ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴄʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇʀ

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Eight days. Eight days. She can’t believe she survived. Can’t believe she’s missed over a week of her life. She’s thankful for so many things, but mostly that he’s here with her. That he didn’t leave her. A shuddering breath and she’s sipping his water slowly, but with vigor, needing it so they can talk. She has so many questions, but she’s too tired to ask them. She just wants to stare at his face awhile and listen to him talk. She hands the water back, eager to take his hand back in hers.

“Eight days? That’s…I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t even know why she’s sorry. What if he didn’t worry about her? What if he didn’t care, and was just here by duty? Negativity suddenly fills her and she’s worried, brow furrowing. She licks her dry lips, searching those ice blue eyes. The ones she saw in her dreams, her memories. She feels like they lived a lifetime behind her eyes that he knows nothing about. She wants to tell him about them….but what if he turns her away?

His faith in her is comforting and she takes a moment to digest his “I knew you could.” She missed hearing his voice, and she doesn’t even know how. Another tear escapes and she’s practically dropping the cup to grasp his hand, afraid he’ll walk out and leave her alone.  She could not handle that right now. She wants to drink in everything about him, from his scent to his face to his touch.

“Have I missed much?”

She’s apologizing, and he doesn't know why. Why on earth would she say sorry? For being out that long? Hell, she could’ve been out longer! Or worse! Dead. She could be d e a d. He’ll take eight whole days of hell. Unable to sleep, eat, drink, unable to confront the shooter. He’s still locked up. No one will do a thing yet. In hopes they could get some more information about the rebels. 

Now that she’s woken up........ Maybe he can put a bullet through his head. He can do so much more now. 

    “ Why are you apologizing? You’re the one that got shot.       Everyone was afraid you weren’t gonna pull through. ”

He had hoped. He had hoped, it came, it went. Tom looks down at her, she had tears slipping down her cheeks, and it causes his heart to clench. She shouldn’t be crying. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, offering her a small and gentle smile, one he doesn’t use often. 

    “ Not necessary. We had orders, it all changed        When you got shot. Everyone will be pleased.      The president is setting well, I knew he would. ”

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When she sees him, she’s overcome with relief, a few tears spilling out of her swollen eyes, her rapidly blinking eyes trying to focus on his handsome face. She reaches her good hand up for his, needing his grasp. Her brain is so full with so many thoughts, memories, feelings, and she wants to erase all the negative thought, apologize for her mistakes and start fresh.

His words bring her back to reality and she takes as deep of breathes as she can, his words leaving reassurance in her soul. She gasps the real air, inhaling his familiar scent, which awakens her soul in a way she can’t describe–like they’ve been separated for eternities. She has so many questions, so many words that want to slip off her lips, but all she can do is stare up at his face over her.

“How long have I…how long have you…?”

Her voice is scratchy and raw and she is looking for water, because she wants to talk to him, to know what has happened all this time. And has he been by her side this whole time? Her tired heart skips a beat.

Sleep is still in his system, and he wonders if he’s dreaming this. What if she wasn’t really awake? What if she was? Tom grits his jaw, glancing over at the clock. It was 2:34 in the morning. No one would be awake, only in the lower deck. Lips press into a thin line, watching her struggle. Everything was coming back to her. And he wonders..... Does she remember?

I love you, Tom.

I love you, Tom.

He’s replayed the little scene over and over. He had tried to play it out, as if maybe she had thought he was someone else? 

She said his name. 

Coming back to reality, he leans forward trying to remove the oxygen mask all together. She’s reaching for his hand, and he eagerly lets her take it gently. Removing the mask, he places it by her shoulder, just in case. He listens to her, and her voice sounds off. Yet, it’s there. It’s there. His heart tugs, and he can finally relax. Finally let those walls break down. Tom leans down for a moment, grabbing his water with his free hand, placing it into her hand. 

    “ It’s been eight days. Touch and go, but you did it.      I knew you could. ”

He doesn’t answer her, he won’t let her know that he’s never really left her side for more then an hour.

