean folded into dreams of the cave, the hole, and the feeling of a cloth stretched over his face as buckets of icy water swept over him.

He woke one morning gasping desperately for air, his neck straining as he fought the suffocating barrage. Before consciousness truly helped him, he was reaching for his face, desperate to free himself from the suffocating cloth, frantic for air.

He'd ended up pulling his nasal cannula loose and feeling two slim, cool hands at his wrists, an urgent voice pleading with him to breathe.

Opening his eyes, he saw a blurred smudge of blond hair. He hadn't quite realized what he was saying until Juliet's voice reassured him with delicate firmness that no, he wasn't being waterboarded. And no, he wasn't in the ocean. He was safe. He could breathe.

"Higgy?" He rasped, his voice cracking with awareness as he said her name.

"Yes," she replied, her relief palpable. "Yes, it's me, Magnum."

He'd let her lower his arms and replace his cannula, still unable to really see her. He simply focused on her voice.

"Could've…could've sworn I was…," he'd whispered.

Juliet sighed softly, one of her hands resting against his cheek. "I know," was all she'd said.

The dreams of the ocean were easier to handle than the flashbacks to being waterboarded. One night, he woke with Rick's voice firm in his ear, ordering him to open his eyes. He obeyed, seeing nothing but smudged blackness around him.

"Listen to my voice, Tommy," Rick's tone brooked no quarter. "You're safe, you hear me? They can't get to you anymore."

"Not…," he'd gasped, trying to find balance in the nondescript blackness surrounding him. "Not…waterboard—"

"Hell no, man," Rick's hands were warm at the sides of his face, his thumbs pressing gently against his cheekbones. "Never again, I swear. I swear."

"Felt…felt so real," Thomas confessed, forcing his lungs to slow their desperate grasps for air, pressing his cracked lips closed and forcing breathes through his nose. "Too fucking real."

"It wasn't real," Rick asserted. "I'm real. Higgy's real. You're in Hawaii. You hear the sea? Just outside the window."

Thomas flinched. He could hear it over the beeps of the machines, the sounds of the traffic. At some point, someone had opened the window in his room—most likely thinking the fresh air would be a welcome respite from the closed in feeling of the hospital room.

But that sound…it shook through him, an anchor at his heels, pulling him beneath the surface, pressing against him until his heart hammered at the base of his throat, choking him.

"Perhaps that's the problem," Juliet's voice swam over him, the gentle murmur tugging on his scattered attention. "Rick, close the window."

Rick's hands had disappeared and in moments the room was suddenly, blessedly still. No waves, no tide, no feel of liquid suffocation. Just machine beeps and muted voices on overhead speakers, and the quieting murmurs of his friends. Thomas allowed himself to sink back into the dark peace of sleep with Rick's hand on his wrist and Juliet's voice in his ear.

TC had been next to him two days ago when he started in on physical therapy for his shoulder. The infected tissue had been abraded and repaired, the muscles needing special attention beyond just the rest prescribed.

"Fuck, this hurts," he'd panted, sitting on the edge of his bed, slowly pulling against an oversized rubber band hooked to the closed bathroom door, his ab muscles protesting his upright posture with a trembling vengeance.

"Use that pain, T.M.," TC had coached. "Let it fuel you."

"Hate getting shot," Thomas grumbled. "It's the worst."

"Is it, though?" TC countered, finding whatever ways he could to distract him. It was an old tactic, but it always worked. "I can think of worse."

"Name…one," Thomas panted, pulling the band.

TC kept his hand at Thomas' back, bracing him. Balancing him. Pushing him to finish one more rep.

"Choking on a ghost pepper," TC suggested.

Thomas barked out a surprised laugh. He pulled again, the ache in his shoulder now familiar, the muscles trembling. He'd flashed for a moment to the feel of saltwater burning the opened wound, fire crawling beneath his skin.

"Stepping on a sea urchin," TC continued, still close to Thomas, but at once miles away. Thomas pulled again. "Eating a puffer fish…."

Thomas suddenly couldn't breathe. "Drowning," he gasped.

TC gently grasped his arm, easing his fingers open and took the rubber band from him, letting it drop to the floor. Thomas felt his hands on either side of his face, forcing him to focus even if he couldn't see.

"Thomas," TC said, his voice low and steady. "You made it, man. You didn't drown. You made it."

Thomas tried to nod, but TC's hands held his head fast. He lifted his trembling arms, wrapping his fingers around TC's wrists.

