Dark of the Moon
This story is a WHN for the 4th season episode, “Man of Many Faces.” Thanks as always to my exceptional betas, Theresa and Liz! Comments and feedback are always welcomed at venciceplace12@verizon.net. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing! J
Rick Kowalski stepped into the corridor, carefully closing the door to Sick Bay. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, thankful the events of the last 48 hours were behind him. It was bad enough being made up to impersonate someone else - - in this case Chief Sharkey - - but it was worse being clueless the scenario was taking place.
He still couldn’t figure that one out no matter how hard he tried. Doc Jamieson had found traces of drugs in his system, and the admiral had suggested he may have even been hypnotized, but to him the whole thing amounted to a freaking large blank. He just remembered waking up in Sick Bay, his head pounding, his body feeling like it had been through a nuclear blast.
Thankfully, the only ones who knew about the convoluted mess were Jamieson, Sharkey, the admiral and Captain Crane. Only later had Ski learned of Dr. Mason’s uncanny ability to make himself - - or even someone else - - look like whomever he chose. It was Mason who’d posed as Admiral Nelson during a live teleconference, wherein he’d shot and killed an assistant he’d made up to look like himself so he could pin the crime on Nelson. Just thinking about it made Ski’s head spin.
Of course, Seaview’s crew had known Nelson was innocent. At the time, they’d been counting on Captain Crane to provide the admiral with a firm alibi. But when Crane appeared on national television, all he’d done was reiterate that Nelson was the killer. Ski, like every other man on the crew, had been dumbstruck. Much later they’d learned Mason had also posed as Crane, having the real captain kidnapped and forcibly detained. The skipper had been lucky to escape with his life.
Now that he thought about it, Ski felt bad for the ugly opinions he’d harbored. He’d been so certain Crane had betrayed not only Nelson but Seaview too. He should have known better. Hadn’t he worked with the man for the last four years? How could he possibly think Crane, who was by all turns ethical and fair, would do anything so blatantly underhanded?
He’d been an idiot to even consider it. And yet, he hadn’t been the only one. The sentiment from the crew when Lee Crane had finally come onboard had been nothing short of antagonistic. Even Mr. Morton, the exec, had been unmistakably curt with the skipper, a glaring rarity given everyone knew the two were close friends.
Having been the victim of Mason’s clever trickery himself, Ski could well imagine how the captain had to be feeling. Mason’s scheming hadn’t been revealed until just a few hours ago, but Crane had kept his poise throughout, clearly in command, never once affected by the hostile muttering that went on behind his back.
If he stopped and thought about it, Ski had to admit Crane hadn’t been looking good. He’d heard rumors about an injection and poison, but after the upside-down chaos of the last 48 hours, it was impossible to tell what was true and what wasn’t.
All he knew was that he wanted to hit his rack and forget about everything for the next duty cycle. Seaview was headed back to port where Nelson, the skipper and several others would attempt to unravel the mess Mason had created. The authorities had been notified which meant, as far as Ski was concerned, the crisis was over.
Breathing an audible sigh of relief, he turned the corner and almost collided with Lee Crane.
“Sir.” Kowalski drew up short, reaching out a clumsy hand to prevent himself from stumbling into Crane. He felt a flash of too-warm heat through the dark-haired man’s sleeve before his fingers fell away. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s all right Kowalski.” Crane sounded tired. Looked tired too.
Kowalski knew they’d all been running on overdrive, but he was beginning to suspect those rumors about Mason posing as Doc and injecting Crane with poison were true. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen the skipper’s normally vibrant eyes looking so lackluster. Crane wasn’t just tired. If Ski were to hazard a guess, he’d say the man teetered on the brink of exhaustion.
“Uh, Sir, if you were looking for Doc, he’s in Sick Bay.” He hooked a thumb behind him to indicate the direction from which he’d come.
Crane gave a vague wave of his hand. “Actually, I came to get an update on you. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t had a chance to talk with Doc about your condition. I wanted to make sure you weren’t having any side-effects given what Mason put you through.”
“Fit as a fiddle, Sir.” Ski grinned, pleased to think Crane would take the time to personally check up on him, especially given Crane was the one who looked in need of Sick Bay and rest. “Doc told me to catch a few hours sleep just to be on the safe side, but I feel much better.” He hedged, still uncomfortable with what he’d done - - at the very least, tried to do. “I’m sorry about what happened, Sir. I don’t know how Mason got the jump on me. I keep trying to remember, but it’s all a blank.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ski. I know you wouldn’t deliberately sabotage Seaview. Do what Doc says and get some rest.”
Kowalski nodded, feeling more and more like a heel. His captain hadn’t thought the worst of him despite catching him red-handed, yet he’d held no similar qualms in return. He’d been particularly mouthy with several members of the crew, spouting angry comments about Crane when he’d thought the dark-haired man had betrayed Nelson.
He’d been a jackass.
He was scum.
