Work Text:
June 2014
Sasha leaned against a piling, allowing the crowd to surge around her. Although the Nathan James had docked earlier today and the crew had been released fifteen minutes ago, Sasha didn't expect to see Tom anytime soon, so she settled in to watch the crew rushing into the waiting arms of their families. Besides the fact that Tom was always the last to leave the ship, first needing to transition all critical matters and attend to the watch, he also wasn't expecting her to be here, and Sasha had no intention of enlightening him. She smiled as she saw a young sailor throw herself into the arms of a waiting man, peppering his face with kisses as she sobbed, the flowers he was holding getting hopelessly squashed between their bodies.
Sasha recalled the early days of their marriage, back when she came to the dock to meet Tom whenever their schedules lined up. Which was never as often as she would've liked, but also not as seldom as she had feared. She had never been quite so demonstrative, always keeping in the back of her mind that Tom was almost ten years older and therefore already in a position where he was expected to set an example for the younger crew. But there had been a few times when there was more PDA than officially permitted while in uniform. Of course, given the state of the country after 9/11, people had been fairly willing to look the other way.
Enough time had passed for the crowd to clear before Sasha spied Mike striding across the deck. He stopped abruptly, apparently catching sight of her as well, before turning and disappearing. Christine and the kids weren't here, but that didn't surprise Sasha. Christine and Mike had been married even longer than Sasha and Tom and Christine knew the score. Showing up at the docks with two teenagers and an adventurous nine-year-old was pretty much asking for Mike's homecoming to devolve into either a crisis — like the time Lucas fell down the temporary bleachers and cut his head open, resulting in the presence of a dozen EMTs and Mike getting pulled off the Nathan James an hour early, an event that Tom claimed resulted in three extra hours of paperwork — or a screaming match between Mike and seventeen-year-old Whitney when he, inevitably, noticed what she was wearing, saw a new piercing, or heard whatever new slang she had picked up. Sasha was fully expecting Whitney to announce that she planned to join the Army, just to piss Mike off.
Really, Christine was a saint for putting up with the two of them.
Having seen Mike, Sasha wasn't surprised when, twenty minutes later, Tom appeared, the sight of him making her heart flip. It may have been fifteen years since the first time he turned that sexy grin her way but, if anything, Tom had only grown more handsome over the years. She studied him as he strolled towards her, watching for any sign that he was hurt, memories of the injury that ultimately forced him out of special operations and onto a command track never entirely erased.
He leaned down, giving her the prescribed ten-seconds-or-less kiss, more of a tease than anything, before he straightened. She noticed the slight frown in his eyes. "I wasn't expecting you. Is everything okay?"
Sasha reached up, smoothing the wrinkle on his forehead, before dropping a hand to smooth his shirt — merely an excuse to touch him — explaining. "Everything's fine. Danny's got himself in a mess and it just got me thinking how lucky I am."
She watched as understanding dawned, and his smile relaxed into something more genuine. He arched an eyebrow at her. "You mean because you're guaranteed to get laid tonight and tomorrow and next week?"
Sasha laughed but didn't allow Tom to change the topic. She met his eyes. "I mean, because you didn't give up on me when you could have. Even when, by all rights, you should have. I don't know if I ever really thanked you for that. For always choosing me."
Tom paused, as if surprised by Sasha's candor, before dropping his bag and wrapping his arms around her. His head dropped to her ear. "You were worth the wait, Sasha. Every single minute."
xxxxx
June 2000
Sasha straightened when the doorbell rang. Earlier today she had officially finished the Naval Intelligence Officer Basic Course and now Tom was here to take her out to dinner — a dinner designed to celebrate not just Sasha's successful completion of the program but also the fact that they could now take their relationship public after almost a year of keeping things under wraps.
Tom had spent the last month crossing off days on the calendar while Sasha had spent those days growing more and more convinced that her graduation marked not just the beginning of her life as an intelligence officer in the United States Navy, but also the death of her relationship with Tom.
Not because she didn't love Tom or because he didn't love her or even because going public now would put too much of a spotlight on their prior activities. No, Sasha's conviction was based strictly on practicalities. Since Tom went back on active duty in January, he had been gone a total of nine weeks, and Sasha was looking at a six-month cruise in November. Keeping a relationship alive long-term when one or both of them was more likely than not to be out of the country on any particular day seemed impossible — no matter how passionately Tom argued to the contrary — and Sasha would rather make a clean break now than allow their relationship to disintegrate into anger and bitterness.
She opened the door to find Tom standing on the doorstep, wearing a black suit that perfectly fit his trim frame, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. His smile faltered as he took in her sweatpants and baggy shirt. She could see the understanding in his eyes, yet he refused to admit defeat. "Seems like you're running a little late. Thankfully our reservation isn't until eight so plenty of time to change."