"You with me?"

"Yeah," Thomas managed, keeping hold of TC's wrists as he lowered his hands. "Still sucks getting shot, though."

TC chuckled. "Not gonna fight ya on that, T.M. You'd know best."

"Damn straight."

Now, he was sitting in a chair, facing the window of his room, alone for the first time since he'd been in the ocean.

Well, marginally alone. Rick was down the hall filling out release forms and TC was getting the Island Hoppers van so they could take him home. He still couldn't walk unaided, bright lights gave him a migraine, he couldn't see faces, his shoulder was still heavily bandaged with his arm in a sling, and his skin was peeling in rather unattractive layers, but he was ready to be out of this room.

To smell something different than antiseptic and hear something different than the beeps of machines.

He startled slightly at a knock on the door.

"Magnum?" Katsumoto called from the other side of the curtain. "You in there?"

Thomas chuckled. "I can't go ten steps without falling flat on my face," he said, half-turning in the chair. "Where else would I be?"

Katsumoto stepped into the room. Thomas squinted, trying to focus, then widened his eyes attempting to bring in more light. None of it worked; Katsumoto was still a smudge of white with dark hair as he came closer.

"Seeing any better?" he asked.

"Instead of a big dark blur I see a big light blur," Thomas quipped.

"Funny," Katsumoto chuckled.

Thomas sensed him moving closer but couldn't turn further. Katsumoto saved him from asking for help by rotating the chair with Thomas in it to face the doorway, then leaned against the foot of Thomas' bed. Thomas shifted the sling holding his left arm so that the strap didn't rub quite as much against his sun-burned neck. Juliet had wrapped the strap in several layers of cloth, but the weight still got to him every so often.

"You look better," Katsumoto commented. "You're peeling like a snake, but…you look better."

"Thanks," Thomas grimaced good naturedly.

Katsumoto was silent for a moment—long enough that Thomas grew a bit anxious not being able to see his face.

"I have someone who would like to talk to you," Katsumoto finally said, the words coming out in a rush as if he wanted to get as far away from them as he could.

"Talk to me?" Thomas asked, trying to keep his gaze as close to where he knew Katsumoto's face was as he could.

Katsumoto cleared his throat. "I saw you the day you were brought in…the day Rick and TC found you," he confessed. "And then I saw you the next day. And the next."

Thomas swallowed, listening to the tension creep into Katsumoto's voice. He hadn't realized the Detective had come by that often.

"And I couldn't help but think about…that day in the jungle when…when I had to bring you back to life."

Thomas felt his still-healing lips bounce in a reflexive smile. "Thought we were never to speak of that."

"Yeah, well…things change, Magnum," Katsumoto replied. "You are pretty much the single most infuriating person I have ever met. But…you're still my friend."

Thomas smiled, letting his gaze slide to the floor, relaxing.

"And seeing my friend just so…so damaged," Katsumoto paused, and Thomas sensed a shift in the air as the man stood. "I couldn't just let that go."

"Gordon…what did you do?" Thomas brought his face up once more, but lost track of Katsumoto.

"I went after the guys who knocked you from your outrigger with…rather extreme prejudice," Katsumoto told him, and Thomas tracked his voice to the blurred image now standing at the base of the hospital bed. "Turns out two of them are legal adults—one is twenty-one, the other twenty-three. And they are being charged with reckless endangerment and attempted manslaughter."

"Jesus, Gordon," Thomas breathed. "I mean, are you sure? I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Magnum," Katsumoto barked, and Thomas jerked in reaction to the sudden sound. "You can't see, you can't even walk yet, and you…. I can't get that image of you out of my head. From when you were brought in. I've seen you look bad before but that…."

Thomas felt himself curl forward slightly in the chair, wanting to get small enough to avoid the missile strikes that were Katsumoto's words.

"In any case," Katsumoto took a breath, "one of them has asked the judge for leniency, which she agreed to on the grounds he visit you, talk to you, and understand the severity of his actions."

"Which one?"

"The younger one," Katsumoto informed him.

"Where is he now?" Thomas asked, attempting to square his shoulders.

Katsumoto paused a moment, then said, "He's outside at the nurse's station with Rick."

Thomas blinked. "You left him with Rick?"

"I figured the nurses would keep him alive long enough to serve his time if Rick decided to do something."

Thomas smiled slightly, then nodded. "Yeah, okay, I'll talk to him."

"Thanks, Thomas," Katsumoto sighed with evident relief.