He was about to say something when he saw Crane press the long fingers of his left hand to his temple. The overhead lights caught on the surface of his onyx ring and flared like a starburst. It suddenly dawned on Kowalski that Crane’s eyes were as black as that stone, the more familiar glint of topaz and emerald swallowed by his pupils.
“Sir?” he asked worriedly.
Crane uttered a soft moan and crumpled limply to the deck, his shoulder sliding down the bulkhead. His chin slumped against his chest, and the weight of his body pulled him sideways, sprawling him to a jack-knifed position at Kowalski’s feet.
“Sir!” Stunned by how easily and how quickly he’d passed out, Kowalski crouched at his side. His heart did a spiky rat-a-tat shuffle, a swell of adrenalin pumping through his veins. Damn! A single turn around the corner, plus thirty more feet, and Crane would have been at Sick Bay. “Sir, wake up.”
Ski gripped his arm and gave a firm shake, but Crane’s head only rolled to the side, those long jet lashes the women were always gushing about betraying no sign of life. He was starting to grow alarmed, thinking he needed to make a mad dash for Sick Bay, when Crane finally groaned and stirred.
**********
Lee forced his eyes open, the sound of blood in his head like the tumultuous roar of a waterfall. Disoriented, he blinked several times until the corridor slowly came into focus. He didn’t remember blacking out, but he was lying on his side on the deck, Kowalski crouched beside him, a hand clamped tightly on his shoulder.
He wet his lips. “What happened?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Kowalski sounded frazzled. “One minute you were talking to me and the next you just passed out, Skipper.” Kowalski guided him to a sitting position, continuing to hover, worry etched on his face. “Should I get Doc?”
“No.” Lee made an effort to get his feet under him. Kowalski gripped him beneath the arm and helped him upright. He closed his eyes briefly as a sudden rush of vertigo threatened to send him plummeting back to the deck. Everything clouded over, and the clamor inside his skull morphed into an angry swarm of bees. He splayed a hand against the bulkhead, bowed his head, and sucked down a jagged breath.
“Sir?” Kowalski was still holding onto him, reluctant to let go as if he feared Lee would be unable to stand on his own. “I really think I should get Doc Jamieson for you.”
“That’s not necessary.” Lee forced himself to stand straighter. He took a step backward, deliberately freeing himself from Kowalski’s grip. He let his hand slide from the bulkhead until he stood under his own power. He was just tired - - and dizzy as hell, but he wasn’t about to acknowledge that bothersome quirk.
He didn’t need Jamieson fussing over him, telling him he’d overworked himself. Mason’s poison had plainly done a number on his already overtaxed stamina and immune system. He might not have a medical degree, but the solution was obvious. “I just need to get some rest, Ski.” He grinned, fully aware his smile when used to best effect, could diffuse most objections. “I guess we could both do with some sack time. Uh . . . listen. Don’t mention this to Doc, okay? You know how he worries.”
The grin stayed in place a moment longer to emphasize they were sharing a secret. Lee slipped a hand behind the senior rating’s back and ushered him a few steps down the corridor away from Sick Bay. “Let’s just keep this between us, Ski,” he said as he walked. “Now, I want you to hit your bunk, get some sleep and forget about everything for the next eight hours. Understood?”
“Aye, Sir.” Kowalski looked a trifle uneasy about what he’d witnessed, but the doubt didn’t come through in his voice. He parted with an acknowledging nod, then moved away down the corridor.
Lee waited until he was out of sight before sagging wearily against the bulkhead.
He needed sleep, a lot of it. The sooner the better.
Bowing his head, he rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand against his eyes. For the last 48 hours, he’d been operating on fumes.
When Mason pulled his stunt, framing Nelson for murder, Lee had been forced to make a mad dash from the institute in the hopes of providing an alibi. He’d no sooner left than he’d picked up a tail that resulted in a high speed car chase through winding cliff-side roads. It had ended with his capture, after which he’d been bound and tossed into a truck. It had taken him awhile to work his way free, but eventually he’d managed to untie himself then jump from the moving vehicle. His captors had realized almost immediately, and he quickly found himself dodging a hail of bullets.
By the time he finally made it back to Seaview, just as she was readying to depart, he was battered and bruised, covered with dirt and grime. He’d arrived in the control room only to have Chip greet him icily, the remainder of the crew as blatantly cold. No one dared insubordination, but he soon realized they all thought the worst of him, believing he had betrayed Nelson.
It wasn’t long after that he’d headed to Sick Bay, hoping Jamieson would be able to give him something to stay on his feet. With Mason on the boat, able to change identity at will, Lee couldn’t afford the luxury of sleep. Even Nelson had said he was ‘on the ragged edge of exhaustion,” and that had been over 48 hours ago. Unfortunately, the only thing he’d found in Sick Bay was a lethal injection that had almost killed him.
Mason had pulled another chameleon act, impersonating Jamie and injecting Lee with a hypo of a fast-acting drug. Even now, thinking about the punishing toxin in his system made him grimace. The pain had been sledgehammer-quick, doubling him over until it was all he could do to pant for breath and lie helpless as the agony ripped through him.