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He’s yelling at her and she’s pacing. There have been many a moment where they haven’t seen eye to eye, but this….this is different. She didn’t think he’d react this way to what she’d done. But she didn’t regret her actions. She never meant to hurt him, to disappoint him. He’s furious, she can tell, and she doesn’t understand why he doesn’t see her perspective.

She has a fleeting thought, a moment of panic, where she wonders if this has ruined them, if they’ll ever recover from this. Will he forgive her for the crime he thinks she’s committed? There’s this deep, cutting feeling that he won’t, and it breaks her heart.

It’s dim when she opens her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the ceiling, on the lights that look vaguely familiar. Her mouth feels so dry, her throat is scratchy and raw, and she feels like she’s been sleeping for weeks. She’s rolling her head from side to side just a little, trying to come to, determining if she’s in fact alive. She’s trying to move, shift, anything. She feels sore, her head is pounding and she’s trying to get up.

Her shoulder feels like lead and she suddenly remembers what happened. Pain cuts through her like a knife and she finds herself laying back down and looking for those blue eyes, panicked, because she remembers asking him not to go, and she remembers him by her side for as long as she can remember. Needs him. Needs reassurance. Her shoulder is starting to throb now and she’s realizing she has an oxygen mask on her face and she’s starting to cough. Tom, she whispers, Tom. A panicked tear escapes, she’s not aware of her surroundings enough to know if he’s there, but she needs him. More than anything. If he left…

The third day of nothing, he asks if someone can bring him a cot. The chair didn’t do anything for his back, only making it worse. The fourth day, he finally lets Nolan sit with her while he showers. He remembers this day, vividly. Standing in front of the mirror, he was a sight to see. Looking like he stepped right off of horror movie set. Only, it was real. Rachel’s blood was everywhere on his skin. Splattered across his face, all over his clothes, under his nails. He stood in the shower for nearly an hour just watching the blood flow off of his pale skin, and into the drain. The haunting memories lingered, never once letting up. 

The sixth day he reads, all of her logs, the progress her airborne cure is doing. Most of the time it puts him to sleep. The eighth day coming back from grabbing coffee, he notices Beatrice washing off all of the blood. It leaves him almost hypnotized, just watching the sponge go over her shoulder. She’s being so gentle, it almost makes him want to ask if he could help. Instead, he sits down in the chair, reading, while she cleaned up the unconscious doctor.

Milowsky gives her an oxygen mask when her breathes where getting short. He asks if it was normal, for this to happen. It wasn’t. Fear was starting to slip through the cracks of his armor. 

I love you, Tom.

I’m sorry I failed you. For now keeping his promises. To keep her safe. 

The heart monitor causes him to stir, eyes snapping open and shoving the book out of his head when he notices her eyes, they’re open. His own eyes roll back, in a small thank you. He reaches forward, gently taking the mask off of her face, letting it rest by her neck. 

      “ Hey---- I’m here. You’re okay. ”

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“What the hell are you doing here?”

His reaction is full of shock and surprise and she’s got one chance. One shot at this. She’s literally shaking in her boots, but no one can know. She doesn’t even glance at Tex, before she’s rushing Tom, pressing her mouth to his, her hand coming up around his neck. She’s got to pass the note, she has to. What she hadn’t anticipated was the raging emotions that flew through her, the shivers his lips gave her, the salt left on his skin. The way he kissed her back–regardless of the note–his tongue sliding against hers. There’s panic and passion and she knows they can only go on like this for mere seconds. But pull back? How? It’s like she’s lost all ability to think–the world is silent. The separation is painful and she wonders how she’ll ever forget that kiss because it’s like it opened a whole new side of her that she can’t lock away.

Rachel feels herself being moved, shifted, but she’s still not fully aware. She doesn’t care really, there’s so much pain and cold and she’s so tired, she’d giving up. And these memories, these dreams, are far more welcoming than the harsh reality of blood and pain and distress. Her heart feels heavy. Is this it? She keeps wondering.

