Questions of Consequences

By Storm

The pilot episode of Voyage introduced the character of Captain John Phillips - and then killed him off within the first fifteen minutes. Few clues were given as to what his relationship was with the crew, or how they reacted to his demise. He was never mentioned again in the series, which to me, seems rather unfair - but then, IA was pretty bad about character development. These following vignettes are my explorations into that void left by Phillips’ passing.

Chief Jones’ POV

Chief Petty Officer Curley Jones sat morosely at his table, alone, nursing a beer. It was the latest of many; he’d spent the evening wandering from bar to bar, working his way along the San Francisco waterfront, trying to get drunk enough to forget Seaview’s last mission.

It was a lost cause. As drunk as he was, he knew he’d never forget the horrible scene of the burned out wreck that had taken the life of Captain Phillips. There’d been no time to mourn however - not with the world itself at stake. The mission Phillips had been murdered to stop had gone on with that young whipper-snapper of a captain loaned to the Institute by the Navy, one Commander Lee Crane.

Curley sighed. The OOM had been tickled pink to get Crane as a replacement. He had to admit the man knew his business. Which was a good thing, or Seaview would have never survived to make it as far as San Francisco, where she was currently undergoing emergency repairs before returning home. Now the OOM wanted Crane as permanent captain. Curley wasn’t too sure about that idea; Crane was definitely gonna have to get rid of that rod up his ass before he could be the Grey Lady’s skipper. Sneaking aboard the way he had and belting Kowalski in the chops. The Chief had been downright insulted. What had the man expected for crying out loud? The boat’s skipper had just been brutally murdered - of course the crew wasn’t at the top of their game. Curley shook his head. He sure hoped Admiral Nelson knew what he was doing.

Nature called at that point, reminding the Chief of the old saying - “you don’t buy beer, you just rent it.” He rose and ambled somewhat unsteadily back to the men’s room. As he unzipped and relieved himself a Marine sergeant bulled his way into the stall next to him. The man was at least six six and looked like he could bench press a jeep. Curley ignored him and finished his business.

As he turned to leave the sergeant sneered and said, “In the Marine Corps they teach us to wash our hands after we pee.”

Curley’s response was instantaneous, even as one part of his brain told him he should simply ignore the prick. “In the Navy they teach us not to pee on our hands.”

There was an incoherent roar from the Marine, who was fortunately even drunker than Curley.

Fortunate for Curley in that in his rage as the sergeant turned to grab for the COB, he’d forgotten to fasten his trousers. As his pants started down, he had to pause and make a one handed grab to keep them from winding up around his ankles. That moment of hesitation was all Curley needed. He waded in, fists flying. Curses rebounded off the walls. Thuds shook the building, bringing the owner flying in to see what was happening. He took one look at the size of the two combatants and fled for reinforcements.

Which didn’t take long to arrive. MP’s swarmed in, batons flying. Curley, not being as drunk as the Marine, threw up his hands and surrendered immediately. The sergeant was too drunk to care. In the end it took seven MP’s to take him down. At the sight, Curley decided he had perhaps been more than a bit rash to have started the fight - because if the MP’s hadn’t arrived so quickly, he’d have probably gotten his rump kicked. On the other hand, given the Marine’s belligerence, there was every chance Curley wouldn’t get blamed; after all, he hadn’t been the one who’d refused to back down when the MP‘s arrived. Drunk he might be, but fighting with the MP’s was something he didn’t want to have to explain to Mr. Morton! COB or not, the XO would have him cleaning the heads with a toothbrush for a month - if not the ballast tanks. Still, the XO wasn’t going to be happy about having to come bail him out of the brig.

Once the marine - who was apparently well known to the local MP’s - had been dragged from the men’s room, the senior MP turned a disapproving eye on Curley. “Name and ship,” he curtly demanded.

Curley sighed. “Chief Petty Officer Jones, SSRN Seaview.”

The MP’s expression shifted, turning to one of thoughtful speculation. “The Nelson’ Institute’s boat - the one that limped in yesterday looking like she’d been in a fight? And didn‘t you guy‘s lose your captain not long ago?”

Curley nodded.

“Huh.” The MP studied him thoughtfully for a moment, then apparently made a decision. “Under the circumstances, I’m gonna let this slide. But Chief, I don’t wanna see you again - understand?”

“I sure do,” Curley told him with relief, “and I’ll make sure the rest of the crew on leave understands too.”

“Good,” stated the MP as he handed the chief back his cap, then turned and left, leaving Curley alone in the men’s room.

Curley stood silently for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling and said softly, “Skipper, I guess I’ve been an idiot, but I sure miss you. But this isn’t getting your Lady repaired and back home.” He twisted his cap in his hands. “Guess I’ll have to break in this new captain too. I sure hope he’s up to your standards and that the Admiral knows what he’s doing. The kid seems awfully young to me, but he did okay on the last mission.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Things is changing, Skipper and that’s a fact. I dunno where we go from here, but I’ll do the best I can. Sorry about falling down on the job and starting that fight. Guess I was lucky to not get myself hurt really bad - can’t look after our Lady if I’m laid up. It won’t happen again, Skipper - you got my word on it.”