Remembering was just making him feel worse.
He wiped a shaking hand across his forehead, aware he was sweating. His shirt felt damp, gummed to his back and neck with sticky perspiration. He tugged on his tie, loosening the knot so he could thumb open his collar. Damn, if his gut wasn’t rebelling too, threatening upheaval unless he did something about it - - quickly.
He thought about stopping by Sick Bay for something to quiet the roiling, but that would just subject him to Jamie’s sharp-eyed scrutiny, and he didn’t want the aggravation. All he really needed was rest. He’d left O’Brien in command, Chip and Nelson busy questioning Mason in more detail. Any other time, he would have insisted on sitting in as well, but he knew his mind had stopped functioning at an acceptable level several hours ago. Realistically, the crisis was over. Mason’s insane drive to control world monopolies had almost resulted in global annihilation. The scientist’s greed had blinded him to the fact his electromagnet, used to control tides, exerted an adverse effect on the moon. If they hadn’t found and destroyed Mason’s installation in time, the lunar satellite would have crashed into the earth, utterly destroying all life on the planet.
Lee shook his head. How many times in the past had they dealt with madmen parading as respected scientists? No matter how often they came up against someone of Mason’s ilk and corrupt character, Lee was amazed. There was so much good a man like Mason could do, but instead he’d let himself be consumed by immoral aspirations. Thank God for men like Admiral Harriman Nelson - - a true genius who used his brilliance for the betterment of mankind.
And right now, said admiral was grilling said mad scientist.
Lee would get the update tomorrow night. At the moment, all he wanted was ten to twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, greedy masterminds be damned.
He stepped inside his cabin and switched on the light. The glare knifed against his eyes, and he immediately dimmed the setting to low, squinting to mute the sting. His head pounded, a noisy clamor like a rockslide taking place inside his skull. It did nasty things to his stomach and amplified the tremors in his hands.
Cursing softly, he tugged off his tie and dropped it onto his desk. He could feel sweat at the back of his neck, more collecting in the edges of his precisely trimmed hair. It trickled from his temple, sketching a spidery path down his cheek until it caught and followed the curve of his jaw. He swiped at it impatiently, then braced a hand against the desk when the room started to spin, going hazy and gray at the edges. He felt abruptly chilled, the sweat pooling on his forehead, ice cold.
His gut contracted, and he swallowed back bile. Stumbling toward the head, he flung open the door and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. The fist around his stomach squeezed hard, setting off a seizure of brutal cramps, doubling him over. He gripped the edge of the bowl, his fingers strained and white, slick with sweat. His stomach convulsed and he vomited, dispelling the last residual traces of Mason’s poison. Lee rode out the storm, weakened to the point of trembling when he could breathe again. He hung his head, bracing an arm across the bowl, panting raggedly.
His throat felt on fire, blistered raw. Shakily, he climbed to his feet and flushed the toilet. He avoided looking in the mirror but ducked his head to the sink, turning on the faucet and dousing his face with cold water. He rinsed his mouth then sagged into the bulkhead, listening as the water gurgled down the drain.
For a second he simply stood with his eyes closed, letting the heavy hand of fatigue wash over him. He hadn’t eaten or slept in over 48 hours, and he’d been injected with poison - - it only stood to reason he’d gotten sick. All he needed was rest.
He recited the mantra again, pointedly ignoring the tremor in his hands, the throbbing thump of blood against his temples. He shivered slightly and pushed at the wet hair on his forehead. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he dried his face then rummaged around in the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. Probably not the best thing on an upset stomach, but he’d never get to sleep with his head pounding the way it was.
He popped three to the back of his throat, then turned on the faucet long enough to bend and swallow a mouthful of tepid water. Stepping back into his cabin, he worked at unbuttoning his cuffs. He’d no sooner left the head than there was a sharp rap on the door.
Before he could say a word, the barrier was thrust inward and Chip Morton stepped inside, his posture belligerent.
“Good. You’re still up.” No excuses or apologizes for his abrupt entrance. Chip closed the door with an audible clip, taking three long-legged strides until he stopped at the edge of Lee’s desk. “I want to talk to you, Captain Crane.”
Lee raised a brow, mildly surprised by his tone. Chip’s forcefulness and lack of apology for his brusque entrance bordered on insubordination, but Lee was too tired to call him on it. Besides, Chip was a close friend, and there were no crew members around to witness the exchange. Lee routinely let him get away with speaking his mind when they were alone.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Morton?” Two could play the title game.
“Wrong?” Chip’s eyes flashed blue flame. His choice of greeting might have reflected stiff formality, but his reaction was pure anger. “Why should anything be wrong? Two hours ago, I find out we’ve got an imposter onboard - - a guy who can make himself into a dead ringer for anyone he chooses. Then I find out you, the admiral, Jamieson, and even Chief Sharkey knew about it. I’m only the XO of this boat - -”
“Chip - -” Lee frowned, sensing what was coming.
