A Change of Plans

 

By Kate

 

Thanks to my wonderful betas, Theresa and Liz. I’ve spent nine years in various fandoms and never wrote a Christmas story. I thought it was time. I think I probably rambled here or there (remember this is a first for me!), but hopefully, the tale still holds up. It helps to be familiar with my previous stories “A Thousand Yesteryears” and (especially) “The Wish King” but not entirely necessary. I think I covered all my bases in explaining past history.

 

December in Santa Barbara was typically mild. Daytime temperatures hovered in the 60s with nights rarely dipping below the mid-50s. For as long as Lee Crane had been living in the temperate coastal town, he couldn’t remember a Christmas that had been unseasonably cold. Santa Barbara’s weather was so consistently Mediterranean, the area was often referred to as “The American Rivera.” But Christmas Eve, 1976, took a surprisingly different track. A stubborn cold front had taken up residence, turning the normally balmy air to a brisk 41 degrees Fahrenheit. 

 

Lee stuffed his hands in the pockets of his heavy black wool coat, ducked his head against the wrath of a persistently fierce wind and trudged up the sidewalk leading to his office at N.I.M.R.

 

The gate guard had been surprised to see him. Small wonder, considering it was after 1800 hours and any sane person should have been off celebrating the holiday. He’d led everyone -- the admiral and Chip included -- to believe he’d be in Rhode Island, spending time with his mother. Except there wasn’t much to celebrate given she was in the middle of a messy divorce and the man she was separating from  - - Mitchell Blake - - deemed Lee solely responsible for their split. His mother had never been good at facing reality and, in typical cavalier fashion, had decided to check out of his holiday plans at the last minute. She’d called earlier in the week to tell him a few of her single friends had coerced her into taking a Caribbean cruise with them.

 

“I just need to get away from the snow and cold for a while, Lee. You understand, don’t you? It’s so bleak and depressing here this time of year. Lisa says it’s just what I need to forget about Mitchell, and she and Tammy and I will have so much fun together. You and I can always see each other when I get back. And I know that Chip or the admiral will enjoy having you around over the holidays. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

 

He bit his tongue to keep from saying it sounded selfish, but it wasn’t anything new. Since the loss of her first husband, Grayson Crane, his mother had stayed wrapped in a self-absorbed world. It didn’t stop him from loving her; he just often grew frustrated by her flighty thoughtlessness. If he’d called her on it she would have collapsed into tears, cancelled the cruise in a heartbeat, and he would have felt horrible. So, instead he told her he understood, and he’d visit the next time he had leave from Seaview.

 

He could have easily turned around and snagged Chip’s standing invitation to his parents’ place, but he didn’t want to be the lone one out again - - especially not this year when Chip and most of his friends knew about his mother’s divorce. It was bad enough he was an only child with no other living relative than his mother, but he hated feeling like a tagalong. The charity case. He knew that wasn’t how Chip’s family saw him and, certainly, he always enjoyed spending time with them, but this year was different. And so when his plans for Rhode Island fell through, he didn’t bother telling anyone. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad staying by himself, enjoying the solitude for a change.

 

Chip had flown out yesterday morning after giving him a bear hug and wishing him a Merry Christmas, none the wiser of his change of plans. Underneath it all, Lee felt badly for the deception. If Chip ever did find out, he was guaranteed to read him the riot act. Repeatedly.

 

They’d had their own Christmas the day before, dinner and drinks and gifts between close friends. Chip had tracked down a rare hardbound book on lightships for him and he’d given Chip a handheld GPS navigator - - something that was relatively new for public consumption but was expected to take off in the future. His electronic-crazed friend had spent the remainder of the night playing with it and pointing out to Lee all the multiple functions it had. 

 

By that time Seaview had already been in her subpen for three days and wasn’t scheduled to sail again until after the first of the year. The mood of the crew had been exuberant and festive when she’d docked with everyone wishing one another the best for the upcoming holiday. There had been a party at the Institute for crew members and personnel where Lee had been asked repeatedly what his plans were. He hated having to lie but loathed the thought of the looks he’d get if he admitted to spending Christmas alone far more - - sympathy and sadness followed by an uncomfortable silence and a forced invitation. He just couldn’t stomach it, having been there numerous times before, especially as a child and a young plebe at Annapolis. Somehow Mitchell had always managed to whisk his mother away for a ‘surprise’ European trip over Christmas. It wouldn’t be the first time Lee spent the holiday alone.  

 

He hadn’t even told the admiral about his mother’s last minute change of plans. Nelson would be celebrating with Edith and several close friends. For a man who didn’t have much family, the admiral had an uncanny knack for surrounding himself with people. 

 

Lee had purchased a good solid gift for his employer and friend - - a leather briefcase engraved with Nelson’s initials on a brass plate above the clasp. It was functional and classic, an ideal gift for someone of the admiral’s position. Lee had chosen it carefully from a retailer of renowned quality and yet it felt mundane.

 

Over the last two years, Nelson had become much more to him than just a superior officer or even a friend. Their relationship had grown, transforming from a close friendship into the much stronger bond of a father and son. Yet there was no blood between them and their working relationship put that change under a microscope. How did you buy a gift for a man like that?

 

Lee ducked his head and quickened his pace. The air was brisk, whistling beneath his collar. He was thankful he’d picked a heavy denim shirt to wear. The acid-washed, pine green chambray was a good match for his black jeans and rugged black hiking boots. No sense dressing in uniform just to sit in the office and spend a few hours catching up on paperwork.

 

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat, feeling the edge of the battered tin coin he’d taken to carrying around. Silly really, but it signified so much to him. As a child, he’d given it to his father before Grayson Crane had departed on the ill-fated Carlisle Maine. Several months ago through an astounding quirk of fate, Grayson had returned to him, no older than when he’d left. Their time together had been brief, but Lee was forever grateful for those precious stolen moments. It was a chance to see the father he’d lost as an eight-year-old  . . . to embrace the man no other could ever replace.

 

Grayson had returned the coin to him, sealing their father/son bond. When fate snatched him away once again, Lee had fallen into depression and melancholy. It was the admiral who’d helped him climb out of that hole, who’d patiently listened as he’d talked about Grayson and even that stupid coin. It was just a battered piece of tin, painted gold . . . a child’s trinket, but it had come to mean so much more to him.

 

Fingering it now made him think of Grayson, awakening a familiar trace of sadness. It was the same sadness he’d felt every Christmas since his father died. Stronger this year, the pain was sharper for having spent those cherished few days together. Stubbornly, he set his jaw. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the matter. Instead, he pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on the evening ahead.   

 

He’d picked up a sandwich at Reeser’s Deli right as they were getting ready to close and had the bag tucked under his arm. He’d make some coffee, spend a few hours clearing his inbox, then head home and call it a night. Tomorrow, he’d attend an early church service and stay occupied with small projects around his beach house. Seaview had kept him busy the last several weeks to the point he hadn’t even cleaned out his refrigerator. He probably had science projects sprouting in there. 

 

And little food.

 

Hopefully, he’d actually find something edible that might pass as a Christmas dinner.

 

But there was time enough for that tomorrow. With a parting glance for the clear night sky, Lee tugged open the door of the institute and ducked inside. He made his way down the hallway, switched on the light to his office and dumped the white paper deli sack on his desk. His long woolen coat got dropped on the nearest chair, and he headed for the coffee pot.  

 

Twenty minutes later he was immersed up to his elbows in budget projections, operation reports and time logs. A half-eaten turkey sandwich on rye sat at his elbow along with a cup of black coffee, already going cold. Across the room, the radio kept up a steady stream of Christmas carols, the volume tuned to low. He had a pencil in one hand, a parts list in the other, when he suddenly became aware of someone hovering in front of his desk. He’d been so focused on what he was doing, he hadn’t heard anyone enter.

 

“Lee?”

 

Startled, he looked up to find his bafflement mirrored in the eyes of Admiral Harriman Nelson. The older man was dressed in a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. He had a beige overcoat hooked over his arm, clearly intending to embark on an evening out. 

 

“I thought you left for Rhode Island,” Nelson said incredulously. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“I . . .” Lee tried to remember how evasive he’d been with Nelson about his plans. “Something came up at the last minute.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Lee decided he might as well just get it out in the open. The admiral would only keep picking until he learned the truth anyway. “My mother decided to take a cruise to help her forget about Mitchell.”

 

“A cruise?” Nelson frowned openly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So you’re not going home?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“Then why the blast didn’t you say something? And why are you sitting here…” Nelson’s eyes flicked aside to the sandwich, his mouth twisting deeper, “…eating cold turkey on Christmas Eve? And why are you going through reports? Good God, man, it’s a holiday!”

 

Lee flushed. “I thought I’d catch up with some work while I had the time.”

 

“Hang that! I’m not going to have you sitting here slaving over paperwork that’s probably wrapped up in three rolls of bureaucratic red tape anyway. That’s enough for a colossal headache and a bad attitude on a normal day. On Christmas Eve, it’s inexcusable.”