Thomas huffed a small laugh. "Don't think I've ever heard you use my first name before."

"Don't let it go to your head," Katsumoto grumbled and started to turn toward the door.

"Hey, Gordon," Thomas called, pausing the man. "Thank you. For finding those guys, I mean. I don't know how you did it, but…just, thank you."

"I had to do something," Katsumoto confessed. "And I couldn't help anyone here. This was the only…."

Thomas could hear how much his friend—because despite their occasional barbed exchanges and Katsumoto's paper-thin trust, they were friends—had needed to take this action. He remembered how much he wanted to find the bastards who killed Nuzo, how much he needed to make someone pay for hurting someone important to him.

"I get it," he nodded. "Go get the kid before Rick decides he needs to be admitted."

Thomas waited for several tense minutes before he heard footsteps approaching again. He could tell it was more than just Katsumoto and his charge by the way the room seemed to suddenly press around him.

"Rick?" he called, head tilted toward the door to the room.

"I'm here," Rick replied, his voice tight, clipped, like the burst retort of machine gun fire.

"Thomas Magnum, this is James Slovick."

Thomas heard sneakers shuffling across the linoleum-covered floor and a blurred image came closer to him. He purposefully looked just to the left of the blurred image when he spoke.

"I'd stand up to say hi, but my legs aren't working too well right now," he said.

"They never said you were paralyzed," the kid commented, an underscore of fear riding a current beneath the tough exterior of his tone.

"Well, I'm not," Thomas said, "but when you have to tread water for over twenty hours in the middle of the ocean, your body kind of shuts down on you. It's going to take a while to get everything working again."

"You blind, too?"

Thomas lifted a shoulder. "For now," he said. "It's pretty damn bright out there."

The feet shifted again. "Thought they said you were a SEAL."

"I am."

"Thought SEALs were supposed to be bad ass or something."

Thomas wished he could see the kid's face. He could picture Rick's right now in response to that statement, and he sensed Katsumoto stepping sideways to put himself between Rick and the kid as a precaution.

"We are," Thomas replied.

"Just saying…thought this kind of thing would be nothing to you," James said, and Thomas could hear defiance growing in his tone.

"You know, it's funny," Thomas said, sinking in his chair as his back muscles began to spasm. "I said the same thing to myself out there. I was freezing, but my skin was burning. And my legs kept cramping up. And I'd already faced down one shark and had no idea if any others were in the area. And I was so thirsty, man. I have never been that thirsty. But I kept saying to myself you're a goddamn Navy SEAL. This is nothing." The kid sniffed and Thomas felt the pressure in the room shift. "I must have said it to myself a hundred times. This is nothing. This is nothing."

Thomas felt a weighted silence stem from Rick and Katsumoto.

"Yeah, well," James mumbled.

"Thing is, James," Thomas said softly, his gaze drifting to the floor. "It wasn't nothing. It was harder than anything I've ever had to do. And I was in a POW camp in Afghanistan for eighteen months."

"You were?" James asked, suddenly sounding incredibly, heart-breakingly young.

"Want to know why this was harder?"

The kid was silent; Thomas imagined he could hear Rick's heart pounding from across the room.

"Because I was alone," Thomas spoke up. "No one but you knew where I was. And I couldn't save myself. I knew the only way I was going to live was if someone found me."

"So…who did?"

"My friends," Thomas replied, smiling softly. "They knew something wasn't right and pieced together the clues…and didn't stop until they brought me home."

"Got some good friends, man."

"I do," Thomas nodded. "But y'know…if you'd said something. If you'd stopped…none of that would have happened."

The room was a heavy kind of quiet. Thomas hadn't realized he was going to say that when he started talking but now that it was out there, he let it lay in the middle of them, let the kid think about it while he tried not to.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Magnum," James said quietly. "You don't know how sorry. I didn't…I didn't even know…we were all drinking and Sal wasn't paying attention and we figured…I mean, you could still see the land and…I didn't know about the current and…I'm so, so sorry."

By the time he finished speaking, James was crying. Thomas wanted to comfort him somehow, but he knew this was what the kid needed: remorse. Some of the best lessons in life were built from genuine remorse.

"I'm glad you're sorry," Thomas said, weariness seeping into his tone as he let his head drop back, the muscles in his neck trembling. "Because now maybe you'll respect the ocean more. You'll pay closer attention out there. It's not some big…swimming pool. People die. I…I should have died."

