When she heard the knock at her door, Tamara had just dozed off.

Determined to wait for Terry, she refused to go to bed or cry selfishly and wallow in her own miseries. She struggled not to think about how bad things really were for him but mostly she suffered over how something that seemed impossible could be made real. On the coffee table lay a notebook filled with page after page of pros and cons. Why he was right for her, why he was wrong. It was oddly comforting to see the strange balance of the lists. If he was all good, she’d have been as suspicious as if he was all bad. And just before her eyes drooped to drift off, she’d come to a remarkably rational decision.

This hand had to be played out. She had to be patient. And Terry had to give her a chance. He owed her that much. She knew he loved her, but she also knew that the mere idea of it terrified the hell out of him. She had lots of time to explore his life while he was gone. Not only had Dino subtly (and not-so-subtly) made points about existence with a K&R junkie, Henry too had let a few things slip about his father. Some things were obvious and after taking the time to write it all down, the facts were right there in black and white. Terry was a wounded man, wounded to his soul and he’d been that way for a very long time. The question was … could she be the woman to heal him?

It all seemed too complex for her exhausted mind, but she’d gained enough insight and understanding to accept the rest her body demanded. Sleep was toying at the edges of her consciousness, tugging her deeper, wrapping around her, warm and safe …

And now, there was someone at the door.

She glanced at the mantle clock. Ten-thirty-five. Even before reaching the door, Tamara knew it was Terry and in one of those “Duh” moments, she suddenly realized he never saw her note about dinner. If he didn’t know he was late for a date, technically he wasn’t late, right? Having nothing to be angry about, she opened the door an attempted to smile.

What she saw frightened her more than the look of the old General. Terry was pale and drawn, thinner than she’d noticed during their night of passion. His hair had lost its bounce. His beautiful eyes seemed dull and sunken in the blue-tinged heavy bags underneath. Terry’s hands were deep in his coat pockets and his head, hunkered low into the raised collar. He looked at her from beneath his brows.

“S’it too late to talk, love?”

And she saw it, something she knew would come, and exactly as Henry had unintentionally warned. Terry Thorne, the most capable and powerful man she’d ever known, seemed to actually cower before her. Did he expect she’d be angry with him? For working? Or thinking or being alone or whatever he needed to do this day after such a terrible, long ordeal so far away? Who had done this to him? And … why?

“Come in, Terry. My God, you’re freezing!”

He actually followed her all the way to the kitchen and lowered slowly onto a chair. She poured a mug of coffee and prepared a plate of food without even asking if he wanted it. She sat and she watched his every move, every nuance that told her he’d had a difficult time, made difficult decisions and although his mission was successful … the path to that success weighed heavily on him. His hands slightly trembled until he was warm enough to slide out of his coat. He ate slowly, said nothing, focused on the plate and she was pleased to be able to nourish him.  
 
After a long, still silence, he stood and placed his soiled dish into sink. “This was a bad idea,” he said so softly she could hardly hear him.

“What? The salmon? The visit? Or the offer to talk?”

When he turned she delighted in the small grin that pulled at one corner of his lips.

“Please Terry, sit down. If you don’t want to talk it’s okay. Just … sit.” She refilled his coffee and his large hand wrapped around the mug. When he sighed, it so pitiful she had to squeeze her eyes tight to keep from crying.

Finally she took a deep breath; she had a demanding urge to make her move. “I know what a downtime woman is.”

His bloodshot eyes rose and narrowed. “Dino?”

“No, my dad explained it. I know what it means and … I don’t want to be your downtime woman. Sorry, but I’m better than a convenient fuck between jobs.” It came out far harsher than she intended but gained a strong reaction from Terry. His face tightened and he glared. She raised a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you respect these women, you like them and in some ways you might even love them, but I don’t want that with you. I’m not interested in serving your needs while you’re home then going off with some other guy when you’re not. It just doesn’t work for me. I don’t want to be your downtime woman. No way, no how. And … I don’t want to let you go either. Complicated, huh?”

The muscles in his jaw knotted and twisted. He drew in a breath and rolled his neck. She couldn’t tell if she’d triggered real anger against her, or if he was about to fight for her. She also recognized that this might not be the best time for such a conversation. She gulped. “Okay, so maybe we can talk about this another time, after you’ve … rested … and …” she blinked. “What happens now? Do you all talk about the case? Decide what went right? What went wrong?”