 

Lee fought to stifle a sigh. It would have been easier if he’d originally gathered up the paperwork and taken it home with him. He’d just never expected anyone to show up at the institute and had figured it would be simple to fly under the radar, escaping notice. Everyone, with the exception of a few essential security guards, was out celebrating. Realistically, if he’d caught one of his junior officers working, he’d be reacting like Nelson.

 

“Admiral, it’s no big deal.”

 

Nelson harrumphed what he thought of the notion. “I’m going to my office to pick up a bottle of very old Scotch for a friend, then you and I are heading out of here together. You’ve got five minutes to put that mess away. You’re coming with me tonight.”

 

Lee balked. “Admiral, I’m not going to just…”

 

“…I’m dropping in at a friend’s open house,” Nelson interrupted as if he hadn’t heard. The look in his eyes said his mind was made up and that arguing the point would be futile. Likely dangerous. “We’ll stay for an hour or two, have a few drinks, sample a few hors d’oeuvres, then head back to my place for a decent dinner. My regular food service left a gourmet meal of filet in béarnaise sauce and broiled crab. It’s all waiting in warming trays, and I’ve got plenty.”

 

“Admiral,” Lee tried again. “I appreciate the offer, but…”

 

“Five minutes,” Nelson reiterated, turning away and heading for the door. “That’s an order, Captain.”  

 

Lee slumped back in his chair, uncertain if he was angry, appreciative or annoyed. He’d had his evening planned; he’d even accepted it. And yet - - the hint of a wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth - - leave it to Harriman Nelson to turn everything completely upside down. No one would ever accuse the admiral of being shy about getting what he wanted. 

 

Lee shot a glance at his half-eaten sandwich. It didn’t stand a chance against filet mignon in béarnaise sauce anymore than he stood a chance against Nelson.

 

Resigned to the inevitable, Lee tossed the file he’d been reviewing back into his inbox.

 

That was when he realized how inappropriately casual he was dressed.

 

**********

 

Harry ground his teeth as he wrenched open the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved the bottle of Scotch he’d placed there several days before. Very old and very smooth. Jiggs Starke would love it. Angie had added whorls of red ribbon and a large bow for him. He’d been halfway to Starke’s sprawling English Tudor estate when he realized he’d forgotten the Scotch and had to return to the institute. He’d been surprised by the gate guard’s comment that it was clearly the night for Seaview’s top brass to be making unexpected appearances. When he’d queried the man about his remark, he was told Captain Crane had shown up almost half an hour ago.

 

Knowing his young commander was supposed to be in Rhode Island, Nelson had headed straight for Lee’s office before stopping by his own. Now it was all he could do to keep from ranting aloud about Ellen Crane’s insensitivity. She wasn’t a cold woman by any means. He knew she loved her son unconditionally but, in Harry’s opinion, she’d always been horribly self-absorbed. He’d met her on several occasions and each time had walked away with the same impression. Truly stunning, she was also delicate and, by choice, disconnected from the world around her. She reminded Harry of someone who chose to see only what she wanted to see and thus went through life blinded to anything that didn’t fit her ideal of rose-colored perfection.

 

Ellen was immaculate in appearance, never a hair out of place, her poise and manners flawless. In Harry’s mind, she would have been well suited for Regency England where days were spent receiving callers or promenading by carriage in Hyde Park, evenings a constant whirlwind of social galas. Problems did not fit into the picture.

 

And so she didn’t stop to consider that by running off with her friends for an extravagant holiday cruise, she had consigned Lee to spending Christmas alone. That would have been unforgivable at any time, but this year Lee needed the connection of family and friends more than most.

 

There was the strange circumstance of his father returning from 1950, just long enough to rip Lee’s heart out when Grayson was snatched away again. Then there was the ugliness that had transpired when his stepfather, Mitchell Blake, committed deliberate sabotage on Seaview, resulting in Lee being injured. Ellen Crane had done the first responsible thing in her life by filing for divorce when she’d learned of her husband’s treachery. Unfortunately, Mitchell - - who’d always been obsessive in his love for Ellen, most of it unrequited - - perceived Lee as the cause for their split. Harry knew that his highly introspective captain had received several threatening phone calls from Blake but, as always, chose not to talk about them.

 

At the very least Harry was going to make damn sure the man wasn’t sitting home by himself on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Working of all things! Lee was a workaholic under normal circumstances, often choosing to immerse himself in matters related to Seaview or the institute rather than face whatever was troubling him. In typical Lee Crane fashion, he’d intended to do it again, burying himself under an avalanche of paperwork rather than admit it bothered him to have his mother off enjoying St. Vincent and Martinique while he spent an unseasonably chilly Christmas alone.

 

“Fool woman just doesn’t stop and use her head,” Harry muttered. Not for the first time, he thought back to Grayson’s request that he be there for his son whenever Lee needed him. Harry would have done it anyway. He’d long ago crossed the boundary of boss and employee where Lee was concerned. Strange, how of all the people he’d encountered during his lifetime, Lee Crane was the only one who brought out a fatherly instinct in him.   

 

Now if he could just explain to Lee the friend he was readying to visit was Admiral Jiggs Starke - - or in junior officer lingo, Scrooge personified.

 

**********

 

Harry tried not to grin but couldn’t help himself as Lee squirmed in his seat yet again. They’d left the younger man’s sporty red Cobra sitting in the institute parking lot and taken Harry’s larger, more sedate, sedan for the half-hour ride to Jiggs’ home. As expected, Lee had balked when told the open house was being held at the COMSUBPAC commander’s estate. Even now, the conversation lingered in Harry’s head:

 

“Sir, I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to tag along. Admiral Starke’s yearly Christmas open house is restricted to high-end brass and personal friends.”

 

“Of which I’m probably the oldest.” Nelson snorted what he thought of the observation and brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. “I’m invited, and I’m entitled to take someone with me. You’re my guest, end of discussion.”

 

Lee looked down at his green denim shirt, jeans and hiking boots. “But I’m not dressed for an evening out.”

 

“You’re fine. Besides, we’re only staying for an hour or two.”

 

“Sir, Admiral Starke and I are constantly on tenuous ground as it is.”

 

“Look, Lee - - I’m just swinging by to say hello, pick up something from Jiggs and have a drink. It won’t take that long.”

 

“I don’t want to insult him. And if I show up dressed like this, I will.”

 

“Don’t be foolish.” Once again, Harry fluffed off the protest. “He’ll be thrilled to see you.”

 

They’d both known that was stretching the truth, but Harry also knew Jiggs was astute enough to recognize Lee wasn’t just any captain. If Harry chose to bring his commander - - casual dress or not - - there wasn’t a man in the room who’d make an issue of it, least of all Starke. Not if they wanted to maintain a friendship and association with one, Harriman Nelson. 

 

“I don’t even have anything to give Admiral Starke,” Lee muttered suddenly, still fidgeting. He shot a miserable look from the corner of his eye. “I can’t show up empty-handed. Why don’t you just drop me off at the next corner, and I’ll catch a cab back to your place.”

 

That was improvement of a sort. At least Lee didn’t say he was going to head home. Or back to the institute to bury his nose in paperwork. “I have a bottle of Scotch to give him. I’ll say it’s from both of us.”

 

“Admiral, he isn’t going to believe…”

 

“Will you stop fidgeting, Lee! You’re wound tighter than a corkscrew.” It was almost comical if Harry let his mind stray. He was accustomed to Lee’s poise and control, his innate ability to stay calm under pressure. With anyone else, except perhaps Chip or Jamie, Lee would never have let his guard down. Harry knew he should feel privileged to see a side of his usually self-assured captain few did. It told him Lee trusted him enough to share vulnerabilities he wouldn’t normally expose. Smiling, he softened his voice. “It’s Christmas Eve. Even an old warhorse like Jiggs Starke is filled with goodwill at this time of the year.”

 

Unconvinced, Lee slumped in his seat. “To think I could be happily immersed in budget projections and cold turkey right now,” he mumbled grumpily.

 

Harry grinned. Lee might moan and grumble but in the long run Harry was convinced the best thing for him was to be away from the institute, around people. It was just going to take his disgruntled friend a bit longer than usual to realize that.

 

By the time they arrived at Starke’s pristine Tudor home, the open house was already in full swing. Cars lined the crescent-shaped driveway two-deep and yellow light blazed from almost every window of the house. A twinkling array of red and green lights draped the trees and shrubs in the front while brightly beribboned wreaths hung on the double front door, strategically illuminated by spot lamps.

 

Harry stepped from the car, shooting a glance over the roof as Lee did the same.

 

“I wish you’d had a jacket I could have borrowed,” the captain protested, tugging the collar of his long overcoat up around his throat. “At least then I wouldn’t feel so underdressed.”

 

“It would have been too short for you anyway.” Harry motioned him toward the gently-curved walkway leading toward the house. He tucked the bottle of Scotch into the crook of his arm and ducked his head against a crisp lash of wind. Lee fell into step beside him, hands in pockets, face upturned to the brightly-lit home.

 

“Tudor suits him,” he commented. His teeth flashed white in the darkness, sudden and blinding as he cast a glance aside. “Sort of like a Feudal king.”