He felt his throat close at those words, repeating them almost to himself in realization. "I should have died."

"But you didn't," Rick spoke up from the back of the room. "Because you're a bad ass Navy SEAL."

"And stubborn as hell," Katsumoto chimed in.

Thomas swallowed the knot of emotion that sat at the base of his throat and forced a trembling smile onto his face.

"Just…remember this, James," Thomas said quietly. "Whatever the judge says…remember this."

"I will," James promised. "I swear."

"Let's go, kid," Katsumoto said. "You got an appointment with the judge. I'll catch you later, Magnum."

Thomas heard their feet retreating from the room. When they'd gone, he reached up to rub his aching eyes, wanting to sleep for a week.

"You still with me, bud?" Rick's voice was closer now.

"I'm here."

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I got something for you," Rick said.

"A shot of tequila?"

"Ha! Funny guy," Rick chuckled. Thomas felt him pick up his hand and something small drop into his palm. "You can thank Juliet for that."

Thomas moved his fingers around it. "It's my ring," he said in wonder. "She fixed it?"

"Well, she had it fixed," Rick shrugged. "Need some help?"

Thomas shook his head, sliding the Cross of Lorraine ring back over his finger, relishing the feel of it being where it belonged.

"You ready to go home?"

Thomas blinked blearily up to where Rick's voice came from. "Hell yes."

It was quite the ordeal, his going home. Leaving the hospital was the easiest part.

From there it was a bit of a battle of wills between Juliet and Rick as to where Thomas would stay, who would watch over him, how his care should be structured. Thomas sat in the front of the van with TC, listening to the two of them bicker like siblings in the back. When they pulled up to the stone lot of the estate, TC went around to the passenger side and helped Thomas out of the van.

They were making a slow, awkward trek down to the guest house before Juliet and Rick realized they'd made half of the decisions for them. Thomas was grateful for the backdrop of their argument; it blocked out the sound of the sea that suddenly seemed a lot closer than it had before. The flutter of panic that rose at simply hearing that sound twisted his stomach.

"Are you sure this is the best idea, Magnum?" Juliet argued. "There is plenty of room in the main house, and Robin practically insisted—"

"It's fine, Higgins," Thomas replied tiredly as TC maneuvered them into the guest house. He just needed to sleep, just for a few hours. "I'll be fine."

"You will hardly be fi—"

"Higgy," TC shut her down. "It's okay. He's going to need all of us for a while."

Thomas heard Juliet's teeth clack together as she shut her mouth. He smiled to himself as TC helped him into his bed, sighing with happiness as he sank into the soft mattress and fresh sheets. He never knew if TC left the room, he fell asleep that fast.

His sleep was, thankfully, dreamless. That was something he'd mark as a win with this whole ordeal: he hadn't dreamed of Hannah since the day he was rescued. He'd dreamed of fire and pain, of waterboarding and beatings, of his father, mother, and Nuzo.

But not Hannah.

He woke up in a room by himself for the first time in over a week. He lay still for a moment, simply breathing in the soft gray light that wrapped around him. He could hear movement in the living room and outside on the lanai. He knew his friends were close; he wasn't truly alone. And for that, he was grateful.

Standing shakily from his bed, he had to pause to breathe slowly as his equilibrium caught up with his changed position. Using furniture and walls as support, he made his way to the bathroom without calling anyone for help. He knew his room in the dark, it stood to reason he could navigate it with his damaged vision. He turned on the bathroom light instinctively, flinching back at the brightness and flicking it off immediately.

It wasn't as if he could see his reflection anyway.

Scratching at the scruff that had grown along his jaw over the last week and a half, he fumbled through the cabinets until he found towels, then made his way to the shower. It took everything in him to finish the shower without falling over. He was so damn tired of his muscles aching, of the trembling soreness that hung out in his joints, along his bones, perfectly happy to steal his breath and squeeze out a groan of pain when he simply couldn't hold it back any longer.

By the time he was done, he was shaking so hard, he had to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Thomas?"

Rick's voice was a welcomed relief on the other side of the door.

"Yeah," he managed, his voice trembling with just that one word.

"You good, man?"

"I, uh…could use some help."

Rick stepped inside and Thomas closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He heard the snap of the light bulb filaments as Rick turned on the switch—he may not need the light, but Rick did. The soft brush of a towel felt wonderful on the top of his head, rubbing his hair dry, then draping around his shoulders.

"You bring any clothes in here with you?" Rick asked.