But the blond-haired man had worked up a healthy steam and wasn’t listening. “The whole crew knows about it now. Sure, after the fact. Same with me. It’s not like it was freaking important or anything.” Agitated, Chip waved a hand in the air and paced off a tight circle. “Not like I should have been told - -”
“Chip,” he tried again.
“If I had known, I might have actually stopped Mason from taking off in the Flying Sub. Then again, why waste the time consulting me on anything so critical. I might as well just...”
“That’s enough, Mr. Morton!” Lee snapped, his anger finally blundering through.
Chip clamped his mouth shut and came to an abrupt halt. He stood rigid and tight-lipped, but his eyes held the same fierce glare. Almost immediately, Lee felt his hostility drain. He was too tired to deal with this now. The drumming in his head was creeping down the back of his skull, and he felt unsteady, like the room would upend if he so much as shifted.
“I’m tired,” he mumbled. “I want to go to bed.”
Usually one to concede, especially if he knew Lee wasn’t feeling up to par, Chip stubbornly held his ground. “So the topic isn’t open for discussion, Captain?”
“I didn’t say that!” Lee bit the words off curtly. Damn, but the man was worse than a dog with a bone. Wearily, he pressed his fingertips to his temple. Chip was right, of course. He should have been told, but everything had happened so fast, and he and Nelson had been unsure exactly whom they could trust. Mason had already impersonated Chip once. Given his friend’s position as executive officer of Seaview and his access to move unchallenged in all areas of the boat, he was an ideal candidate for Mason to peg again.
“Permission to speak freely?” Chip prodded.
Inwardly, Lee groaned. The exec wasn’t going to back off. He could dismiss him, send him on his way and tell him they’d discuss it later, but it would just end up hanging over his head. For his part, Chip was a consummate professional. He’d continue to perform his regular duties, never letting anger impede his work performance, but Lee knew he would stew internally. As close as they were, as close as they’d been for the last eighteen years, he owed it to his friend to hear him out. To try to explain his own actions, or in this case, his lack of follow through.
Lee stood straighter, bracing the fingers of one hand against his bunk. He made an attempt to effect a casual stance though in reality he felt lightheaded and relied on the anchor to keep him upright. He knew he should probably just tell Chip he wasn’t feeling well and be done with it. Except that would earn him a ticket to Sick Bay, and a visit wasn’t necessary. All he needed was rest to be functioning normally again.
“I’m listening,” he said evenly.
“You made a decision to exclude me from critical information,” Chip accused. “Information that was vital to the safety of Seaview, her crew . . . potentially the world.”
“The admiral and I made a decision.” Looking back on it, he wasn’t even sure it had been a conscious one. Abruptly cold, he tried to keep from shivering.
“Was it because you found me untrustworthy or because you thought I was incompetent?”
“Neither.” Miserable, Lee bit his lip to keep from snapping. He flicked a glance to the side, briefly focusing on the thermostat. It felt like it had dropped a good ten degrees in the cabin, but Chip clearly wasn’t affected. It was hard to concentrate with cold creeping into his veins, a trace of acid still churning in his gut. With effort, he tried to find common ground among the muddle of his thoughts.
“Chip . . .” He placed more weight on the bunk, leaning into it to keep from toppling. “I value your service, your commitment to Seaview and your opinion. You know that. This was different.”
Unwilling to let him off the hook so easily, Chip glared. “How?”
“Damn it, why won’t you let this go?”
“Because it’s a direct reflection on my abilities as executive officer.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Then explain to me how…”
“…look.” Aggravated, Lee shoved away from the bunk taking two unsteady steps toward the desk. He saw Chip frown slightly, shooting a glance at his feet, but Lee didn’t let it slow him down. “I had to be sure. The admiral had to be sure. It wasn’t a simple mission this time.” When is it ever, he thought sourly. “If we hadn’t stopped Mason, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation now.” He straightened, trying to hang onto his momentum but all he wanted to do was crumple into bed. To close his eyes and shut out the world.
“Do you remember how you felt when I first came aboard after the teleconference?” Lee challenged. “You saw me betray the admiral on national TV.”
Chip stiffened as if he didn’t want to think about that. “I was angry,” he admitted.
“You thought the worst of me.”
“No. I . . .” The exec frowned, faltering. What had he felt? Anger, betrayal, disbelief. He knew Lee Crane. Knew the man he’d been close friends with for the last eighteen years would never do anything so heinous, yet he’d watched it happen with his own eyes. He had thought the worst of Lee. True, he’d had every intention of hearing him out, but if he were honest, he’d already made up his mind. Looking back on it, he hadn’t even been concerned that Lee had shown up disheveled and dirty. Didn’t that go hand-in-hand with disloyalty?
Agitated, he ripped his fingers through his hair. “I was going to let you explain.”
“You never asked,” Lee pointed out. “How many hours passed, Chip . . . days . . . and you never asked me about that teleconference.”