 

As always, Harry enjoyed the sight of his young friend’s smile. “At least you didn’t compare him to an overlord.”

 

“I’m just getting started.”

 

“That is my very good friend you’re talking about, Commander.”

 

“I know, Admiral. I’m sorry.” Chagrined, Lee scraped nervous fingers through his hair. “I’m uncomfortable, and it’s showing. I would have been perfectly content spending the night with budget projections.” 

 

They’d reached the front steps now and Lee slowed down, hanging back. Harry gripped his sleeve and tugged him forward onto the porch. From inside the house he could hear the muted din of voices and laughter. With a final glance for Lee, he rang the doorbell. It took only a few seconds for Jiggs Starke to fill the threshold, his large frame resplendent in a navy blue suit and slate gray shirt.

 

“Harry!” Just as quick, Starke’s ready smile faltered as he caught sight of Lee. “Uh, Crane…what are you doing here?”

 

“He’s my guest.” Harry shoved the Scotch into Jiggs’ hands. “That’s from both of us. Lee had a change of plans at the last minute so we’re headed for dinner together later.” As he talked, Harry stepped inside and shrugged out of his coat. He draped it across Starke’s free arm, fully aware Lee had stepped in beside him. He was also aware Starke hadn’t quite recovered from the unexpected surprise of having a junior officer show up at his holiday gala. He looked from Harry to Lee, the bottle of Scotch clutched in one hand, Harry’s overcoat hanging limply over his arm.

 

“Lee, I think Jiggs is waiting for your coat.” Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling and motioned Lee to divest of the garment. 

 

Lee hastily shrugged out of the long woolen coat, but held onto it, clearly scandalized by the thought of foisting it off on COMSUBPAC’s top man. “Perhaps there’s someplace you’d like me to hang these for you, Sir,” he said to Starke, indicating his willingness to take Nelson’s coat.

 

“Just give me that.” Gruffly, Starke grabbed Lee’s coat. Harry wasn’t sure what galled his friend more - - having to wait on a junior officer or realizing how shockingly casual Lee was dressed.

 

Unable to resist a parting shot, Starke raked him up and down. “Clearly, Captain, someone forgot to inform you of the proper dress for this evening.”

 

Harry pressed his lips together. Fun was fun, but when he saw Lee stiffen and flush, he knew it was time to end things before they got out of hand. “That’s my fault. I dragged him out of the Institute a half hour ago. The young fool was intent on spending the night there working.”

 

“Sir…” Lee tried to protest.

 

Starke looked appalled. “Working?” He narrowed his eyes on Lee. “You do realize, Commander, that even our good Lord took a day to rest on the Sabbath. Considering this is the eve of his birth, I think you could forgo duty for the next twenty-four hours.”

 

Lee swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

 

Grumbling, Starke shook his head. “Help yourself to a drink,” he muttered, then flashed at grin at Harry. “As long as it isn’t my Scotch.”

 

“Admiral Starke, I’m sorry.” Before anyone could say anything, a befuddled looking young man appeared at Starke’s elbow and quickly relieved him of the coats. Harry had seen him before when visiting Starke’s home, knew his name was Robert, and that he was Starke’s personal valet. There would be kitchen staff tonight as well, plus additional waitstaff to butler hors d’oeuvres. Even now he could see several smartly dressed men and women circulating through the adjoining rooms with trays of hot and cold appetizers. 

 

“I know I’m supposed to be watching the door, sir,” Robert explained, “But they ran out of Merlot at the bar. I just made a quick dash to the wine cellar and…”

 

Starke shook his head. “I knew two crates wouldn’t be enough. Tyler Baines brought his wife, and that woman drinks like a fish. Just keep an eye on the door, Robert. I’ll worry about making sure the bar stays supplied.” Hooking a companionable hand behind Harry’s neck, he steered him toward the living room where a roaring fire blazed in a massive stone hearth. “Lawson’s already here, McGregor too. They’ve both been bellowing about when you were going to show up. Something about a bet on how quickly Seaview can maneuver into a vertical dive.”

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder to make certain Lee was following. “They’d do better to ask my captain.”

 

Starke lowered his voice, leaning in close. “I don’t think anyone expected you to show up with Crane in tow, Harriman. Good God, man, aren’t you tired of always being the one to buck the code?”

 

Just that quickly, someone across the room called out a greeting and Harry found himself cornered by three old friends. When he looked over his shoulder again, Lee was gone, pulled to the side by Admiral Starke’s wife.

 

His friend smiled politely, his head lowered as he talked to the woman, but it was clear he wasn’t completely at ease. Then someone shoved a drink into Harry’s hand, blocking his view of Lee, and his captain was momentarily forgotten.

 

**********

 

As far as his Christmas open houses went, Jiggs Starke had to admit the evening was progressing smoothly. The house showed itself to best advantage - - thank God for that or Lydia would have gone on the warpath with the cleaning staff. The new decorations she’d insisted he spend a fortune purchasing (the old were too ‘dated,’ he’d pointedly been informed) looked magazine-perfect, and the hors d’oeuvres were getting rave reviews. Congressman Johnson hadn’t been able to pry himself away from the parmesan artichoke hearts, and Clyde Garman was on his third helping of Gulf shrimp and baked brie in pastry.

 

Best of all, Lydia was happily occupied, fussing over Lee Crane like a besotted schoolgirl. He might not be completely enamored of Crane’s informal command style, but he had to admit the man definitely had a knack for attracting females. Lydia wasn’t the only woman fluttering around the young captain.

 

Jiggs was accustomed to overdone social correctness from the wives of his friends but, suddenly, they were behaving like a cooing, giggling bunch of preteens. Especially after one of them had magically produced a piece of mistletoe to wave in Crane’s vicinity. 

 

Comical really. A bunch of 50ish and 60ish women fussing over a man half their age. On the plus side, it left him and his friends off the hook to talk unimpeded without needing to watch their language in shared company. At the very least, the damn junior officer was good for something.

 

Across the room, Crane flashed one of his blinding grins, and Lydia parted with a girlish giggle, bending closer to say something and pat him on the arm. Jiggs shook his head. He was not a jealous man, especially when it was clearly all giddy fun on Lydia’s part. He doubted any of the women realized how casually Crane was dressed - - something that normally would have set tongues wagging - - or that they remotely cared. The man was clearly accustomed to dispensing flattery while dodging playful passes and innocent flirting. It was actually amusing to watch that skillful balancing act between charisma and poise. 

 

Briefly, Jiggs wondered why Harriman hadn’t bothered rescuing his sub commander, then concluded it was probably a commonplace occurrence. Besides, Crane was plainly adept at fending for himself. Jiggs had been a young buck once too. Maybe he hadn’t been quite the female-magnet Crane was, but he’d succeeded in turning more than his fair share of heads.

 

“I see Harry Nelson brought his Boy Wonder,” a lazy voice observed at his elbow.

 

Jarred from his thoughts, he turned in time to see Rear Admiral Edgar Trenton sidle up next to him. A solidly-built man with a hooked nose and large barrel-chest, Trenton looked strangely out of place in his neatly-pressed beige suit. Jiggs watched as he snatched a cocktail meatball from a passing waiter, popped it into his mouth, then washed it down with a swallow of bourbon from a highball glass.

 

“Extending your guest list this year, Jiggs?”

 

“Crane came with Harriman.” He was already dead certain where that observation would lead. Trenton respected Harry to a degree - - mostly for his extreme wealth - - but had always envied his brilliance and success. Any opportunity to take a potshot, no matter how small, would be too tempting to pass by.

 

Trenton made an unflattering sound, swishing the bourbon around the inside of his glass. “Nelson never did have a shred of decorum in that genius brain of his. A junior officer as a close friend - - what in thunder is wrong with the man? I’ve heard he lets Crane speak his mind about anything. Can you imagine? A captain challenging an admiral? Putzing around on that tub, Seaview must have short-circuited Nelson’s wits.” 

 

Jiggs scowled. “Crane isn’t your typical captain.” 

 

A fat gray brow climbed higher on Trenton’s forehead. “So now you’re defending him?”

 

“Hell, no!” Was he? He rode roughshod over Crane whenever the opportunity presented itself but couldn’t deny a grudging appreciation for the younger man’s fortitude. There were very few junior officers who presented a challenge, and Jiggs thrived on a first-rate challenge. The young commander irked him, rattling his cage whenever they crossed paths, but there was no denying just how good Crane was under pressure. And how cool and polished he could be when speaking his mind to a superior officer. Jiggs often wasn’t certain when he was being contested and told off as opposed to being respectfully questioned. He’d made it his mission in life to nail Crane in the act, but the man was just too clever.

 

And, damn, if he didn’t respect him for that.

 

Trenton took another swig of bourbon then motioned expansively in Lee’s direction with the glass. “All of that aside, it’s a good thing my wife isn’t over there, flitting around that gilded popinjay, or…”

 

“Look again, Edgar,” Jiggs countered with a grin. Normally, he would have been the first to agree about Harriman’s unorthodox friendship with his captain, but it was just too priceless seeing the appalled shock wash over Trenton’s face. The other man’s bluster turned to spluttering as he realized his wife had drifted into the circle of women, beaming sweetly at Crane.