He put his cap back on, sobered by his close call and headed back to the dry dock where Seaview was having the worst of her hurts tended to. He had a job to do and a promise to keep.

Harriman Nelson’s POV

Admiral Harriman Nelson sat at his desk in his cabin aboard his submarine and listened to the silence around him as he nursed a glass of bourbon. The repair crews had quit for the day and most of the crew was on leave, either enjoying the pleasures San Francisco had to offer, or like himself, holed up somewhere brooding.

He had plenty to brood about.

With the deadline to save the planet, they’d had to miss John Phillips’ funeral. How that had hurt. He and John had known each other for a very long time; even though Lee Crane had been his first choice to command Seaview, John Phillips had been a very close second. So despite his pleasure in finally having Crane as his boat’s captain, he considered the cost to have been far too high. He took a swallow of the bourbon and rested the glass against his forehead as he closed his eyes against the pain.

Lee Crane might be his protégé, but John had been his friend. The two officers had served together, meeting for the first time aboard a diesel sub in 1950. Nelson had been the weapons officer, Phillips one of the junior lieutenants. A few years later, when Nelson had command of the Nautilus, Phillips had served as his chief engineer. It was because of their resulting friendship and his respect for John Phillips’ ability as a sub commander that he had asked John to command Seaview when the Navy refused to let him offer the position to Crane.

Now Phillips was dead - brutally murdered - because he had accepted that offer, putting him in the car with Nelson on that fateful day. Not that he would have wanted Lee there either! The very thought sent a pang through him, washing waves of guilt through his soul. There had been warnings from the Intelligence communities that certain forces were aligning against him because of Seaview, but he’d thought the threat exaggerated by those within the US government who coveted his creation for themselves.

He took another swallow. Hubris on his part - and a friend had paid with his life for it. The Irish part of his soul - a portion of himself he usually kept under tight wraps - wondered if this first important mission was a portent of things to come. He didn’t know how he would handle the guilt if it was. He thought of all the bright and dedicated young men he’d convinced to serve aboard Seaview. Chip Morton, Bobby O’Brien, Kowalski, Patterson….

And now Lee Crane. His thoughts hastily skittered away from the direction they’d been going.

No. Nelson set the glass down with a thump. He refused to go there. He would sacrifice himself before he’d lose another one of them so senselessly.

Senselessly. That, he came to the abrupt realization, was the thing that had tormented him the most about John’s death. That it had, in the end, made no difference. Seaview had gone on her mission undeterred. She’d have gone even if he himself had been killed; Chip Morton would have taken her out, if it had come right down to it. That was something his enemies didn’t seem to understand.

He shook his head. Perhaps he was looking at things from the wrong perspective. The fact that killing Phillips hadn’t changed anything was perhaps itself a statement. It said that no matter what, Seaview’s crew would carry out their duties. To stop them, the boat would have to be sunk with all hands. And it was John Phillips who had molded ship and crew into that smoothly functioning machine that Lee Crane would build on.

It was John’s legacy to the future. Nelson could think of far less glorious legacies a man could leave behind.

While it didn’t take his pain away, the thought did begin to ease the constriction around his heart. Perhaps when they finally got back to Santa Barbara, he would host a private wake for the crew and share that thought with them. He could almost hear John protesting, “But Harry…” It brought a faint smile to his lips. Phillips had been a rather modest man, who didn’t much care for the limelight.

He lifted his glass. “A toast to you, John. Long may your Lady sail the seas.”

Lee Crane’s POV

Commander Lee Crane stood at the window of his hotel room and gazed out over the city of San Francisco. His mind, however, was not on the bustling city spread before him, but up at the northern end of the harbor at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard where the submarine Seaview rested in dry dock, having her recent wounds tended to.

Wounds she’d suffered under his command.

He turned abruptly away from the window, his face a grimace of frustration. Nelson had informed him on the way back from their recent mission that he wanted him as a permanent captain. Oh, God, how he lusted for the position now that he‘d had a chance to see Seaview in action! He just wished he’d known Nelson had that in mind before he’d alienated most of the crew with his stunt back when he first arrived at NIMR.

Crane shook his head and sighed. In retrospect sneaking aboard had been a spectacularly stupid thing to do. He really should have taken the disparaging remarks of the two admirals who’d briefed him on the boat and her crew with a very large grain of salt and done some research on his own. At the very least, he should have at least sat down with his old friend and Academy roommate Chip Morton and picked his brains. After all, Chip was Seaview’s XO and had been with the boat since her keel was laid.