Sasha wavered, understanding the offer that Tom was making. She hadn't made any secret of her concerns — her fears. And yet she could still take it back, reverse herself, get dressed and go out and enjoy the evening he had planned and hope that they could beat the odds.
But she wasn't going to do that.
She felt the tears gathering her eyes as she shook her head. "It won't work, Tom. We both know it. And I can't let this thing between us go bad. I can't. Watching you start to hate me would destroy me."
He didn't move an inch, yet Sasha could see the impact her words had on her. He stood, silent, unmoving, for so long that Sasha almost reached out to touch him. Then he held up the bottle. "Dom Pérignon. It wasn't cheap. It seems like bad form to waste it."
Sasha knew it was a mistake. She did. And yet she felt herself stepping back, waiting for him to pass before she shut the door, following him down the hall. She was just delaying the inevitable — she knew that — and yet she was the one who collected two champagne flutes from the cabinet. She was the one who curled up to Tom as they sat before the fire, pretending to enjoy the top-notch champagne that tasted like nothing. And it was Sasha who took Tom's hand to lead him to the bedroom for one last night together.
Trying to find a way to say goodbye.
xxxxx
August 2000
Sasha dragged herself out of the car and headed towards her front door. While she loved her work, there were days like today, days when all she did was stare at paperwork trying desperately to connect the dots, that made her more than ready to throw in the towel. She was so tired that she was almost at her door before she realized that there was a man standing there, hidden in the shadows. Or, at least, she thought that there was, unless she really was delusional.
"Hi Sasha."
She would have known Tom's voice anywhere. The sound of her name on his lips so beautiful that she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms. Yet she stopped herself. "Why are you here, Tom?"
He smiled, walking towards her, and she could see that he was in BDUs. Rather well worn BDUs that smelled like they hadn't been washed recently. "We got back in this morning."
Her breath caught as understanding dawned. His first stop was her. "You should be with your family."
He kept moving until he was less than a foot away from her. "You're the person I wanted to see."
She closed her eyes, unwilling to accept the look in his. The one that told her that, for Tom anyway, nothing had changed. The problem was, nothing had changed for Sasha either. If anything, she was more certain that she had made the right decision. "Now you've seen me. You can go."
But he didn't, instead stepping closer. "If that's what you want, Sasha."
It wasn't. Despite herself, her hand reached out to curl into his uniform and, when Tom folded her in his arms, she didn't protest. He was so very solid, so very warm, and Sasha found herself swaying into him. His head bent to her hair. "When was the last time you slept?"
She didn't move. Having given in — both to herself and Tom — she was damn well going to enjoy every second. "I don't know."
And then he was turning her, walking towards her apartment, digging through her purse for her keys and letting himself in. He was tucking her into bed when Sasha managed to force herself to caution him. "This doesn't change anything."
He paused, then continued untying his boots, slipping into bed next to her, curling his arms around her again. "I'll take whatever you're willing to give."
xxxxx
October 2000
Sasha walked into the mess night reluctantly. If there had been any chance of avoiding tonight, she would have grabbed it with both hands, even if it meant volunteering to spend the next week kissing-ass on the Hill. But, when the Secretary of the Navy came to Norfolk for a series of inspections and meet-and-greets, a formal dinner was practically mandatory. And as Sasha wasn't scheduled to ship out for another month, she had absolutely no excuse to skip.
The problem, of course, was that Tom would also be here for the same reason. Sasha knew he was home because Tom showed up at her apartment on her birthday, Jed in tow, apparently betting that she wouldn't be able to turn his father away and he was right. Worse, Jed brought all of the fixings to make her a birthday dinner so what Sasha expected to be a five-minute visit turned into hours.
Sasha seriously considered killing Tom as he sat in the chair across from her, sipping his wine and smirking while Jed cooked.
While the chance of running into Tom tonight was statistically small, given the number of people in attendance, Sasha wasn't a fool. Tom would almost certainly take this as an opportunity to remind her of all the reasons why he thought her decision to break things off was still dead-ass wrong.
As he pointed out last week on his way out the door.
Tonight, however, she was determined to keep things strictly professional. A conviction that Sasha kept right up until Tom appeared by her side, passing her a glass of chardonnay without so much as a greeting, and it wasn't as if she could give him the cut direct, not in front of her colleagues. Although there was no way for Tom to have missed the glare she leveled on him as she accepted the wine.
After introducing him to the small circle of people she was speaking with, they stood side-by-side, chatting for several minutes until the others abruptly departed for the bar. Before Sasha could make her own escape, Tom tucked her arms through his. "Shall we mingle?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "We're not here together."