 

“And if you so much as think of making a scene,” Jiggs continued, “I’ll toss you out on your rear admiral posterior faster than you can blink. Let the woman enjoy herself.” He grinned sharply, showing his teeth. “She’s probably forgotten what it feels like to have the attention of a handsome man.”

 

Trenton looked ready to pop with indignation, his face flushing an unhealthy shade of purple. Before he could spout a suitable outburst, Jiggs blithely strolled away, surprised by how much he was enjoying himself. It wasn’t just any junior officer who could liven up a party, he’d give Harriman that one.

 

He stopped at the bar to refill his Scotch and water, taking a few minutes to shoot the breeze with Paul Jordan, head of surgery at Santa Barbara General. After a few minutes discussing health care and emergency medicine, he decided it was time to track down Harriman. 

 

He found his old friend just finishing up a conversation with Lawson and McGregor, both of whom Jiggs was fairly certain were stubbornly stuck on their vertical dive bet. He watched as Harriman set aside a small hors d’oeuvre plate, the top cleaned of all but a few red and green toothpicks still wrapped in shiny cellophane tails. He’d have to ask his friend if he’d tried the black truffle canapés which were exceptionally good this year. “I hope you’ve settled that infernal bet by now,” he complained loudly as he joined the other three.

 

Dun McGregor frowned. “Not to my satisfaction. But Harry tells me if I don’t believe him, I should double check with his captain.” He shook his head. “As if I’d even consider such a thing!”

 

Lawson smiled, popping the end of a salmon spring roll into his mouth. “I couldn’t be happier.”

 

“I guess that confirms who won the bet.” Jiggs grinned. “Now if you two scrappers will take your squabbling someplace else for a minute, I need to talk to Harriman alone.”

 

“Making a bet of your own, Jiggs?” McGregor prompted.

 

Lawson tugged his arm. “Come on.” He pulled the other man aside. “Let’s go see if we can muscle in on some of Crane’s action with the women. There’s not a single one of them who tried to get me under the mistletoe.”

 

**********

 

Harry grinned and took a swallow of his Scotch, watching the two walk away. He really should make an effort to rescue Lee and head home while there remained a remote possibility his captain was still speaking to him. Putting Lee Crane in a roomful of tipsy society women was like ringing the dinner bell. 

 

He grinned into his glass. “Lively party, Jiggs. I’ve never seen Lydia so animated.”

 

“Crane’s just damn lucky the woman can’t live without me,” his friend groused, but there was a twinkle in his eye betraying amusement. He shook his head. “I don’t get it. The man shows up in denim and scuffed boots and the fool female falls all over him. I drop a small fortune on a custom-tailored Italian suit, and she tells me to comb my hair.”

 

Harry laughed. “Maybe if you shed fifty pounds and about twenty years.”

 

“Funny, Harriman. You do realize when you yank Crane out of here I’m going to be stuck with a bunch of pouting females.”

 

“I think you’ll survive the night, Jiggs. So will they. Lee’s another story.”

 

“I thought you told me he was going back to Rhode Island to visit his mother.”

 

“He was.” Harry shuffled the observation aside, unwilling to talk about it. He’d mentioned Lee’s plans in passing a few days ago but wasn’t ready to elaborate on his captain’s last-minute change. “It doesn’t matter.” He shifted gears immediately. “Did you manage to pick up that item I wanted?”

 

“Bought and paid for with your money, Harriman,” Jiggs confirmed. “How’d you manage to track down an antique dealer of that quality in Portland?”

 

“I have my connections.” Harry grinned faintly, remembering the exhaustive time and effort he’d put into finding such a rare maritime artifact. It had taken him two months, countless phone calls and several letters before he’d finally managed to secure the object and have it shipped to Portland, Oregon. Jiggs had already been headed there for a conference, so it had been a simple matter of giving his old friend enough money to secure the deal. The whole transaction had come down to the wire, but Harry - - with the help of Jiggs Starke - - had pulled it off in the knick of time.

 

“I’d like to see it,” he said at last.

 

“I figured you would. If I’d dumped that much money on some ancient piece of history, I’d want to see it too. This way.” Jiggs motioned him to follow. “I’ve got it stashed in the den.”

 

Harry stole one more glance at Lee, still holding his own among a circle of prettily cooing women, then followed Jiggs back a short hallway to a room overlooking the rear grounds. Gleaming hardwood floors blended with walnut woodwork and masculine shades of hunter green, burgundy and gold. Jiggs bypassed a massive two-pedestal desk, stepping to the matching credenza just behind it. A flat cardboard box occupied the top. 

 

He set it on the desk, shoving it toward Harry. “Take a look and tell me if it was worth all the aggravation.”

 

With a glance for his friend, Harry popped open the cardboard flaps. The book inside had seen better days, its leather worn and cracked, but the gold embossing on the front was still legible:  Captain Joshua B. Ruckerman, LV12 WAL 528, Flying Reef. He brushed his fingertips over the letters, enraptured by the smell of old parchment, dust and leather. “Perfect.” Reverently, he removed the book from the box, carefully flipping through the pages. The log entries remained clear and readable for the most part, only a few faded by time and exposure to the elements. Given its age, he considered his prize pristine. “It’s perfect, Jiggs,” he repeated.

 

Still hovering behind the desk, Jiggs shook his head. “If you say so. Personally, I don’t get why you’d drop a fortune on a moldy old captain’s log from a vessel that was decommissioned over 45 years ago…”

 

“It’s not for me,” Harry interrupted. Carefully, he returned the book to its box. “It’s for Lee.”

 

Jiggs stared at him aghast. “Crane?”

 

Harry heard the incredulity in his voice. “He likes lightships,” he said simply. “I thought it would make a unique Christmas gift, giving him something from a ship that had actually seen service. A captain’s log for a captain.” He gave a soft snort. “For the commander of a nuclear submarine, the man has an amazing fixation for vessels of a bygone era, surface ships or not.”

 

“Crane?” Jiggs seemed permanently stuck on the idea - - and permanently aghast. He shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You had me playing messenger boy, hoofing it to three different antique dealers just so you could get Crane a logbook from a floating lighthouse that last saw service in 1918? Hades, Harriman, do you know how much time I spent tracking that infernal relic down for you? Do you have any idea what the blasted thing cost?”

 

Harry chuckled. “Given, what I paid for it, I’m well aware of its price tag. And I’m sorry you had to scurry around, Jiggs, but you were already in Portland anyway. I did most of the leg work before you even got there. It was worth it too. I wanted something special for Lee this Christmas. He’s had a rough year.”

 

“What about me?” Indignant, Jiggs pounded a fist against his chest. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

 

“You were.”

 

“You didn’t tell me it was for Crane. Hell’s bells, Harry, the man is a subordinate officer! Don’t you think you’re carrying this unorthodox friendship a bit too far? It’s one thing to give him a little leniency on Seaview, another to start treating him like a . . . like a . . .” 

 

He couldn’t finish the thought, but the words reverberated in Harry’s mind as shrilly as if they’d been spoken aloud:  “. . . like a son.”  Had he become that obvious? And if he had, what did it really matter? It was never openly acknowledged, but every man on Seaview knew that was exactly how he felt about Lee. Placed in perspective, it was actually amusing that so many others were willing to concede those feelings while he and Lee danced around them, fearful of crossing some imaginary line. 

 

Damn stupid, really.

 

He needed something in his life that only Lee fulfilled, and Lee desperately needed someone he could count on . . . someone who wasn’t going to let him down, who cared about him solely because of who he was, not because of what he’d achieved. For a man so coolly poised and proficient, Lee could be surprisingly vulnerable at times. 

 

“How I treat him is my business,” he told Jiggs at last. “But I do appreciate your help in getting this gift. Tied up like I was with Seaview, I couldn’t have managed it on my own without making Lee suspicious.” His eyes dipped to the cardboard box and the decades-old prize it contained. “Hopefully, this will say a few things I can’t.”

 

Jiggs shook his head, his shoulders hunching in defeat. “I give up. There’s simply no reasoning with you when it comes to Crane.”

 

Harry grinned, unable to argue with his friend’s logic.

 

**********

 

Lee slumped into the passenger’s side of the sedan. With a grateful sigh, he tilted his head back against the seat rest and let his eyes feather shut. “Thank God that’s over. You could have at least sent me a lifeline once or twice to see how I was doing.”

 

Harry chuckled, pulling the car onto the main thoroughfare. The drone of tires against asphalt was a soothing counterbalance to the hum of passing traffic. A string of streetlights flashed by, bathing the inside of the sedan with the spectral kiss of alabaster. The light bled through Lee’s long eyelashes, spiking fan-like shadows across his cheek.

 

“I didn’t want to spoil your fun.” Harry dug a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “Here - - wipe your face. You’ve got lipstick on your cheek.” He surrendered the white square, grinning good-naturedly. “Hmmm. Coral-peach. Mrs. Trenton or Mrs. Symthe?”