Her thoughts travel back to him. She wants to live for him. She doesn’t want her blood on his hands. She doesn’t want her death to consume him. He was vengeful of his wife’s death, would he avenge hers the same? She wants to console him, tell him that it’s all right, that she’ll be fine, that he’ll be fine, but she can’t speak, can’t open her eyes.

She wants the time to rush by and to wake up fine, with him still holding her hand? Can she? Will she? She thinks about his kids, his father, the people he has left. They’re so important. He’ll be fine, right? If she doesn’t make it?

She feels his eyes, stops at the hanger door, turning back momentarily. There was no goodbye said, no words exchanged. He didn’t even tell her himself that she was going on land, that he was staying behind. So much fear fills her, for herself, for him, for words left unsaid. Their eyes lock and they’re standing there, staring. For what seems like hours, is purely moments. Will he say something? Anything? Her mind screams words like “Be safe”, “Take care”, “I love you, Tom” but nothing comes out. When he doesn’t speak, she memorizes the look in his eyes that she can’t decipher and she walks away. Because she has to, not because she wants to. She wants to run to him. She can’t.

What she doesn’t realize is words she couldn’t express then, slip from her lips now, an “I love you, Tom” falling into the space between them, her own world lost in her subconscious.

From the second he has her in his arms, he can’t look at her. There was so much blood. More then before. He’ll have to give her more, he’s positive of it. She’s so pale. Paler then his own skin. And that’s saying a lot. She had the most beautiful olive skin. You wouldn’t even be able to recognize this person in his arms. Come on, Chandler. It’s almost here. He moves as fast as he possibility can.

Once they were on the roof, he can see the Helo. Clutching her closer, afraid he was crushing her. She finally has a stretcher, people are flying out orders. Telling him he needs to let her go. There was no way. How can they expect him to just -- let go? Gritting his jaw, blinking rapidly, he can’t. It’s impossible.

Tom finally does it. He’s by her feet, hand clasped around her ankle. He promised he wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t dare.

        “ You gotta pull through, Scott. That’s an order. ”

& Damn it, she has to do it. She has to pull through. It felt like he was on the Russians ship all over again. The moment he saw her, she lunged for him. For two whole seconds, he had been furious and terrified that they had done something to her. He couldn’t do a damn thing to protect her. He can’t do a damn thing for her right now. 

They land, he’s by her side the entire time. Hues won’t leave her face. Her lips are moving, and he knows exactly what shes mouthing. I love you Tom. Rage is circling the drain, and all he can see is RED. Fist is balling, and his tongue flickers out to his lower lip-- trying to keep CONTROL. Beatrice is asking a thousand questions, he can’t answer them. Damn it. His head is out of control, his feelings are a mess. 

Tom, this part isn’t going to be pretty. You can leave. We’ve got this. Like hell, eyes are stern against Rios. He shakes his head at them, swallowing thickly. Pulling up a chair, he’s at her head, hand against her hair. Unable to look away of what they’re doing. Drugs are getting pumped into her, cutting, tearing at her skin, tools going into her body. Assuming, looking for the bullet. It hit an artery. We’re gonna have to patch it. 

Hours pass, everyone gone successfully. They assure the rest is up to her, if she’ll wake up. They have full hope that she will. It could be hours, could be days, or weeks. The thought of not seeing her hazel hues for weeks? Unbearable. Slattery tells him they’ve captured the shooter. He was running with the rest of the rebelled immunes. He’s in holding, right now. Thank god. Everyone gives him a chance to change, to go sleep for awhile, to eat. He can’t. Tom didn’t know how. Didn’t know how to leave leave her be. Terrified with the thought, would she ever wake up?

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She gives him a faint smile, her dark eyes solely focused on his face. She needs to rest, the pain is becoming too much. She’s holding his hand with all she has, and listening to his words. Crew member. She wants more. Wants to be more. She can’t say it now, but she will. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. She can stay, do her work from here. So many thoughts are clouding her brain, she doesn’t even know how.

Two shuddering breathes and she doesn’t even know how she’s ended up in a different place, fuzzy and not real. Memories.