Uncomfortable, Chip hedged. “The admiral accepted you back. I took my lead from him and figured you must have had some reasonable explanation. It wasn’t my business.” He scowled, growing hot under the collar all over. “Look, Lee, don’t turn this around. It isn’t about what I did. It’s about what you did.”
Lee waved him off.
“It wasn’t personal,” he muttered. He took a step backward, bracing himself against the bunk.
Chip wanted to snap, but the wriggling note of worry rooted in the back of his mind was growing steadily louder. His anger had made him stubbornly dismiss Lee’s washed-out appearance but it had gotten to the point he could no longer overlook it. They’d all been running ragged, Lee more than most, but once Chip set his aggravation aside he realized Lee looked a step shy of passing out.
The captain’s skin was chalky, his normally olive complexion as pale as milkglass. A sheen of perspiration clung to his cheeks, and his bangs normally so precisely groomed, had corkscrewed into sweat-tipped curls.
“Lee.” Chip pressed his mouth into a tight line, irritated that he hadn’t been more conscious of his friend’s discomfort. “You don’t look good.”
“I’m fi...” The word was only half out of his mouth when Lee’s eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and his legs buckled. Shocked into motion, Chip lurched forward, catching him around the waist before he could sink to the deck.
His heart did a backward somersault, catapulting into his throat. Frightened, he manhandled his friend into the bunk. “Lee?” Chip hooked him under the knees and drew his legs up onto the bed. “Come on, Skipper, wake up.” Chip tapped him lightly on the cheek, trying to bring him around. Receiving no reaction, he grabbed the hand mike off the wall. “Sick Bay, this is the exec. Come in.”
The reply was almost immediate. “Jamieson, here. What is it, Chip?”
He never took his eyes off Lee, a tight knot ballooning in the pit of his stomach. It squatted down for the long haul, broadcasting accusations of how thoughtless he’d been. “I need you in the Captain’s cabin, Doc. Lee’s passed out and I can’t revive him.”
“On my
way.”
Jamieson wasted no time signing off but his urgency did nothing to make Chip feel any better. “Lee?” He gripped his friend’s shoulder, giving a firm shake. Lee’s body rolled limply beneath the jarring, but the jet veil of his lashes didn’t flicker. Chip could feel excessive heat radiating through the fabric of his shirt, yet when he pressed a hand to Lee’s cheek his skin felt cold.
Second bled into second, each one making him feel more like a heel. Yeah, he’d been hot - - about as hot as he could get for not being included in the intel regarding Mason, but the confrontation could have waited until Lee had a few hours sleep under his belt. He’d seen how battered Lee had been when he’d come aboard. Since then, he’d learned everything that had happened to the captain from the time he’d left N.I.M.R., right up through when Mason had injected him with a lethal dose of poison.
Had he really been so freaking angry, he couldn’t see how exhausted Lee was?
Chip palmed his friend’s cheek, using his thumb to wipe aside a clinging sheen of sweat. “Lee, wake up.” What if it was more than simple exhaustion? Hell, what if Doc hadn’t really neutralized the poison? What if Mason’s drug was still seeping through Lee’s veins, crippling vital organs, barrel-rolling into something irreversible and lethal? Jamie might have just thought he’d taken care of it, but the toxin could have latent properties, only now becoming apparent when it was possibly too late.
“Damn it, Lee, answer me!” Chip gave a harder shake and was rewarded with a low moan. Lee stirred, rolling his head to the side, but his eyes remained closed. Encouraged, Chip bent lower over the bunk. Behind him, he heard the door sweep open.
“I think he’s coming around,” he mumbled as Jamie appeared at his shoulder but he never had a chance to verify the suspicion. The doctor squeezed him aside, bending over Lee to check his vitals. Chip moved backward, aware the doctor had brought two corpsmen with him and a gurney. It was suddenly overcrowded in the cabin, despite its spaciousness. Or maybe it was just the pressure building in his chest, mushrooming larger with each passing second.
He stood mutely, watching as Jamie peeled back Lee’s eyelid, flashing a penlight against the pupil. “What happened?” the doctor asked, never stopping his examination.
“I . . . I don’t know.” Chip faltered over the explanation. “We were talking,” We were arguing. “And then he just passed out.”
Jamie shot him a frowning glare. “Didn’t you notice anything wrong? He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, and his temperature is off the charts. You should have pointed him to Sick Bay immediately, Chip.”
“I . . .” But Jamieson had already dismissed the topic, calling instructions to his two corpsmen. Chip tried to make himself move, but his muscles had ceased responding. He watched as the three men lifted Lee into the gurney, his friend’s body as limp and lifeless as a ragdoll. He, of all people, should have noticed how ill Lee looked, but he’d been too focused on his own selfish anger. He’d wanted to rip into Lee and corner him into admitting he’d done something wrong.