He blinked. Good, she’d redirected him. Terry cleared his throat. “Debrief. Wednesday.” More silence.

“Then what? Then you can talk about what happened? Work through it? Get back to life? Honestly, I don’t understand the process, but I’d like to.”

“Tamara.”

Good God, the sound of her name on his voice made her tremble. “Uh, sorry, am I asking too much?”

“No, no. You have a right to ask … it’s just, some things I can’t be tellin’ you. Some things are a matter of security.”

“What can you tell me about the process?” She could see his shoulders slowly relax and a small glow of success warmed her heart.

He shrugged and sipped coffee. “Debrief … it’s usually right after a case but in this situation, key people are in … variously places or at,” another shrug, “various stages of … recovery. We all need to be together for this one. It’s … complex.”

“Can you tell me who was hurt? Were you hurt?”

His eyes closed tight. “Tamara.” His soft word was a warning.

“I know, I understand, really I do. It’s just,” she whispered and wiped an escaped tear. “I just want to … help you.”

“This was a bad idea,” he said again but didn’t move a muscle. His eyes caught hers and held her still as stone. “Bloody hell, Tamara. What the fuck do ya really know about me, my life … about the reasons for … downtime women? You have no clue –”

“Then tell me, explain it to me. I have to know because, God damn it Terry, I love you way too much to just play the comforting screw every time you get home. I want … I want …”

“Just what the hell do you want? Listen to me, love.” Terry pushed knuckles across his face, catching tears that broke her heart. She reached across the table and gripped his hand.

“I’m listening, Terry.”

His fingers intertwined with hers as his spoke and she realized with every word, that it was his only way to hold her to him, the only way he must have believed she’d stay and listen. It helped, because everything he said was going to hurt deeply. Tamara steeled herself, held tight onto her logic and tried to protect her fragile heart.

“Darlin’, my life isn’t a … life. It belongs to the work; it’s dangerous not only for me, but for everyone I love. You saw it … with Henry. And there were threats,” he swallowed hard. “Against you too.”

Tamara nodded and held his hand as tight as he held hers.

“My life … on a case … it’s … complicated, Tamara. I have to lock away the things I love, bury them deep so I can think, react, have access to my instincts.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“And, when I get back …” He fell silent.

Tamara stood behind him and wrapped her arms tight around his neck, she kissed his cheek softly and whispered, “It’s okay, Terry. It’s okay.”

“No.” He pulled her arms loose and tugged her back to her own chair. “No, you don’t get it. You got no bloody clue. Cases are often long, grueling, so far from home … wherever the fuck that is … I sometimes don’t know where I’m supposed to be. I’m human, Tamara. I have needs and with no end in site, I fuckin’ get those needs taken care of. Do you understand?”

Another nod, her eyes wide and lips tight.

“Now tell me, how the bloody hell am I suppose to have someone waiting here for me, someone who expects a solid man … and be off rootin’ some hooker in Bangkok or Columbia or God knows where? How’s a woman supposed to deal with that? How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?”

“Terry, I think I understand though. I mean –”

“No! No ya don’t understand!” He released her hand and pushed fingers through his hair. He eyes glowed and brow curled. “You don’t even remotely understand. Twenty years ago I was sent on a covert mission to gain information on a woman … a powerful Egyptian woman who was building a terrorist empire. I was embedded deep, Tamara, nearly fourteen months deep, and at that depth … I was someone else. I was that woman’s fuckin’ lover.” He stopped, carefully watching her eyes for a reaction she didn’t give him. “That same bloody woman took my son, made me trade my life for his then held me captive again! If you understood my work, how bloody complicated it is, how twisted and dark …”

“What did you do?” she asked, her voice a mere rasp.

 “I had to gain her trust. Just what do you think I did?” His eyes locked on hers again and didn’t waver. “So. Maybe now you understand what a downtime woman really is. She’s a touchstone, Tamara. A single link with reality.”

“I want to be more than a downtime woman.”

“Are you mad? I just told you, I fucked my captor!”

“To save your own life!” Tamara was on her feet and shouting as loud as Terry. “Am I supposed to prefer you died?”

He groaned and dropped his head back. “It doesn’t work, love. With the life I lead, I’m just not built for marriage and stability.”

“You can be!”

“How? What do ya want from me? To quit? To stop doin’ what I do so well? If you knew about captivity, about torture and the kinda pain kidnappers can and will inflict! Mental anguish! Physical and emotional wounds. The agony of a victim waiting for release or rescue! There’s no bloody way I can turn my back on that!”