"True," he replied, voice remaining even. "But between the two of us, I would say that we know about half the people here. We might as well use that to our advantage. You introduce me and I'll introduce you."
It wasn't a bad plan, honestly, but Sasha remained suspicious. "And tell them that we met how?"
"In Rhode Island, of course," Tom replied. He winked. "It has the benefit of actually being mostly true."
She waited until they had maneuvered through their third group before dropping her voice. "This changes nothing, Tom."
He didn't even pretend to take her seriously. "Oh look, there's Lieutenant Slattery."
xxxxx
November 2000
Sasha was mentally running through her list of things that she needed to get done before shipping out when the phone rang. She picked it up absently. "Hello."
"It's me." A slight pause before he added, "Don't hang up."
She would've recognized the voice anywhere, but there was something different about Tom's tone — it was deeper, almost a growl, rather than the smooth, half-amused lilt she was used to hearing. Her fingers tightened on the phone. "What's wrong?"
"I'm in Germany." Sasha didn't need a translation. Ramstein. The only reason that Tom would be in Germany right now as opposed to Somalia with his team hunting down al-Qaeda was if something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
"Are you ... okay?" She hated the way her voice shook. But just the thought of something happening to Tom was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"I'm fine, Sasha. Really," his voice had dropped, the words for her ears only, even though she doubted he was actually alone. "I took myself out. I was dragging the team down. Putting them in danger."
She doubted that it was quite so simple, yet she felt herself relaxed slightly. "You made the right decision."
"I," he paused. "I'll be home next week. Dad's cooking a special dinner for my birthday. We were hoping that you could come."
Sasha's eyes closed involuntarily, hating that she could feel the burn of tears. And that was the reason why the decision she made in June was the right one. "I'm shipping out on the 28th."
There was only a second's pause. "On the Truman?"
"Yes," Sasha confirmed reluctantly. It wasn't a secret, not exactly, but she also knew Tom too well to think that he wouldn't do something with that information. In other words, she would be getting mail.
"Then I guess I'll see you in May when you get back." His tone was softer, almost normal, and it occurred to Sasha that, if he already knew when the Truman was scheduled to return to Norfolk, he must be keeping tabs on her.
Kind of the way she kept tabs on him.
"Unless you're gone again," Sasha retorted but there was no heat in the observation. She hated the way her heart leapt at the idea of seeing Tom — even if it was six months away.
He didn't reply, not directly. "I put in for reclassification and applied for 'A' school. That way I can transition to a ship."
Sasha blinked. "That hasn't been done since..."
Tom interrupted with a laugh. "And when have I ever done things the standard way?" There was a noise in the background. "I have to go. I'll see you in May, Sasha."
And despite knowing better, Sasha found herself repeating. "In May."
xxxxx
April 2001
Sasha made another random left, still considering whether to turn around and return to the safe house she had been calling home for the past ten weeks, with no end in sight. The quick, in-and-out operation that she was originally recruited for was long done, but nobody here seemed to be in any hurry to leave.
Yet Sasha didn't turn around.
She couldn't bear the thought of Tom sending letter after letter to the Truman, maybe even trying to call, only to receive silence in return. She knew that the uncertainty would gnaw at him — the same way it would gnaw at her if their positions were reversed. He had known that — understood that — when he called her in November to make sure she knew where he was and why he wasn't with his team. She should have done the same, tipping him off before leaving the ship, but she had naively believed that the special assignment she had been given because she was fluent in Russian and Chechen — courtesy of her parents and not a common skill set — would take only two weeks and then she would return to her post on the Truman before anyone was the wiser. Clearly that was not going to happen.
Meaning Tom would keep worrying.
Or, worse, he would think that she was ignoring him deliberately.
Which is why, after another ten minutes of wandering to make sure she hadn't been trailed, Sasha slipped into the telephone booth, loading an absurd amount of money, before dialing the number she knew by heart.
Hello, you have reached Thomas Chandler...
She had been half expecting this, given that she wasn't even sure if he was in Norfolk, yet she couldn't quite hide her disappointment when his machine kicked in.
"Hi, it's me. I just wanted you to know that I'm..."
"Don't hang up!"
He was breathless, as though he had made a mad dash for the phone. Sasha almost melted with relief. "Hi."
For a second neither of them spoke, the silence conveying more than either could possibly put into words.
Then Sasha recalled how limited their time was. "I ... took an unexpected side tour. Mail isn't working. I didn't want you to worry."
She couldn't tell him what she was doing or where she was, but she could give him this much.
She hoped it was enough.
"Not worrying about you would be impossible," Tom replied, the sound of his voice sending a whisper of awareness down her spine. "How long do we have?"