 

“Probably Lydia’s.” Lee swabbed at the stubborn stain on his cheek before passing the handkerchief back.   

 

Intrigued, Harry raised an eyebrow. “Lydia?”

 

“Mrs. Starke,” Lee clarified with a sideways grimace. “She insisted I call her by her first name. I told her that would be tantamount to her husband ordering my head on a platter, but she only laughed and said I had no more in common with John the Baptist than Admiral Starke did with King Herod.” He frowned. “Somehow, I don’t feel very convinced.”

 

Harry parted with a lackadaisical shrug, playing devil’s advocate. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself . . . all that female attention.”

 

“I was being polite.” Lee’s glare didn’t hold water for long, and he eventually relented with the hint of a smile. “It wasn’t so bad. Most of them were pleasant company, and Lydia…er, Mrs. Starke,” he quickly corrected. “…has a way of talking about her husband that makes him seem almost human.”

 

“I told you before, Jiggs is all bluster.”

 

“I said almost, Admiral. And he’s only bluster when you’re wearing four stars and roomed with him at Annapolis. He considers captains a daily entrée. It’s pretty plain the man doesn’t like me.”

 

“He doesn’t like you because you hold your own with him, and he’s not used to that from a junior officer. To Jiggs there’s a fine line between speaking your mind and insubordination. But he does respect you.” Harry sent him a direct glance. “That’s far more important in the grand scheme of things.” 

 

Lee was quiet a moment. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, hunching deeper into his coat. The wind had picked up, pushing the temperature down another four degrees, and the warmth from the heater had yet to kick in. “There’s more to it than that,” he said at last.

 

“Possibly.” Harry thought of the cardboard box stashed in his trunk. He’d given Robert his keys and asked him to take the parcel outside while Lee was engaged in saying goodbye to Lydia and the other women. “He doesn’t like the way I treat you,” he admitted at last. “As a friend, he’s just looking out for my welfare.”

 

“Most of the brass doesn’t like the way you treat me,” Lee agreed. He frowned as if disturbed by the thought and sat straighter. “Admiral . . . do you think I’m insubordinate or disrespectful to you?”

 

Harry gave a loud, startled snort. Talk about a loaded question! “I don’t think I want to touch that one, Lee.”

 

“Then you do.”

 

“I didn’t say that.” Harry waved him off, abruptly frustrated with the path the conversation had taken. He could see, however, from the look in Lee’s eyes that he wasn’t going to let the subject drop. “I think you speak your mind, but you do it respectfully - - most of the time,” he added with an indulgent grin. He saw Lee blink, a disconcerted thread of worry creeping into his graze. 

 

“Good God, man, quit being so serious! Can’t you take a joke? We might butt heads and do it often, but it works! Having you spout off at me hasn’t made me want to write you up for insubordination or kick your tail end off Seaview. The way we interact is part of what makes us a good team, blowups and all. Do you think I want a ‘yes man’ for a captain?” He shook his head, turning his attention back to the road. He could almost feel his young commander slipping into a sullenly introspective mood. “What’s wrong with you tonight, Lee?”

 

The younger man evaded the question. “So why me?”

 

Harry frowned, growing frustrated. “Why you, what?”

 

“Why not John Phillips?” Lee clarified. “I’ve heard the crew talk. John never would have dreamed of challenging you on some of the things I have.”

 

“And that’s your answer. It wasn’t in his personality. He was content to let me take the lead in everything that involved Seaview and her crew. You’re not. When I accepted you as captain, I accepted there were going to be times you disagreed with me, and unlike John, were going to speak up about it.”

 

“So you’re saying it’s all part of the package?”

 

Harry exhaled wearily, pausing briefly to massage his temple. “I’m saying I wouldn’t have you any other way, Captain. Your stubbornness is part of what makes you such a good commander.” He cast Lee a sharp glance. “Even if you do give me a pounding headache at times. Now can we drop this? We’re five minutes from the institute where you can pick up your car and follow me home. I’d like to think about that filet and crab without the added benefit of indigestion.”

 

In the darkness, Harry saw the white flash of Lee’s smile. “Just testing your patience, Sir.”

 

Harry harrumphed what he thought of the idea. His high-maintenance commander had mastered that one long ago.

 

**********

 

Lee stepped into the warmth and light of Nelson’s home and felt some of his earlier melancholy wash away. He’d been doing a juggling act all night - - one minute content with the way his Christmas was turning out, the next feeling like extra baggage foisted on a friend. He would have been okay staying at the institute, muddling through paperwork then heading home and crashing into bed early. He didn’t want to intrude, but the admiral had insisted. Surely, if his friend had wanted to spend the evening alone he wouldn’t have been adamant Lee tag along.

 

The few hours as a guest of Jiggs Starke had been a little unnerving, but at least he’d had a drink to pass the time while chatting with Lydia and several of her friends. They’d been entertaining company, far better than Starke or any of his cohorts would have been. It had been a surprisingly pleasant diversion though he wasn’t quite ready to admit that to Nelson for fear his friend would try to throw him together with Starke more often. They tolerated one another fairly well, but it was an acceptance born of necessity not choice.

 

“I’ll just be a minute, Lee,” Nelson called over his shoulder, turning back toward the door. “I need to grab something from the trunk. Help yourself to a drink at the bar.”

 

Lee nodded, well acquainted with the layout of his friend’s home. He hung his coat in the foyer then wandered into the great room. The admiral had obviously had his staff decorate, including finishing off a nine-foot spruce with a twinkling array of white lights, cranberry ribbon and glittering ornaments in bright gem colors. The hearth was draped with garland - - fresh greens intertwined with red holly berries and pinecones frosted with artificial snow.   

 

Nelson lived in a gated estate, his villa-style home overlooking the ragged blue hem of the Pacific. Vaulted ceilings, Italian marble and Palladian windows and doors made the most of a cliff-top setting complete with sweeping panoramic views. It was easily twice the size of Lee’s two-story beach house which itself was on the high end of Santa Barbara’s real estate market.

 

Before leaving for the evening, Nelson had drawn the drapes on the towering windows, trapping warmth and light indoors. Lee hit the switch for the gas fireplace, igniting a dance of jeweled flames behind the glass. As he moved to the bar to fix drinks for himself and Nelson, he heard the front door open and close, signaling the admiral had come back inside. It was another fifteen minutes before Nelson finally joined him in the great room. By that time the smell of béarnaise sauce wafting from the food warmers in the kitchen actually had Lee’s stomach rumbling in anticipation.

 

“I fixed you a Scotch and soda, Sir.”

 

“Predictable, aren’t I?” Nelson grinned as he accepted the glass, then raised it in a toast. “To Christmas with family and friends.”

 

Lee nodded, uncertain where family fit into the scheme of things but took a swallow of his Scotch regardless. The discussion in the car had left him feeling a little too introspective. He’d always known his friend granted him excessive leniency, but he was starting to question that line. He was completely comfortable in Nelson’s home, had visited countless times in the past, even occasionally crashing overnight when the hour grew too late to drive home. The man was a four-star admiral. If he put that in perspective, he didn’t feel remotely comfortable around Jiggs Starke who held the same rank. He didn’t even like standing on the man’s doorstep.

 

He knew Nelson was notorious for cutting his own path. He was wealthy enough and brilliant enough to buck the system repeatedly and have it come crawling back each time. But even brilliant, wealthy men had limitations. By maintaining a friendship with Lee, was he setting himself up to lose the respect of his peers? 

 

The thought bothered Lee, but he kept it to himself. Had they been serving on a regular Navy sub, their relationship probably would have been different. Surely, Lee wouldn’t have felt the need to speak his mind so often, challenging his superior officer on an almost routine basis. Seaview’s uniqueness and the missions they undertook forced him to speak up frequently. There was no question Nelson was brilliant, but sometimes that extraordinary intellect made him lose sight of reason. Enraptured by the possibility of scientific discovery, he could momentarily overlook the larger picture. And that was Lee’s responsibility - - balancing the need for discovery with the safety of the boat and her crew. 

 

Jiggs Starke couldn’t fathom that. All he saw was the Navy structure of following orders to the letter. Thus Lee had earned the reputation for treading a fine line of insubordination, and Nelson had become known for letting him get away with it. 

 

Which spiraled right back to Lee’s earlier quandary - - was he responsible for Nelson losing respect among his peers?

 

He shoved the thought from his mind, determined not to dwell on anything so dismal. When Nelson suggested they retire to the formal dining room for dinner, Lee was only too willing to focus on something else. The food was exceptional and the conversation enjoyable. Afterward, it was a simple matter of dropping the plates in the dishwasher and storing the leftovers in the refrigerator. They spent the evening hashing over everything from Seaview’s upcoming missions to amusing quirks of the crew, past holidays, world affairs, and even a smattering of pop culture. 

 

As always, Lee found himself stimulated by Nelson’s intellect, their conversation flowing freely from one subject to the next. He was completely at ease with the man, comfortable enough to unwind and let down his guard. It was something he did with very few people . . . the admiral, Chip, Jamie . . . Kowalski, to a lesser degree. There were only a select few who’d earned his trust, rating that measure of relaxed comfort.