“Rachel,” the word rolled off his tongue in a way she’d never heard anyone say it before. Not to mention she’d never heard him say it before, and it sounded as though he’d always been meant to say it. The last five or so months he had always called her Dr. Scott, no matter what their conversation. Until today. This moment. He called her by her first name. They were no longer acquaintances, they were friends, on some level, she was sure. Though the way her heart skipped when she heard her name on his lips, she knew there was more to it on her end than that.

The look in his eyes stopped her further. It was soft, kind. Much the same look he’d given her before he’d hugged her, but deeper. She could see respect, pride, and something else deep within his ocean blue orbs. She searched his face, trying to decipher what he was asking for, what he was trying to say, knowing it was more than the words falling from his lips.

It’s like she’s watching herself in the moment, everything about it so real. Everything had seemed so final, and despite the shift between them, he was going home to his family and she’d have to say goodbye. But then another shift and it’s just them now. He’s not married, and she’s not under his command. The whole world felt different. Until…this.

A slice of pain penetrates her brain but she’s not conscious enough to know anything other than his hand. Still on hers. She’s in a strange place between reality and her dreams. Hears talking. Prays Milowsky and Rios can fix this. And prays they find the man who did this.

Tom watches Slattery and Green walk away, getting help from the Nathan James. The shooter still hasn’t been found. In ways, he’s glad. He won’t have to deal with him just yet. That he can stay with her, through this traumatic time. The newly tilted Chief of Naval Operations, maybe he doesn’t have to make that call right now. Although, the thought of putting a bullet between this mans forehead has a satisfying turn in his body. Looking down at Rachel, her hues are closed. She looks almost.... lifeless. It makes his heart ache. He failed his wife. He will not fail Rachel. It’s not something he wants to know.

She’s losing a lot of blood, fast. She’ll need a blood transfusion. Whats her blood type? A positive, I believe. Who can we get? 

        “ I’ll do it. ” 

It comes out far to quickly, and he never once hesitated. Wondering if he can continue to hold her hand through this dark time. Rios looks up at Tom, giving him a wary look. He’s extending his arm, ready for them to poke him with a needle. Eyes shift down to her frame, she’s so still. Unconscious, he’s GLAD. He was so foolish. If only he could’ve taken a leap. Pulled her in, something. Asked if she wanted a drink, anything. They could’ve avoided this. He was to damn proud and TERRIFIED. 

The man has never been so scared in his life. Milowsky looks at him, asks if he’s okay. No, he’s not okay! He won’t be okay! A life was on the line! A life he wasn’t going to give up easily, ever. Thoughts cross to the Presidents order for Rachel. There was no way in HELL that she was leaving after this. She just needed to pull through.

       “ Come on, Rachel. ”

She’s coding. We need to operate now. Where? Here? We can’t. We gotta get her to the James. Chandler-- Chandler, Tom! Call for the helo! Tom? Thomas Chandler, call for the helo now!

Eyes can’t take their eyes off her shaking body, frozen all over again. In three seconds, he’s going for the phone. In five, he’s going straight for the woman. Eyes darting up to the two doctors, not needing their permission to pick her up. Only reassurance she’ll be FINE. It was the only option. The rest of it was all a blur.

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She immediately misses the contact and he’s only somewhat aware of the conversations going on around her. She’s laid back on the bed, and can see Rios leaning over her, inspecting the bullet wound. She turns her head toward Tom, closes her eyes, hisses in pain. She feels exposed, vulnerable, but also fortunate. These people around her are here to protect her, to help her. Because of him. 

She hears Green telling Tom that they secured the President in the basement, and that Cruz, Tex, and Burk are all with him. Other men are working the perimeter, looking for the shooter, who they haven’t found yet. Slattery speaks up, tells Tom they need to call in more help from the James. She spaces then, the pain of an injection into her shoulder making her grip Tom’s hand as tight as she’s possibly capable. She tries not to writh in pain, but it’s more difficult than she would have imagined. Why hasn’t she passed out yet? 

Rios and Milowsky are talking amongst themselves as they work, and she takes the moment to look up at Tom, her eyelids feeling heavy. Her heart feels like it’s working overtime to keep her alive, and she knows that’ll only last for so long before it’ll begin to slow. 