But had he really? Chip wasn’t even certain any longer. And when it came right down to it, Lee didn’t owe an explanation for any decision he made. As captain, it was his prerogative to share what he chose, when he chose. But because his command style was relaxed, he allowed a greater familiarity than most captains, and because of their long standing friendship, Chip had presumed to demand something that wasn’t within his right. Had Captain John Phillips kept information from him, he might have felt slighted and been inwardly disgruntled for a day or two, but he certainly wouldn’t have barged into Phillips’ cabin and order he explain himself.
What an idiot!
Suddenly the issue that had sent him blustering after Lee no longer seemed important. He felt sick to the stomach, disgusted by his behavior. It was unprofessional and childish. Worse, it was selfish. Hadn’t Lee told him he was tired and wanted to sleep - - something Seaview’s self-reliant captain rarely ever admitted to. If Lee’s appearance hadn’t set off warning flags in his head, that quietly spoken admission should have launched a rocket flare.
“Jamie, what’s wrong with him?” he asked, his mouth dry.
“I’m not sure.” The doctor shook his head, hooking his stethoscope around his neck. “I need to get him to Sick Bay and run a few tests. It may just be exhaustion, compounded by Mason’s poison and everything he’s been through the last two days. Hoffer, Ludsen . . .” He gave a brusque nod to the corpsmen. “Get that gurney moving.” To Chip he flicked a sober glance. “Bring the admiral up to date, will you?”
Chip nodded.
It was the very least he could do.
**********
Sick Bay was quiet, the lights dimmed for sleep. Chip sat slouched in a chair next to Lee’s bunk, his long legs sprawled at angles like a loosely-jointed scarecrow. His shirt was rumpled, his tie undone, hanging loose around his neck. He didn’t look remotely like Seaview’s always immaculate XO but didn’t care. Jamie had given him and the admiral an update on Lee’s condition, indicating it was exhaustion compounded by lingering traces of Mason’s poison. As black-and-white as that sounded, Chip couldn’t help feeling partially responsible for his friend’s ill health. Even learning from Kowalski that Lee had blacked out in the corridor a good ten minutes before their confrontation hadn’t done anything to ease Chip’s guilt.
Bottom line - - he’d known from the moment he’d set foot inside Lee’s cabin that his friend hadn’t been feeling well, and he’d selfishly forced the issue rather than letting Lee get the rest he needed.
Agitated, he scrubbed a hand over his face.
The admiral had come and gone, hovering and muttering over Lee, his concern transparent. Chip knew the relationship between the two men far surpassed the boundaries of employer and employee. He’d spent four years watching them tread a fine line between superior officer and subordinate, balanced by an exceptionally close friendship and a father/son mentality every man on Seaview knew existed, even if it was never openly acknowledged.
Nelson never would have pushed Lee the way he had. More likely, he’d take Chip’s head off if he learned how he’d behaved. As it was the admiral had already read Kowalski the riot act for not immediately reporting what had happened in the corridor despite Lee’s instructions to the contrary. When it came to Seaview’s young commander, it was well known among all hands and even naval brass that Nelson had a glaring blind spot.
Normally Chip did too.
Oh, he and Lee had clashed before - - the same way Lee and Nelson often clashed - - but when the dust settled their friendship always remained firmly intact. This time felt different. Chip had no doubt Lee would forgive him his selfish short-sightedness, but he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. Yeah, there was nothing wrong with an occasional lapse of “all about me,” but not when it came at the expense of your closest friend. No matter how he looked at it, Chip felt responsible for Lee’s collapse.
If I just hadn’t pushed so damned hard . . .
Disgusted, he sighed. At the very least, he’d been unforgivably self-centered, focused solely on himself when his friend had been battling just to stay conscious. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes. The glare of light from Jamie’s office - - just a crack spearing through the connecting door - - made him wish he had three aspirin to tamp down a growing headache. If he didn’t get some sleep soon he was going to be in worse shape than Lee.
Jamie had tried to chase him out over an hour ago, but a single stony glance from Chip had made the doctor reconsider. If everyone on Seaview knew Lee and Nelson had the equivalent of a father/son relationship, they also knew the captain and his executive officer were as close as brothers. It was common scuttlebutt that, when alone, Lee let Chip get away with saying and doing things for which any other crew member would have been keelhauled.
There was no question Seaview was an unorthodox boat with a highly unconventional command structure, but it worked. Better than any other vessel Chip had ever served on - - and the reason for that was Lee. Seaview was the same vessel with the same crew and the same admiral she’d always been under John Phillips. The difference was Lee Crane and his positive effect on Nelson, the crew and even Chip. John had been good, competent, but Lee just brought out the best in everyone. Maybe it was because he made himself so accessible, or that he’d proven time and again his willingness to sacrifice himself for the safety of Seaview and her crew. Men tended to follow a leader who inspired them. As young as he was, Lee had far more command ability and wisdom than many men twice his age.
And I tear into him like a madman when he’s barely functioning.
“Chip?”
A soft rustle of sheets and blankets drew his attention as resolutely as if an earthquake had erupted beside him. He blinked to attention, sitting straighter in his chair, every sluggish nerve crackling rigidly awake. “Lee?”