 

Eventually, with dinner finished, he and Nelson retired to the great room, content to linger in the glow of Christmas lights and the vermillion haze of the fire. Lee shot a glance to the towering grandfather’s clock in the corner and realized it was almost midnight. Christmas Day was only minutes away. 

 

By now, his mother would be happily ensconced on a luxury liner, basking in the warmth of the southern seas, likely having late night cocktails with her friends. She’d be enjoying herself, Mitchell forgotten, the last thing on her mind the son she’d left behind in Santa Barbara. The thought dimmed the feeling of warmth that had been brewing in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Sir, it’s getting late,” he said at last. “It’s been a great evening. Thank you for including me, but I should really head home.”

 

“You’re right, it is late.” Nelson sat forward, setting his drink on the squat coffee table positioned in front of him. “All the more reason for you to spend the night here. You can use the east guest room. We’ll attend services together tomorrow morning, then I’ll whip up some eggs for breakfast, if that’s agreeable.”

 

“Admiral, I don’t want to impose…”

 

“Don’t be foolish, lad.” Nelson fluffed off the protest with a scowl. “Besides . . . you’ve had a bit much to drink, and there’s still something I want you to see.”

 

Lee blinked. “Sir?”

 

“Wait here.” Grinning impishly, Nelson stood and left the room. 

 

It gave Lee a chance to think about the tin coin in his pocket. His whole Christmas had been turned upside down and yet it was one of the best he’d spent in recent years. Had he flown home to Rhode Island, he would have had to contend with the drama of his mother’s impending divorce. It would have been nice to see her, but after two days he would have been climbing the walls, anxious to leave.

 

With Nelson, he was at ease, relaxed. He’d had a great evening, just two friends spending time together. Lee had always been comfortable with their unspoken relationship, but after tonight he wasn’t entirely sure it was fair to Nelson. He hadn’t been immune to the grumblings at Jiggs Starke’s party and knew that his presence had been seen as inappropriate. Nelson didn’t care, but others did. He’d gotten wind of a few comments that had been made, including some particularly ugly ones by Rear Admiral Edgar Trenton.

 

Lee huffed out a sigh and stood, hands stuffed in his pockets as he paced to the fireplace. Absently, he fiddled with the coin. He had a nice safe gift for the admiral at home, the one he’d planned on originally. Somehow, after the last year and all Nelson had done for him . . . been to him . . . a pricey briefcase just didn’t seem appropriate to express his appreciation. The coin was nothing but a cheap piece of tin, but it said so much more.

 

“We can’t call it a night until you open this,” Nelson announced as he came back into the room, waving a flat, square package decked out in red and green foil. It looked like it had been hastily wrapped. 

 

Lee had the sudden suspicion it was the item Nelson had retrieved from his trunk, hence his momentary absence after he’d come back inside.

 

“Originally, I thought I wouldn’t be able to give it to you until a few days after Christmas when you got back from Rhode Island,” the admiral explained. “This makes it better.” Smiling broadly, he held out the package. “Merry Christmas, Lee.”

 

Surprised, Lee looked from the gift to his friend. “Thank you, Sir.” He took it slowly, watching Nelson’s face. “But you’re grinning like a Cheshire cat. Should I be worried?”

 

“Just open it, lad.” 

 

Lee hedged purposefully, taking a moment to estimate the weight and size. When he was a child, his mother had always made certain he had plenty of gifts at Christmas, but they were usually opened alone at military school while she and Mitchell ran off to tour Europe. It had gotten to the point where he’d become adept at guessing the gifts before they were opened. “It’s a book,” he said carefully.

 

“Quit stalling and open the bloody thing already!”

 

Lee grinned, enjoying the rush of frustrated humor in Nelson’s blue eyes. Amazing how gifts had gone from having no true meaning after his father died, to things he’d come to treasure from close friends like the admiral and Chip. He felt a surprisingly eager thrill as he slipped his fingers under the edge of the paper and tore - - the kind of thrill he used to feel on Christmas mornings before his father passed away.

 

“Admiral?” Stunned, Lee uncovered the book, letting the wrappings fall forgotten to the floor. His eyes went from the name embossed on the front cover to the older man’s face. “How did you get this? It’s . . .this is an actual log from…”

 

“…the Flying Reef,” Nelson’s grin grew broader, his delight unmistakable. “Do you know her?”

 

“Yes. Of course.” Lee dropped into the nearest chair, spreading the book open on his knees. It was an astounding gift - - far more for the extreme thought that had gone into it than its extraordinary value. “She had a very short term of service. 1908 to 1918, positioned off the North Pacific coast at Flying Reef shoal. A gale-force wind dragged her off station, and she foundered on the rocks. Her mainmast fractured, and she was decommissioned shortly thereafter.”

 

Nelson grinned fondly. “You really do like these old ships, don’t you?”

 

Lee flushed. “I’m boring you.”

 

“Not at all!” Nelson laughed out loud and clapped him on the back. “I’m just glad you like it. It seemed somehow appropriate - - a captain’s log for a captain.”

 

“It’s a phenomenal gift, Admiral.” Lee lowered his eyes, looking again to the prize he held. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was about lightships that struck a chord with him. They were stationary surface vessels, never able to explore the vast sea he so loved, and yet . . .

 

It was more than that. He thought back to the Seven Stars and an ancient creature he’d shared consciousness with. Somehow it was all connected . . . a long ago past and fading yesteryears, a way of life that had vanished with preceding generations. 

 

Like the Flying Reef and the Seven Stars. 

 

Like his father.

  

He swallowed hard, unwilling to raise his head. “Thank you, Sir. I do appreciate it.” He couldn’t begin to express how much. The gift itself struck a chord, but the fact it had come from Nelson meant so much more.

 

The older man’s hand lingered a moment longer before dropping from his shoulder. “You’ll stay the night, lad.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s after midnight, and there’s no sense of you going home to a dark house on Christmas day.” Stretching, Nelson parted with an indulgent yawn. “I think I’m for bed.”

 

Lee glanced to the fire, glittering gold and scarlet behind a pane of glass. “I think I’ll stay up and read for awhile.” He grinned up at the older man. “I’d like to see what Captain Ruckerman has to say about life aboard the Flying Reef.” He shook his head, still dazed by the time and effort Nelson must have invested in tracking down something so old. “How did you manage this?”

 

“My secret,” Nelson returned lightly. “Just don’t get any ideas about hanging lanterns on Seaview’s sail and adding mushroom anchors.”

 

“I wouldn’t think of it. I might appreciate lightships, Sir, but submarines are in my blood. Especially Seaview.”

 

Nelson nodded. “Goodnight, Lee. It’s been an enjoyable evening. I’m sorry your plans for Rhode Island didn’t work out.”

 

Lee sank back into the chair, getting more comfortable. “I’m not.” He hooked his right ankle over his left knee, settling the book on his lap. Content, he flipped to the first page and let the whispers of history wash over him. “I’ll let you know if Captain Ruckerman has anything interesting to report.”

 

Grinning, Nelson shook his head. Lee watched as he left the room, heading for the sweeping staircase off the foyer. Once again, he thought about the battered tin coin in his pocket. Like the Flying Reef and the Seven Stars, it belonged to the past.

 

A warm smile touched his lips.

 

And just maybe, the present too.

 

**********

 

Despite the fact he stayed up until almost 0130 reading passages from Captain Ruckerman’s log, Lee was up shortly after sunrise on Christmas Day. He drove back to his beach house, showered and changed into something more suitable for Sunday services - - black trousers with a burgundy turtleneck and charcoal sports jacket - - then picked up the admiral’s gift and headed back to Nelson’s estate. He had coffee brewing a good fifteen minutes before the older man wandered downstairs.

 

“You’re up early,” the admiral observed, coming into the kitchen. “I thought I heard your car pulling away over an hour ago.”

 

“I went home to change clothes. And to get this…” Lee held out the package he’d wrapped a few days before. “Merry Christmas, Sir.”

 

“What a great surprise.” Nelson smiled, obviously pleased by the idea Lee had bought him a gift.

 

From experience, Lee knew it could have been anything. It didn’t really matter what he’d bought. A man as wealthy as Nelson already had everything he needed. It was more the idea that the gift - - no matter what it was - - had been chosen by Lee. “Sit down and I’ll get us some coffee,” he suggested.

 

Nelson sat at the kitchen table, settling the brightly wrapped package on the top while Lee walked to the coffee pot. 

 

It was always hard buying for the admiral given Lee was a subordinate officer. There were policies among regular Navy that prohibited superiors accepting expensive gifts from subordinates, but Seaview wasn’t a Navy shop, thank God. And Nelson was a close friend. More than a friend. He deserved something special. Had they been regular Navy, the very idea would have been inappropriate.

 

Sometimes that was obstacle enough. Lee always put careful thought into the gift he selected for the admiral each Christmas, but it never adequately expressed what he wanted to say. He tended to buy things that were thoughtful but safe.

 

He couldn’t help smiling at Nelson’s appreciation when he opened the gift. For a man of such dignity and stature, the admiral wasn’t above grinning like a schoolboy when delighted by something. Lee had seen that same look come into his eyes when he grew enraptured by a scientific breakthrough. He was like a kid stumbling over something wondrous and new.