“Tom…’

She shakes his hand in hers, trying to get his attention. She needs it like she needs air in her dying lungs. 

“Please don’t leave…” 

Tom watches as the two men work on Rachel, inspect her wound. Trying to figure out what to do next. What she needs... He wants to ask if he can help, he wants to help. The thought of letting her hand go..... He doesn’t know if he can actually go through with it.  Hues watch as she hisses, crying out in the pain. He squeezes her hand gently, not looking away from her for a second. Maybe that says something... He doesn’t know, nor care at the moment. 

 The fact they haven’t found the shooter causes a riot in his brain, and body. He wants to go look for the bastard himself. He gives Slattery the OK to call for a few more men to secure the building. Making sure that anyone who has a gun doesn’t make it out. He should’ve known the immune weren’t going to back down. He asks if there is anything they can give her for the pain. Anything at all. He’s told there’s something in the bag that will help, Green grabs it, handing it to Rios. 

Hues snap towards her, feeling her hand shake in his. She sounds so desperate, so afraid. He’s never seen this side of her, and it shatters his heart. Nodding slowly, giving her a tight smile. He’d never do such a thing. Even if she asked him to leave, he’d never.

      “ I won’t. I’m staying. I gotta make sure one of my        crew members make it out alive. ”

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She sighs slightly, shivers when the door opens, hope he doesn’t leave her side. the pressure is comfortable, painful, but he’s strong enough to do the job. He’s saving her life as best they can in that moment and she’s grateful. Utterly grateful. And if she was to die…there’s no where else she rather would–in his arms. Not for his sake, but hers. 

“I meant this..me in your arms. This isn’t the way I pictured it.”

Voice quiet, and she’s not daring to look at him because her words are bearing truth and probably not fair to him in his grieving state. But she says it with everything she has because he wants him to know that she has thought about it. She can’t leave him not knowing that. 

“And it would only be fitting if you fixed  me up, since I’ve fixed you up.”

The tease is followed up by a cough and she finally notices Rios and Milowsky at her sides. She’s holding on to Tom with everything she has left, hoping he doesn’t leave. Though she suspects she needs surgery, and she’ll have no choice then. She is feeling so weak, and she’s trusting that Tom won’t let anything happen to her if she slips out of consciousness, which this cold and pain is making her want to do. Rios is reaching to pry Tom’s hand off the wound, and she anticipates the horrific pain to follow. 

He can agree, this wasn’t how he had pictured it either. Not that he did it often, hell, he tried his damn HARDEST not to picture it. He had thought this evening would go...... differently. That they wouldn’t have parted ways in the end. He wishes they hadn’t. That he should’ve just pulled her hand in, from the mere brush of her fingers when she handed him the envelope. He was such a fool. Tom gives her a small smile, she wasn’t looking at him. He understands why. 

Rachel wasn’t going to die. That wasn’t happening tonight. He doesn’t care what he has to do, it’s not happening. 

     “ I’d cause more damage then anything. ”

That’s the truth. Tom spots the two doctors coming to her side, Slattery coming right in, Green, too. He can see them talking, but he can’t hear their voices. He’s just looking down at Rachel. Rios is reaching for his hand, knowing they need to look at the wound. He can’t let it up, can’t -- she’ll bleed out, and DIE if he does it. Hues look down at her, swallowing hard. He has to do it. Tom blinks, releasing her quickly. Leaving his hand just inches away, in case it needs to be placed back on it. 

Tom looks over at his men, they’re staring. This is quite an image for them to see, he’s assuming. 

     “ Did you find the shooter? Secure the president? I’m       not leaving her. It’s bad. Where is everyone? ”

Milowsky is telling him he needs to move, that she needs to lay down. It was like he was talking in a language he couldn’t understand. He doesn’t want to move, wants to give Rachel the comfort she needs. Nodding slowly, he grasps her hand gently, making it aware he won’t leave her side. He moves slowly, carefully, and gently. 