“What happened?” Lee lifted a hand to his forehead, confused. His eyes were clouded, his disorientation as plain as if he’d spoken it aloud.
Chip was tempted to summon Jamie but despite his vague bewilderment, Lee seemed content and he was loathed to disturb that ease. “You passed out,” he told his friend. “You’re in Sick Bay.” He didn’t add that he was probably the cause for Lee’s abrupt bout with unconsciousness. Once Lee was able to piece everything together in his head, the conclusion would be pretty much a given.
“Sick Bay?” The captain frowned, always uncomfortable when he was sidelined by time in the infirmary. “What for? I just need some sleep.”
Despite himself, Chip grinned, watching as Lee struggled up onto his elbows. Seaview’s inherently stubborn commander could have been one step shy of comatose and he’d still protest all he needed was a few hours rest to be functioning normally again.
“Keep saying that and I’ll drag Jamie in here.”
“Don’t.” Tamed by the thought of Seaview’s dictatorial doctor fussing over him, Lee paled. He slumped back against his pillow, a ragged exhale slipping from his lips. “Everything’s a bit of a blur,” he admitted. “I remember being in my cabin . . . being sick . . .” His eyes flicked away on the admission, the candor something he normally wouldn’t have shared. Chip chalked it up to the fact he was already in Sick Bay and had nothing to lose.
Great! It’s bad enough he could barely stay on his feet, but to make it worse he was hurling on top of it. You’re scum, Morton. Just couldn’t back off and give him some breathing room, could you?
“Lee, about what happened . . . I was a jerk for pushing like I did. You told me you were tired.”
His friend looked momentarily confused. Seconds passed before the light of understanding dawned in Lee’s expressive eyes. Rolling onto his side, he faced Chip. “You think you’re responsible for my being here?”
“I should have backed off…”
“You were upset and had a valid reason. I should have talked to you about Mason.”
Chip shook his head. It all seemed trivial now. He waved a hand in the air, but the dismissal failed to ease his conscience. “You had your reasons. As captain, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
Lee looked at him steadily. “What about as your friend?”
Three hours ago he would have dug in his heels and said ‘Hell, yes!’ but his anger had faded into something far less antagonistic. He knew Lee. They’d maintained a friendship for eighteen years and worked closely together for four. He needed to have his head examined if he thought Lee didn’t trust him or had deliberately excluded him from intel for any other reason than the preservation of Seaview and her crew. So why hadn’t he been able to see that earlier?
Irritated, Chip blew air through his teeth and slumped in his chair. “Forget it, Lee. I was out of line. I had a burr up my hind end and was dead set on butting heads. It’s not the first time information on this tub has been on a need-to-know basis.”
Lee frowned. In the semi-dark his pupils were dilated, obliterating all but a thin ring of toffee-green. He still looked pale, but a hint of color had seeped into his cheeks and his skin no longer carried the gleam of perspiration. “It wasn’t that we didn’t trust you, Chip. Just that we stood a greater chance of catching Mason if fewer people knew about him. The admiral and I decided to include the chief because he was the closest to the crew.”
Chip nodded. It made sense. If he’d thought it through initially, he would have figured it out on his own. Instead, he’d let simmering emotions push him off the deep end, dictating a path of anger he rarely frequented. “I realize that now. I just wish I’d been a little more astute about it before I went barreling into your cabin, hissing and spitting like an idiot.”
Lee grinned faintly. “You made an impression.”
“I made an ass of myself.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would.” Chip exhaled loudly. At least his friend was talking agreeably, displaying none of the animosity he might have held for Chip’s callousness earlier. “I should have realized you weren’t feeling well.” It was on the tip of his tongue to demand why Lee hadn’t said anything, but the truth was he had. Maybe he hadn’t admitted how badly off he was, but he had made a comment about wanting to sleep and that alone was glaringly uncharacteristic of his normally meticulous poise. “Hell, Lee, I was just being a pigheaded jerk.”
His friend smiled. “Maybe.”
“Don’t look so cocky. You didn’t exactly corner the market for intelligent moves either. According to Kowalski, you’d already blacked out once in the corridor.”
“I told him not to say anything about that.”
“Yeah, well, blame the admiral. You know how he gets about you.” He saw Lee flush but couldn’t tell if it was from pleasure or embarrassment. “Kowalski decided to come clean rather than have his neck waiting on the chopping block. If he’d kept that little tidbit to himself and it had come out later, we all know it wouldn’t have been pretty. Nelson would have gone ballistic. Incidentally . . .” He smiled, enjoying a momentary diversion. “The admiral keeps showing up every twenty minutes or so, pacing and grumbling, demanding to know the minute you open your eyes. He’s going to have my head for not calling him immediately.”
Lee chuckled softly. “Jamie too, I suppose.” He craned his neck on the pillow, trying to see behind him to the doctor’s office. “Did he give me something, or do I still have Mason to thank for feeling like I was run over by a train?”