"I kinda forgot," Thomas confessed, blinking his eyes open, staring at the blurred image of the floor mat as he got used to the brightness.

Rick said nothing, just stepped away and in a moment was back with clean, dry clothes that were soft against his still sensitive skin. Thomas reached up, gripping Rick's shoulder for balance. They'd done this routine several times while he was still in the hospital; modesty had no place between them anymore.

"You should be wearing that sling, you know," Rick admonished as he helped him dress.

"Pulls against the sunburn," Thomas complained.

"Yeah, I figured."

"Hey…, uh," Thomas started, unsure how to ask this next favor. Rick leaned him against the bathroom counter, waiting him out. "Any chance you think you could help me with…this?" He scratched at the scruff.

"Have a seat, my good man," Rick guided him to the closed toilet lid once more. He draped a towel backwards around his throat and chest. "I'll have you fixed up like new in no time."

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head as Rick slathered the shaving cream on his face. "You did this for me in Germany, too."

"Twice," Rick recalled.

"I only remember once," Thomas replied.

"That's because you were unconscious for the first one."

"A little intrusive, don't you think?" Thomas teased.

Rick huffed. "Does it help if I remind you that Nuzo told me to?"

"Ah, good point. He did out-rank you," Thomas conceded. "You didn't have much of a choice."

They were silent for a moment. Thomas let his mind wander as Rick continued to carefully shave his whiskers from his cheeks and jawline.

"Hey, one silver lining," Rick said, breaking into Thomas' musings on the best ways to avoid hearing the sea from his lanai. "Your bruise is all healed up."

"My bruise?"

"From my fist," Rick wiped his jawline clean with a damp towel.

Thomas huffed out a laugh, then let it build until he was practically weeping with the force of it. He had to lean forward, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. When he finally calmed down, he pulled in a slow breath and realized that Rick was crouched in front of him, waiting him out.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Tommy?"

"I forgot all about you hitting me," Thomas tried, but knew that wasn't going to satisfy his friend.

"I know I'm not Balboa, but…that little display of hysterics wasn't just about my punching abilities."

Thomas let Rick finish cleaning off the shaving cream and help him stand before he answered, his hands pausing at his elbows as he made sure he was balanced.

"I…I think I'm afraid of hearing the sea."

He felt Rick's hands still, fingers gripping with a bit more intensity than just stabilizing him.

"Just hearing it?"

"It…I feel panicked. Like I can't breathe right. I've…I don't know what's going on with me," Thomas shook his head, reaching up to rub at his aching head. "Can you cut the lights, man? It's messing with my eyes."

"Sure," Rick released him and a moment later, the bathroom was dim once more. "Tommy…you might not like this, but…I—we—got an idea."

Thomas dropped his hand from his head, then reached out to find Rick's shoulder. "What kind of an idea?"

"One that we think you need…," Rick cleared his throat nervously. "But you gotta trust us."

Thomas frowned. "I can't see and I can barely walk," he reminded his friend. "Trust is basically all I got going for me right now."

"Okay, well…good."

Rick pulled his arm across his shoulders, easing him through the doorway of his room. The ache in his legs was eased by the heat of the shower, but he'd been on his feet for longer than he had in days and he could feel the tremble begin at the base of his abs, working outward. He curled his fingers in Rick's shirtsleeve as they headed down the hall to the living room where TC was waiting. Thomas could tell the big man was sitting in the far chair, but he couldn't clearly see what he held in his hands.

"Are you still reading that Hero's Journey book?" Rick asked.

"It's fascinating," TC replied.

"Well, take a book break," Rick told him. "We got a job to do."

"Copy that," TC replied, and Thomas sensed him stand and approach them.

He was standing almost fully supported by his friends, unable to see either one clearly, feeling as though he was the only one in the room who didn't know what was happening in that moment.

"Guys, what are you…?"

"T.M., we figured you might…struggle a bit, being back here, this close to the ocean," TC told him.

He felt Rick nod. "Yeah, so…we thought we'd do this in stages. Kinda like…easing you back in the saddle."

Thomas blinked. Saddle? "Uh, guys…no way I'm ready for an outrigger right now."

TC chuckled. "Have some faith, brother."

Rick turned him and Thomas found himself being led through the living room and across the lanai to the lawn that stretched out to the private beach. They paused for a moment as TC fit sunglasses over his sensitive eyes, protecting him from the late-afternoon sun as it searched for the surface of the water.

"You want your ball cap?" Rick asked.