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She’s so thankful for the warmth and for his body against hers, helping to provide that warmth. And it’s more comfortable that way. She tries to hold back the whimper in pain at being moved, because every movement feels like she’s being punctured by razor blades. But to be close to him, the pain is worth it. She might not get to feel this again.

She laughs lightly at his words. Where is her stubborn soul? Bleeding out on his hotel bed. On him. She remembers being grazed by bullets in the Arctic, so concerned about her samples of the primordial virus, she barely felt the pain. Something about this penetrating bullet is so different, and she wonders if the fear of seeing that man raise his gun will ever leave, if the visions will ever vanish. She leans against him, coughing a little. She tries to think of what might have been hit. Vital organs, arteries…she can’t think. It hurts too much.

“Tom, I’m sorry. But what if I don’t… what if they don’t come in time?”

She rolls her head to the side, her forehead resting against his chin. It’s warm against her skin and she relishes in it. She still feels so, so cold.

“This isn’t quite how I pictured it would be.”

She banters a little, as much as she can, a self-deprecating laugh escapes. No better time than the present for honesty; it’s all they have.

Tom cannot stand the fact she’s in so much pain. He wonders how long it’ll take to get some drugs? If they were handy? Or in the ship? He hates that he doesn’t know this information. Can’t stand it. The man is gentle, so gentle, it almost hurts him how gentle he is. He’s so used to being ruthless, and pouncing on any second he got to full fill his vengeance, he forgot who he was for a brief moment. This side to him, never shows. Every now and then. It comes out like flying colors. 

    But what if I don’t... What if they don’t come in time?

He’s trying to picture a life without Rachel Scott in it. It suddenly seems-- dark. Darker then before. Darker then losing his wife. & he knows how truly AWFUL the thought of it IS. He had been gone for so many months... He knew there was a chance his family may not have made it..... Yet, with Rachel in just yards away? The thought of her not being in his life didn’t settle well with his soul. Tom breathes in, eyes staring at the wall as he ponders on it. They were taking so fucking long. The hand on her shoulder was hard, afraid he’s crushing her. Hues flicker down to her when he feels her hot forehead on his chin. 

     “ Damn it, Rachel. Stop talking like that.            You’re going to be fine. I’ll fix you up       myself if I have too. ”

The door opens, he spots the familiar emergency bag. And he’s never been happier in his l i f e.

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Things feel foggy and she’s getting this sense of dread that this might be it. After everything, and all this, this, this is how she’ll go. She wants to laugh because honestly, it’s comical. The Russians, on more than one occasion, she could have died then. During one of their excursions off the ship, or even from Neils. But no, this is how she goes. How is this fair? She’s not done here. There’s still so much left for her.

Him. He’s one of those things. She’s holding on to his blue eyes like a lifeline, because she’s afraid if she closes her eyes, she’ll never see them again. But she’s so tired, so cold. She knows she’s probably going into shock. He’s ripping her dress, and she knows it won’t help with the suffocating feeling overcoming her. She tries to measure her breathing, keep it steady, if for nothing more than to reassure him. He doesn’t deserve this. He lost his wife, now she’s going to die right in front of him. He doesn’t deserve to carry this with him.

She swallows hard, feels her teeth chatter.

“Can you find a blanket? My body needs to be kept warm. And the pressure…it’s good. Strong.”

She fights, gives him a smile, albeit small. She has so many things she wants to say.

“Tom…if this….if I don’t make it…”

She wants to blurt out words that don’t make sense, because she feels completely irrational and terrified. She never thought she’d be afraid of death, but in this moment, she’s absolutely petrified, and not ready. Not ready at all.

She’s reaching for, grabbing his hand. She needs those eyes, his touch.

Tom looks over at the digital clock on the bedside table, groaning out loud. Growing more furious the seconds pass with no one coming for help. He sent out an order damn it! Why isn’t anyone coming? Panic rises, and he wonders if there were more shooters in the hotel. Chest thuds, and he feels panic in his throat, threatening to close in on him, making it next to impossible to get a breath. Lungs scream, he shakes his head-- chest rising from gasping the air in. 