“A little of both, maybe.” Chip watched as Lee gingerly prodded his temple, his fingers betraying a slight tremor. Grim-faced, he pressed his lips together and opened himself to a slumbering wave of guilt. It crashed over him with a ferocity that punched a hole through his gut. “And me too,” he added deliberately. “I’m just as much to blame for being a selfish bastard. I should have backed off the moment I realized you were existing on fumes.”
Lee shook his head. “You’re entitled to rant now and then, Chip.” He yawned, slipping a hand underneath his pillow. His eyes grew heavy and he blinked, struggling to keep them open.
Chip wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. “You need to get some sleep.”
“Yeah, I do.” Lee nodded tiredly. “But not until it’s clear I have a fully competent executive officer to back up any decision I make.”
Chip snorted. “Including staying off your feet for twenty-four hours?”
Lee’s lashes grew heavier. “Eight is all I need.”
“Not according to Jamie. We’ll be docking in Santa Barbara in two days. The admiral’s pulled you off duty for the next forty-eight hours. If you’re lucky, Jamie will let you out of here in a day - - assuming you make nice and do what he tells you.”
Lee groaned. “I sense a conspiracy.” Yet even as he made the protest, he burrowed deeper into the bed.
Chip grinned affectionately. He caught the edge of the blanket and drew it up over the younger man’s shoulder. “Cold?”
Lee shook his head. Despite the denial, he snagged the cover and hooked it tighter, suppressing a shiver. “Get some sleep, Chip. One of us looks like a walking cadaver, and I don’t think it’s me.”
“My, my, you’re just full of compliments.” Chip shook his head, amazed how easily Lee could have him bantering lightly again, his earlier guilt forgotten. Maybe it was just hearing his friend’s voice, knowing he was going to be all right, or maybe it was, as always, that they’d been able to talk through their differences. He respected Lee Crane the commander, but Lee, the almost-brother and exceptionally close friend, he held in even higher esteem.
He fiddled with the blanket, tucking it under Lee’s arm. Experience had taught him Captain Crane would scowl and rebuff the attention, but Lee, his friend, patiently permitted the fussing.
“Happy now?” Lee asked drowsily, eyes closed, the hint of a smile curving his lips.
Chip thought about it. “Close,” he decided. He heard Lee’s breathing deepen into an even rhythm, ushering him nearer the threshold of sleep. He’d check in with both Jamie and the admiral, letting them know Lee had awakened briefly and appeared fine. Jamie already knew Lee was on the road to recovery, and whereas Nelson might grumble about having missed the opportunity to see his young captain awake, he’d be content knowing Lee was resting soundly.
“See you in the morning?” Lee murmured.
Chip chuckled. “You’re a little out of whack, Captain. It is morning.” He bounced a quick glance to his watch. “0515.” Where the hell had the night gone? “My guess is by the time you manage to sleep off all the drugs Jamie and Mason have pumped into you, I’ll see you at the next moonrise.”
Lee grunted, too tired to dredge up a response.
It didn’t matter to Chip. He suddenly felt light-hearted as he watched his friend slip beneath the veil of sleep. Relaxed, Lee looked even younger than his scant thirty-six years, tension smoothed from his face, the dense thread of his lashes cresting his cheeks.
Chip grinned fondly at the sight. Those absurd lashes had gotten Lee into more than one scuffle as a plebe at Annapolis.
Looks like a girl. He could still recall Russell Crichton mocking a very young Lee. Stupid move on Crichton’s part. Chip might have thought his almost too-young roommate brooding and perfection-driven on first association, but he’d never mistaken him for a pushover. It hadn’t taken Crichton long to learn Lee didn’t respond like a girl, especially when challenged. Their instructors had never been able to figure out where Crichton got his bruises and black eye, but they’d certainly never suspected the deferential and refreshingly studious Lee Crane was at fault.
On the flip side, Lee’s eyes, and especially those damned lashes, were great for attracting and softening up women. Chip had even used that to his advantage once or twice, coercing Lee into breaking the ice with a particular chilly female on whom he’d made a bad first impression.
Dispensing a contented sigh, Chip rubbed his eyes. Now that he had a chance to put everything in perspective, he realized it had been a grueling mission, harder than usual. Fortunately, they’d succeeded in destroying the electromagnet playing havoc with the moon’s orbit and had captured Mason in the process. The admiral had been cleared of murder, Seaview was headed back to port, and he and Lee were again on even footing. More than once over the last two days he’d felt swallowed by the dark of the moon, but the tide had finally changed.
Yawning, he stood and worked the kinks from his back. The thought of his bunk was a little too enticing to resist, but first he had an obligation to check in with Jamie and the admiral. For once, he was the one with the low-down on Seaview’s perpetually errant commander. He gave Lee’s arm a light squeeze as he headed for the door.
“See you tomorrow, pal,” he called quietly, flashing a parting grin.
Captain, friend, and almost constant source of worry, Lee had once again proven he was equally adept as all three.
*****End*****
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