Thomas shook his head. "Not yet. Head's still too burned."

"Good point."

"Are…are the dogs around?" Thomas asked as they made their way slowly across the lawn. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to dodge them the way his legs were shaking.

"They're with Higgins," Rick said. "She'll meet us on the beach."

He could smell the sand. And the salt. And the unique odor of sea that spoke of depth and life and strength and danger. It seemed to seep into him the closer they drew. He felt his breathing begin to pick up, a panic that he'd never felt before wrapping around him.

"Easy, man," Rick said softly. "You got this."

"Don't…don't know what's wrong with me," he gasped.

"Just one step at a time, Thomas," TC encouraged. "We got four chairs right in front of you."

Thomas reached out a hand and felt the wooden tops of the Adirondack chairs that hadn't been there a week ago. Rick eased him down into one and he buried his toes in the sand at his feet, gripping the wide, flat arms of the chair tightly. The late day wind picked up and tossed the waves gently against the beach, the sound familiar and terrifying.

He closed his eyes, blocking out even the attempt to see what was in front of him, flashes of open water, of a shark fin, of endless blue around him, beneath him, above him striking him like blows from a fists, hurting more than Rick's knuckles ever could.

It had once been home. A requiem for the origin of who he was now. It had once been his peace.

But the sound…the smell of it. He felt tears burn the backs of his eyes, his hands trembling against the arms of the chair. He had no idea where Rick and TC were…if Juliet and the lads were near.

It was just him, the sea, and the fear.

They turned us into weapons…and they told us to find peace.

He'd found it, once. And he lost it. Without this peace, was he simply a weapon? He didn't know how to be that anymore.

Let's play the alphabet game, Tommy.

His father challenged his doubts, faced his fears head-on. At least that's what his mother had said. He'd started this whole thing to do just that—to rid himself of the doubt, the fear that seeing Hannah again had shot though him. Quite literally.

Your father knew you'd bring great honor to our name, but that it would cause you great pain.

"How about taking a slow breath for us," Rick said, suddenly closer than Thomas realized.

He tried. He held his breath, then exhaled slowly, opening his eyes and blinking against the salt-tinged breeze. He felt the panic reach for his throat once more and he held his breath again.

You don't quit. That's all you gotta do. Not quit.

He couldn't hide from this. Not this. Not now. He knew what he needed to do.

"Help me up," he demanded, his voice trembling.

"Thomas—"

"Help me up," he ordered, infusing an edge into his words, making them impossible to deny.

Rick's hand lay on his shoulder for a moment, then slid down to cup his elbow and draw him to his feet. He moved slowly away from Rick, his feet shuffling carefully through the sand so that he didn't stumble, his legs feeling as though they were made of glass. The sound of the waves grew louder, the smell stronger. He tossed away his sunglasses, closing his sensitive eyes against the muted glare of the setting sun.

Not worried about you letting me down, kid. That's never been an issue. Worried about you not watching out for yourself. This is not an adventure.

"Biggest adventure of our lives," Thomas whispered, gasping an unsteady breath as the waves brushed against his bare feet.

He swayed; the sand sucked from beneath him as the water retreated. Before he could lose his balance, two hands reached out to brace him, one at each elbow. TC and Rick stood on either side of him, their feet in the surf. Without his having to ask, they stepped forward, guiding him into the waves until the water hit mid-calf.

Thomas felt his breathing hitch with the feel of the wet sand, the cold of the water.

It had been home once. And he wanted to be welcome there again.

"You will be, man," Rick said quietly.

"D-didn't mean to s-say that out l-loud," Thomas stammered, the chill cutting through him. "I'm just so…so fucking tired of being scared."

"You don't have to be scared, Tommy," Rick said. "You got us."

"And we aren't going anywhere," TC rumbled.

They stood for several long moments, the water lapping at their legs, the heat of the sun cooling as it sank into the waves. He couldn't quite see it yet, but he knew he would. He couldn't quite stand on his own, either, but he didn't have to.

"You bleed, I bleed," he whispered.

Rick and TC stood on either side of him, hands at his elbows, steady anchors in the waves.

And he was home.

FIN

A/N:

My sincere thanks for reading. Fanfic is a true escape-and right now, with the world as it is and everyone sequestered for the duration, we all need a bit of an escape. I'm not sure where the next idea will take me, or what fandom the muse will seek to explore, but I always look forward to the adventure. And I always appreciate the gift of your time.

Stay safe, everyone.