He will be damned if he loses this woman, too. It wasn’t an option. Not even close.

She looks drained, completely. Gritting his jaw, ruling out the worst possibilities. Bleeding out wasn’t one of them. Not on his watch. Hell, he’ll even give her his own blood if needed. Hues look at her, a blanket. He can do that. Warmth? He can do that too. Tom removes himself from the bed, looking for a spare blanket, all while his eyes continue to dodge from looking to Rachel making sure her chest was rising and falling. Snatching the one from the closet, he’s placing it over her, climbing right behind her, gently grabbing her good shoulder to lean her back against him, while his other hand places against her shoulder. 

Tom looks down at her, shaking his head at her. No, he won’t have it. 

      “ You’re going to make it. Where’s the stubborn           Doctor Scott I know? Someone should be         here soon. I promise. You aren’t going anywhere. ”

[lovingericdane]

[imalittleredtorvette]

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draddisonfmontgomery replied to your post:draddisonfmontgomery replied to your post:If you...

I don’t have cable. Only Netflix and Hulu! :(

you have wifi yea? check this site out: http://www.primewire.ag/watch-2746632-The-Last-Ship-online-free

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draddisonfmontgomery replied to your post:If you watch The Last Ship, you could give me a...

I love the show but I’m waiting on Hulu to upload the second season!

omfg. whyyyy wait??? it’s so gooooood.

[fuckyeahrhonamitra]

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If you watch The Last Ship, you could give me a holla. I’m in the mood to talk about the finale. & write and shit. 

[s-andrabullock]

Everything you don’t was said with words, was said by looking, with gestures. Amost that telepathy.

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The bed is much better than the floor and she’s finding herself letting her eyes slip closed. Maybe just for a moment. It hurts so fucking much, more than anything she’s ever experienced. She thinks back to Tom passing out from the shrapnel wound and loss of blood, wonders how he made it that long without passing out. She wants to right now. Is seriously considering it.

She hears him talking, thinks he must be on the phone because she can’t sense anyone else around. She wishes she could see the wound, though the thought makes her exponentially more nauseous and light-headed. Maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea.

There are so many thoughts running through her head. Maybe she should tell him some of them, they’re swarming her and she’s worried this is it. And she’s worried about the white comforter she’s also staining. Damned blood.

As he’s over her with towels, she forces her heavy eyelids open, catching those lovely blues she hopes to remember even in her passing. She forces a half smile.

“Pressure. As much as you can. Without crushing me of course.”

She pushes herself up on her elbows, cussing under her breathe.

“And please unzip this bloody dress, it’s suffocating.”

She’s sure it’s not the dress, she’s sure it’s the internal bleeding from the wound, but maybe the dress will provide a little reprieve. She catches his eyes again, trying to reassure him so she can reassure herself. 

Tom wonders how long she had been in that hallway for. It seemed like a lifetime from when he heard the gunshot, to when he had found her leaning against the wall, tainted with her own blood. He’s tense, tenser then any mission he’s ever been on. A life was on the LINE, and he can’t bring himself to lose  yet another person he cares about.First Darien..... Now Rachel? When he’s just about ready, when he’s finally comes to terms of what is happening. That he can’t keep mourning the past. But focus on what’s in front of him. 

Looking down at her, she’s so pale. It makes his stomach churn in complete and utter knots. How dare this man! How DARE he. She’s fighting the sleep, he can sense it. Pressure. He can do that. Eyes blink, his big hand towering over her shoulder where the massive amount of blood is coming from. He’s applying pressure, eyes still on her frame. He can’t form any words. Can’t form any thoughts. Just -- stillness. 

He will not have her blood on his hands.

With his other hand, he’s granting her wish. Removing her wound, placing the white towel against the open wound, trying to keep all of her blood inside of her until someone can come and help him. God. How long does it take?! He’s gentle with her, but the fabric of her lacy dress? Not so much. He’s ripping at it, her right shoulder completely exposed. Trying not to expose to much. Tongue flicks at his lower lip, he’s actually sweating. 

    ‘ What next? What can I do? Tell me what      I can do. ’