 

“This is perfect, Lee. My old one is ready to fall apart.”

 

“I noticed.” Lee slid a cup of black coffee onto the table by his friend’s elbow. “I figured you were too busy to buy a new one, so I thought I’d do it for you.” He watched as Nelson ran his finger over the brass nameplate, etched with his initials. The case itself was exquisite, of the finest quality craftsmanship and supple leather. And yet it felt practical to Lee - - expensive perhaps, but cautious. Once more he thought of the tin coin in his trouser pocket and what it meant to him, what it had meant to his father. 

 

What it would mean to give it to Nelson.

 

“I couldn’t have you going to Washington with that battered thing you’ve been carrying around for the last several months,” he said, pushing the thought aside. The admiral’s old briefcase had seen better days. He knew he’d given Nelson a gift that pleased him. He just wished it pleased him half as much. The man had become so much more than an employer and friend. More than a mentor and superior officer.

 

Nelson flipped the clasp open, peering inside. “I feel like a kid, snatching something from under the tree.”

 

Lee slid into the chair across from him. “I didn’t even think to put the lights on this morning.”

 

“We can do that when we get back from church. I promised you a huge breakfast, remember?” He eyed Lee deliberately. “And you are going to eat, Captain. Not your usual picking.”

 

“I ate last night,” Lee pointed out.

 

Nelson nodded. “You did.” He set the briefcase aside, reaching for his coffee. “Edith won’t get here until sometime after noon. I have no clue what’s for dinner, but she’s bringing it. I was told to handle the hors d’oeuvres.”

 

“I think I should leave before then.”

 

“You’re staying.” Nelson’s tone made it clear the subject wasn’t open for debate. “But first things first . . . we should probably head out for services.”

 

Lee nodded, flicking a glance to the clock on the counter. He remembered early morning church services with his parents on Christmas Day and how his mother had always made a huge breakfast afterward. His father, a kid at heart, had delighted in getting down on the floor with Lee in front of the Christmas tree to fiddle with Lee’s gifts. There’d always been some gadget to put together or something they’d fawned over together. He was half immersed in those thoughts when the phone rang.

 

“Excuse me.” The admiral pushed from his chair and headed into the great room to retrieve the call. Lee caught only snatches of his conversation but heard a hearty burst of laughter more than once. A few minutes later Nelson returned, his blue eyes dancing as he glanced at Lee.

 

“That was Jiggs Starke. He called to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

 

“That was nice,” Lee said cautiously.

 

“And to tell me Lydia has given him strict orders you’re to be included on their Christmas guest list from now on.”

 

“You’re joking?” Lee felt his stomach lurch.

 

Nelson laughed, enjoying himself. “Dead serious, Commander. Jiggs said all Lydia and her friends talked about for the remainder of the party was how refreshingly charming you were. And that their husbands needed to get in line and take lessons from you in the hopes of possibly measuring up.”

 

“You’re exaggerating.”

 

When Nelson only grinned, Lee groaned and bowed his face into his hands. “Damn. I’m dead.”

 

Nelson chuckled. “It’s Christmas morning, Lee. There’ll be no ‘damns’ in this house today. Now come on - - we’ve got a church service to attend.”

 

Lee stood, crossing to the sink and dumping the remainder of his coffee down the drain. Hesitating, he glanced over his shoulder. Nelson had that glint in his eyes - - part Irish, part elf, all wicked fun.

 

“You were joking about Mrs. Starke, right?” he asked worriedly.

 

Nelson’s grin grew broader. “Maybe you should just ask Jiggs.”

 

Lee closed his eyes, silently cursing his ill luck. Admiral Starke might not be King Herod, but Lee was convinced he was still going to want his head on a platter all the same.

 

**********

 

Lee felt renewed after the early morning church service but also strangely melancholy. The goodwill of the people around him was contagious, but he couldn’t stop thinking how several months ago he’d come face-to-face with his father. What an amazing gift he’d been granted . . .  those precious few days with Grayson. 

 

No one would ever replace his father, but Nelson had gone a long way to filling that void in his life. His friend deserved an upbeat holiday, so Lee did his best to shake off his mood as they drove back to the house. He helped Nelson throw a large breakfast together - - scrambled eggs, pan-fried potatoes, bacon, toast, juice - - and had to admit the food went a long way in warming his stomach. Even bachelors couldn’t screw up breakfast. Edith phoned while they were cleaning up the dishes, so Lee finished while Nelson took his sister’s call.

 

The admiral was still talking by the time Lee was done. Rather than intrude, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the back onto a large rambling deck. The temperature had climbed considerably from the evening before - - still not mild, but warm enough that he was comfortable in his jacket without feeling the need for his heavier wool coat. 

 

Bracing his arms against the railing, he stood looking out over the sandy beach to the ragged surf beyond. Sunlight glinted on the water, flashing diamond-bright on rolling, white-capped waves. The air felt cool against his face, misted with the kiss of the ocean. He could smell salt and brine, the heavier tang of wet sand mixed with silt and seaweed. It would be another week before Seaview set sail but already he could feel a tug on his heart - - the desire to be back on his boat as she glided sleek and silent beneath the waves.   

 

His father had been surprised with that turn in his life. “The commander of a submarine? But I thought you wanted to be a cop?”

 

That life . . . that childhood dream seemed so long ago. He’d grown out of it quickly, his world turned upside down when his father had died aboard the Carlisle Maine and Mitchell Blake entered his life. 

 

“I would have made a lousy cop anyway,” he grumbled aloud.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Lee gave an unconscious jerk, realizing Nelson had stepped onto the deck behind him.

 

“Admiral.” He flashed a disarming grin, setting his thoughts aside. “It’s warmer out today, so I thought I’d get some air.”

 

Nelson made a vague sound of agreement and stood beside him, leaning forward on the railing. In the sunlight, his hair was brighter - - russet threaded liberally with copper and gold. “Edith called to say she’ll be about an hour late. Something to do with still throwing food together. I told her we were having one more.”

 

“Maybe I should go,” Lee volunteered, feeling like the proverbial third-wheel. He found Edith enchanting and friendly, though there’d never been any spark of romantic interest between them. She was certainly attractive enough, a poised, intelligent woman, but she was also the admiral’s sister, and that was one line Lee had no intention of crossing. He always enjoyed spending time with her and Nelson, but Christmas was for family.

 

“We’ve been down that road already,” Nelson told him. “Besides, Edith was thrilled. She said as much as she loves me, I turn into boring company after two hours.” He shook his head. “Something only a sister could say. Now come back inside. She gave me orders to get the hors d’oeuvres ready and I need help.”

 

Lee grinned, deciding there was no sense in arguing the point. “Aye, Sir.”

 

**********

 

Harry’s regular dinner service had done most of the prep, but there were still a few things that needed to be sliced or arranged on trays. He was just putting the last of the shrimp back into the refrigerator when he heard the clatter of a knife against the counter.

 

“Damn,” Lee swore softly.

 

Harry turned in time to see him apply pressure to his left hand, a large cutting board and its collection of colorful vegetables forgotten. Bright red blood oozed heavily between his fingers.  

 

“What happened?” 

 

“Nothing. Lee grimaced, pressing harder, but the blood came faster than before. “Just being careless, not paying attention to what I was doing.” 

 

“Here. Get over the sink.” Harry steered him toward the faucet. “Put your hand under there.” He cranked on the water. “I’ll get something to stop the bleeding.”

 

He watched from the corner of his eye as Lee thrust his hand under the stream. As the blood washed away, Harry could see the cut was deep - - a long gash angled over the underside of Lee’s fingers just above the knuckles. The younger man winced and pulled his hand free, blood immediately gushing to the surface.

 

Harry snatched a clean towel from the kitchen drawer and wrapped it tightly around his hand. “Those cuts look deep. You’re going to need stitches.”

 

Lee shook his head. “Not today. Not on Christmas.” His eyes flashed to Harry’s face. “I’ll be fine once the bleeding stops.”

 

Harry nodded, but the amount of blood alarmed him. It was already soaking through the towel. He grabbed another and wrapped it over the first, pressing tightly to stop the bright stream of red oozing from under the cloth. Several dime-sized drops splattered into the sink.

 

“You’re not even on Seaview and you manage to hurt yourself,” he grumbled.

 

Lee shot him a glance. “You sound like Jamie.”

 

“If he were here, he’d bite your head off, Commander. I guess we should leave the kitchen to Cookie.”

 

“It’s not that bad, Sir.”

 

Nelson scowled, fully aware his young captain was trying to fluff off the truth. “I’ll reserve judgment for the time being. Let’s get the thing cleaned up and bandaged.”

 

**********

 

A half hour later later, Harry walked into the great room to find Lee sitting in the corner of the couch, Captain Ruckerman’s log open in his lap. Harry had banished him from the kitchen earlier while he finished up the hors d’oeuvres alone.