“That’s not what I want, Terry.”

“I’m trying to explain, darlin’,” finally his voice had softened. “When I’m gone, I got nothin’ to give to those back home … and when I’m home, I’m … empty.”

“You were not empty last night, you’re not empty now. Tell me the truth, Terry. Do you love me?”

He stood and leaned back against the counter, sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “God help me, I do, Tamara. But, this just doesn’t work. I know. And this is my fault; I let this go too far, too deep. I’m so sorry, love. There’s no chance of a solid, successful relationship for me with a woman.”

“Well, you’ve never tried with this woman!” Her voice could have rattled the china in the cabinets and Terry’s eyes widened, watching her pace right in front of him. “You are the most stubborn … the most blind  … stupid … self-defacing man I’ve ever met, Terry Thorne! You’ll sacrifice for a stranger and that’s good! It’s fine, it’s perfect. It’s what you were put on this earth to do! But you? YOU … DESERVE MORE!”

“Just what the hell do you want?” His voice was exasperated.

She stopped and stepped even closer, poking her finger into his chest with each statement. “I want to love you. I want to be here for you when you get home. I want you to do your job well and do whatever you have to do to get back to me, safe and sound.” She gulped back a sob and continued. “I want to be the woman praying for you when you’re gone. The woman worrying for you and thinking of you. I want to be the woman who nurtures you when you get back and feeds you and loves you and cares for you. God, Terry, I don’t want to be your downtime woman … I want to be YOUR woman … the one who heals you. That’s what I want. That’s all I want.”

Exhausted, she thumped down into a chair and roughly pushed tears from her eyes. “What do you want, Terry?” And again, she braced her trembling heart.

He was quiet for a very long moment, tears filled his eyes and slipped to his chin. They were locked together in the eternity of uncertainty.

“What do you want, Terry?” she repeated softly.

Terry cleared his throat. “I want to be healed.”

It had run the course and the hand had been played. Terry had given her the chance she hoped for, the chance to state her case, to at least make her point. They looked into each other’s eyes for a full moment then he took his coat, careful to avoid touching her in the process. He leaned down and gently kissed her brow.

“I need to be alone, Tamara. I need to think. I need to prepare for debriefing. I need …” and he left her apartment.

EPILOGUE

Life never gets easier, but it certainly gets more interesting. Just three months before shipping out for his first assignment with the RAF, Henry Thorne traveled across the pond for a most important visit to New York City. He’d been with Amanda Cleaving (his personal redhead) for three years and it was Amanda who made the critical decision that they needed to be in the States on that specific sunny Autumn Saturday.

He stood, looking in the mirror and wearing his first personally-owned tuxedo ever. He fumbled again and again with the bowtie. “Bloody hell, I should’ve gotten one of these things already made up with a clip. I can’t do this!”

Behind him his father chuckled. “Nervous, mate?” he teased and tied the perfect bow at his son’s neck.

“’Course I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ll do fine. Rings?”

“Check.”

“Did ya confirm the limo to the airport?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Henry, you haven’t called me sir in fifteen years.”

The young man shrugged, smoothed his hair and shrugged. “Guess it’s best we get to this.”

Together they stood at the altar; Henry with his twitching fingers and Terry, dapper and polished in his own tux. Terry cleaned up nicely and knew it. He’d had years to learn how to move from the grimy filth of battle and into civilian life, how to adjust, how to find balance. Henry was still dealing with his RAF training, his concerns about leaving a young wife behind for the first time, and all the adventure ahead. But Terry knew the twenty year gap between father and son would close quickly as their personal and professional experiences would finally merge. He was beyond proud and beamed at his boy, pleased that past mistakes can in fact be corrected.

The bridal march began and everyone in the church stood as the radiant bride walked the aisle, her father at her side, her eyes sparkling and only for her groom.

And at the perfect moment, forty-four year old Terrence Ira Thorne stepped forward to claim his bride and take her from the arm of General Charles Hartford.

“You know the drill, Thorne,” Harford whispered with a teasing wink.

“I fuck up, I die. I got it, sir.”

The veil was lifted and Tamara was radiant, but before they mounted the few steps to the altar, she squeezed his hand. “Terry,” she said so softly he had to lean close to her lips to hear. “Tell me why you’ve asked me to marry you.”