She shouldn't have called at all but, having relayed her message, she should get off the phone immediately. Instead, Sasha heard herself say. "Given how much money I fed this thing, we should have a few minutes." She paused. There was so much to talk about — and yet they both understood that this wasn't the time or place. "How are you?"
"Good. Leg's healed." He paused. "I'm leaving on the Enterprise in a couple of weeks."
Sasha straightened, a million questions on the tip of her tongue. Yes, he had mentioned switching tracks during their last call, but Sasha hadn't taken him seriously, knowing how rare such a transition was and guessing how many drugs had been pumping through his body at the time. "If anyone can do it, it's you."
There was a pause before he replied, his voice hoarse, as though she wasn't the only one who had just realized that Tom would be gone before Sasha got back — assuming she even made it back to the Truman. "Dad is here trying to feed me again. I swear that I'm going to gain fifty pounds if he doesn't find someone else to cook for."
Sasha let her eyes fall closed as Tom continued speaking, soaking up the sound of his voice, knowing that this might be the last time for months or, god forbid, ever. It was the ping of the phone, the robotic voice reminding her that she needed to insert more money that prompted her to interrupt.
"I have to go now. But..." She almost didn't say it, but reality that she might not make it home this time compelling her to add. "I ..."
Click.
"...love you."
The whispered words were too late, the call already dropped. Sasha hung up the receiver reluctantly. She couldn't take the risk of making another call, not now or tomorrow or next week or next month.
She could only hope that he understood, and when she finally did get there, eventually, he would be waiting.
xxxxx
November 2001
Sasha stood on the edge of the crowd milling around the dock. The Enterprise had arrived late last night, but the crew wouldn't be released for another hour. She wasn't sure what compelled her to arrive so early.
Actually, that was a lie.
She had needed to get here early, to scope out the crowds, watching to see if there was anyone carrying a Welcome Home Tom! sign. That was also why she lingered at the rear. The idea of running up to Tom, jumping into his arms, only to find out that she wasn't the only woman waiting for him to disembark was too horrible to contemplate. It had been a year since they saw each other — a year — exactly what Sasha had worried about when she broke things off.
And yet it hadn't changed a single thing about how she felt about Tom.
She was so busy studying the people around her that she actually missed Tom when he finally did leave the ship. He was slipping through the crowd, duffle on his back, when she finally noticed him. Looking as though he didn't expect anyone to be here. Sasha hesitated for only a second.
"Tom!" She called, lifting her hand.
He froze, then turned slowly, and Sasha could see the disbelief on his face. He took a step in her direction, then stopped, before taking another step. Losing her patience at the delay, Sasha closed the distance, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Welcome home, sailor."
Then he was pulling her into his arms, his head buried in her hair, his voice low and for her ears only. "God, I missed you."
And for the first time in over a year, Sasha felt herself relax, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I missed you too."
"When did you get back?" he asked.
Sasha leaned back, meeting his eyes, not trying to evade the question. "A couple weeks ago. We kept getting delayed. I thought about calling but ..."
"But you figured that you could scope things out better by showing up in person?" he replied, voice amused. When Sasha merely shrugged, he turned, looping an arm around her waist and tugging her away from the crowd. "What do you say we get out of here?"
Sasha chuckled, then laughed, and then realized that she was crying. "I say yes."
xxxxx
Current Day
Sasha glanced at him curiously as Tom turned them, heading away from the ship. "Don't you have to finish up paperwork?"
"Hm?" The rumble of Tom's voice had Sasha squeezing a little closer. "Oh, Mike said he'll handle it. The girls have an out-of-town volleyball game so Christine won't be back until later tonight anyway. No reason to rush home to an empty house."
Sasha decided that she was not going to comment on Mike's decision to skip time with his family. She had enough on her plate already. Besides, those two always seemed to work through whatever problems they were having. Instead, she wrapped her own arm around Tom's waist. "Have I mentioned recently that I love you?"
"You do?" Tom replied, gasping at her.
Sasha whacked him in the stomach, drawing a familiar laugh.
He tucked his duffle higher on his shoulder. "So what did Green do now? Last I heard, he was questioning the wisdom of monogamy with a member of the Navy. Strange. That dilemma sounds so familiar and yet I can't quite figure out why..."
Sasha shot him a grin. "Oh, it's way better than that." She deliberately paused, waiting for him to ask.
"Fine, I give." Tom checked his watch. "I'll make you a deal. You can fill me in on Green's most recent screw-up while we drive home but as soon as we step foot in that house I want alone time with my wife for the next twenty-four hours. Deal?"
Sasha stopped, leaning up to give him another kiss. "Deal."