 

With the sun shining brightly outside, it felt festive and warm in the great room. A fire danced in the hearth, the tree was lit and Christmas music played in the background, piped from recessed speakers. Lee had shed his jacket, the deep burgundy of his turtleneck a striking contrast against his raven-black hair. His left hand was heavily bandaged with gauze, his elbow propped on the plump arm of the couch, head bowed against his fingers as he studied the book.

 

“How’s your hand?” Harry asked, sliding into a chair across from him. He’d brought a glass of water with him and set it on the coffee table in front of Lee.

 

The younger man raised his head. “It’s fine, Admiral.”

 

Harry grinned. “One of these days you’re going to surprise me and say something like  . . . ‘it hurts’ or . . . ‘it’s sore.’”

 

A faint smile curved Lee’s mouth. “Okay,” he relented. “It’s a little sore.”

 

“I thought as much.” He dug into his pocket and fished out a bottle of aspirin. “I thought you might need two of these.”

 

Lee frowned. “Admiral, that’s not necessary.”

 

“I say it is. I let you have your way about the hospital and stitches - - for which Jamie will surely read me the riot act when he finds out - - but you’re not getting out of this one, Captain. I can see the discomfort in your eyes.”

 

“It’s just stiff,” Lee protested.

 

“These will help.” Harry popped the lid on the bottle. He’d never seen a man so dead set against taking pills in his life. If he didn’t know Lee better, he’d chalk it up to some kind of phobia. Instead, his perfection-driven captain incorrectly viewed the need for medication as a form of weakness. He could accept it in others, but not in himself. Damn stupid conviction in Harry’s book. Someone had really done a number on Lee to make him that single-minded, and he knew exactly who that someone was - - a cold-hearted bastard named Mitchell Blake.

 

Lee frowned, but he accepted the two tablets Harry tumbled into his palm. 

 

The older man watched as his friend tossed them to the back of his throat and downed them with a mouthful of water. Satisfied, he sat back in his chair. “I feel better, even if you don’t.” He nodded to the log book. “Interesting reading?”

 

“Thought provoking.” Lee flipped the book closed, his expression oddly pensive. “Lightship crews were small. They had to be extremely dependent on one another.” He paused as if deliberating over a thought. “Seaview has a good crew.”

 

“Exceptional,” Harry agreed, uncertain where the conversation was leading. With Lee, one could never tell. 

 

“You put a lot of thought into whom you chose for your boat. It’s clear you handpicked each person, top to bottom.”

 

Harry nodded, abruptly certain Lee was carefully skirting something deeper he wanted to address. It was amazing how adept he’d become at reading his commander over the last two years. “I handpicked you too,” he pointed out.

 

Lee’s eyes flashed to his face, that startling mix of burnt umber and green all the more striking for the heavy thread of his lashes. “I’m grateful for that, Sir. But I never wanted Seaview at the cost of John Phillips…”

 

“I know that.” Blast it, where was the young fool headed now?

 

“…and I’d never want to hang onto her if it damages your reputation.”

 

Harry blinked. “What?” It took him a moment of sheer incredulity to realize Lee had veered light years off course from the conversation they’d been having. “Wait a minute.” He stood in an attempt to gather his wits. “I thought we were talking about lightships. About the value of reliable crews.”

 

Lee looked up at him. “We were, Admiral.”

 

“Then why the blazes are you bringing my reputation into it?”

 

“Sir . . . I . . .”

 

There was that damn frazzled moment of discomfort. Harry could spot it a mile away. 

 

Lee stood and paced to the fireplace, raking his good hand through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he admitted, his back turned to Harry. “You enjoy such an extraordinary level of respect with Admiral Starke and so many others. They might not always agree with you, but they defer to your position. Last night, I . . . um . . .” Lee turned to face him. Always articulate, it was unusual for him to fish for words. “ . . . I caught wind of some comments Rear Admiral Trenton made. Specifically as they related to my position on Seaview and our working relationship. I didn’t like the things he said about you, Sir.”

 

“Is that all?” Harry gave a loud, condescending snort. “Edgar Trenton is a pompous ass, Lee. I wouldn’t give credence to half the things the man says. For crying out loud, it’s Christmas Day! I don’t like listening to this garbage under normal circumstances. I’m certainly not going to do it now.” He scowled heavily and spanned the distance between them, pointing a finger under Lee’s nose. “And I’ll tell you something else - - the only reason Trenton and his puffed-up cohorts grumble is because I pulled you out of the Navy before they realized exactly who and what they’d given up. You don’t think Trenton would like another feather in his cap, having you commanding one of his subs?”

 

“Admiral, I didn’t mean…”

 

“Jiggs told me about Trenton and his snide remarks. It might interest you to know that Starke put him in his place.”

 

Lee looked confused. “But I thought…”

 

“What? That Jiggs would agree with him? I told you before, Commander…Starke respects you. He just doesn’t like the fact that I treat you like a . . . like a . . .” He waved his hand in the air, trying to dispel words that wouldn’t come. Abruptly, he realized he’d said too much. Lee was always uncomfortable acknowledging that part of their relationship. Hell, they both were. Two grown men who feinted around an imaginary line everyone else plainly acknowledged.

 

Harry dragged a hand over the back of his neck and paced a short distance away, aware of a sudden awkward silence. He knew his moody young captain far too well. Lee would change the topic, putting them back on safer territory. He’d wait a short while then make another attempt to wheedle out the door before Edith showed up, uncomfortable with the shift in dynamics.   

 

“Admiral?”

 

Harry could already hear it in his voice and debated about just letting him go. Who was he to impose his feelings on Lee? With all the turmoil he’d had in his life, why would Lee even consider looking toward him as anything more than an employer and friend? And Harry had already had his chance. There’d been plenty of women in his life - - beautiful, intelligent women - - but he’d never had the desire for a commitment. He’d been selfish, focused on building the institute. It was his own damn fault he didn’t have a wife or children. He couldn’t just magically draft Grayson Crane’s son into his life because it suited him.

 

“Sir?”

 

“What is it, Lee?” He pressed two fingers to his temples, grimacing against a brewing headache. With a sigh he dropped his hand and turned.

 

“I just thought . . .” Lee cleared his throat and took a step forward. “ . . . I thought maybe you could hang onto something for me.” He extended his hand. “I’d like you to have this.”

 

Harry glanced to the small piece of battered tin, painted gold, and felt himself grow very still. He knew what the coin signified, how special it had been to Grayson and Lee. His friend hadn’t been without it since Grayson returned it to him several months ago. It was the embodiment of their connection, a pledge between father and son.

 

His hands grew sweaty and his heart thumped against his chest. Rarely at a loss for words, Harry found he couldn’t talk.

 

Lee flushed, misinterpreting his silence. “I know it’s just a cheap piece of tin…”

 

“No!” Harry said quickly, his voice thick and strangled. With effort, he pulled himself together. “No.” He said again, calmer this time. He took the coin. “I’d be honored.”

 

Lee grinned, his smile fast and blinding. It was the grin Harry liked best - - the one that set his eyes dancing, the planes of his face changing from staid seriousness to pure delight.

 

Harry rubbed the surface of the coin, acutely aware he held a part of Lee’s past. “Lee, I . . .” The awkwardness was back again. He’d never been good at expressing himself and Lee wasn’t much better. Between the two of them, it was a wonder they ever got anything said of value. “It’s been a great Christmas,” he murmured. Of all the gifts Lee could have given him, the one he held in his hand was priceless. 

 

His captain was still grinning. “I think so too, Sir.” The smile grew as though a heavy weight had been lifted from Lee’s shoulders. “You know what? My hand isn’t bothering me any longer. I feel great!” As if to prove the point, he crossed to the sofa and snatched up his jacket. “I think I’ll take a walk on the beach before Edith shows up.” He shot an inquiring glance over his shoulder. “Want to join me?”

 

Harry grinned, his own spirits revitalized by Lee’s contagious energy. “That sounds like a plan, lad.” He slid his hand into his pocket, depositing the coin. He knew he wasn’t taking Grayson’s place but he also understood the coin was Lee’s way of acknowledging he filled that void. “Let me get my coat.” He clapped a hand on Lee’s shoulder as he passed, enjoying their easy familiarity. It made him realize how extremely fortuitous a twist of fate could be.

 

Lee’s last minute change of plans had resulted in an unexpected Christmas for both of them. Without even realizing it, Ellen Crane had helped them bridge another hurdle in their complex relationship - - employer/subordinate/mentor/father/son.

 

Maybe someday they’d sort the whole convoluted thing out but, for the moment, all that mattered was the piece of tin in Harry’s pocket.

 

He liked to think that Grayson Crane would approve.

 

 

 

*****End*****

 

Author’s Note:  I wrote “A Thousand Yesteryears” in 2004. When I came back to the Voyage fandom years later, I anticipated that single story as standing on its own in a universe separate from The Wish King and the stories that follow in sequence. But somehow lightships got pulled into this one, so now I have to go back and address that spur-of-the-moment line I tossed in ATY on a whim about Chip having lost a father and brother in childhood. Yikes! Guess, I better start dreaming up a feasible plot! Comments welcome at veniceplace12@verizon.net 

 

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