But, no. He’d been miffed at being pulled from his own boat in the middle of a mission and as a result he’d let his irritation overrule his common sense. Never a wise thing to do in the best of circumstances. So he’d taken the word of two admirals whom he’d known from experience didn’t always tell him the whole truth and rushed headlong into disaster.

He deserved the lecture he was going to get from Morton. That is, if Chip was even still speaking to him. He had to wonder if in his fit of pique he’d burned that bridge as well. The XO hadn’t looked very happy with him earlier when he’d taken his leave and headed ashore. Lee didn’t really blame him. He’d spent the first part of the voyage running rough shod over the emotions of the crew, who were grieving for their late captain, John Phillips.

Lee felt a stab of guilt at the thought. His own loss - being pulled off a boat that was, after all, still there - didn’t begin to approach theirs. Phillips had been a plank owner, as were most of the current crewmembers. They’d been with him through the boat’s construction, her launching and sea trials, only to lose him brutally just before their first important mission. Phillips had been their captain, their skipper, their mentor, father figure and confessor all rolled into one. Lee winced as his conscience jabbed at him. Gaining the crew’s confidence after a start like that was going to be difficult, if not impossible. He was probably going to have to eat some serious crow.

Turning back to the window, he stared again to the northeast. He hadn’t expected to want to stay, especially after what Admiral Johnson had said about the quality of Seaview’s crew; he’d called them misfits. Crane’s nostrils flared with embarrassment at the memory. In truth, the boat’s crew was one of the most professional he’d ever had the opportunity to work with. They might not have been as quite spit and polish as a regular Navy boat, but they carried out their duties with a quiet competence that impressed him.

He should have known they would be the best, he snorted to himself - Chip Morton was their XO. He wryly recalled the gangly blond youngster who had been his roommate. Morton had been bright, but a bit of an under-achiever until Crane had challenged him. Then he’d blossomed, taking the all too serious Crane by surprise with just how smart he really was. The race had been on and it had taken everything Lee possessed to finish just barely ahead. The most surprising part to him was that Chip had been generous enough to still befriend him. That had been an entirely unexpected benefit.

Still, mused Lee to himself, Chip wasn’t the sort to tolerate a sloppy boat. And neither was Harriman Nelson - or John Phillips, when it came right down to it. When the late captain had still been in the Navy, he’d had a reputation for running highly proficient - and loyal - crews. Crane had only met him a couple of times when he and Chip had still been midshipmen, but he had to admit Phillips seemed to be everything a submarine captain ought to be. So why, he asked himself, had he given any credence to the assertions of slackness?

Because, he was honest enough to admit to himself, he wanted to. He’d known about Nelson’s pet project for years and had been a bit jealous when command of Seaview went to an older officer. The subsequent reports of Seaview being “Nelson’s Folly” had then convinced him he was better off staying in the Navy. He huffed silently to himself. He knew better now. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was if the disparaging reports on the ship and her crew were deliberate camouflage by Nelson so any enemies would underestimate the boat’s abilities or if they were mean spirited attempts by Nelson’s personal critics to obscure the man’s genius. Either way, once Lee had had taken Seaview to sea, he’d realized the reports were dead wrong. The Gray Lady was far more than he had ever dreamed of in a submarine.

John Phillips had been a lucky man to be Seaview‘s captain.

In retrospect, Lee found himself envious that Phillips had been the one to take her to sea for the first time. He wished it had been himself instead.

And then it might well have been him lying in the morgue while someone else took his boat on her world saving mission. He shivered at the sudden vision. He’d had some close calls in his work for ONI - close enough to give him nightmares. Some of the people he had known and worked with hadn’t been so lucky. He clinched a fist. Dammit, he knew what it was like to lose a colleague to enemy action. He should have been more sensitive to the needs of Seaview’s crew. Not for the first time he wondered just what had possessed him to act like such a stiff necked prick. And to actually strike an enlisted man! If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he’d have wound up in the brig for that. Any officer in his own command who’d done such a thing would have been on the beach with his head in a sack.

He could only shake his head. He owed Seaman Kowalski a huge groveling apology.

Suddenly the walls of his hotel room seemed confining. Seaview had woven her spell around his soul and he found he wanted - no, needed - to be aboard helping make repairs, both to the physical fabric of the boat and his relationship with the crew. Snatching his jacket off the back of the chair as he passed, Crane headed for the hotel lobby. Catching a cab back to the boat shouldn’t be a problem - though it was probably going to cost him a small fortune.

*************

Fog had begun to creep in by the time he made it to the dry dock. The sentries at the gate had looked at him oddly when he’d presented his ID. It was obvious they thought he had left to go back to his own boat, that he had only been Seaview’s captain for this one mission. The thought left him with a wry smile. The crew probably didn’t know yet that Nelson was trying to get him assigned permanently as Seaview’s captain either.

On reaching the dry dock, he paused for a moment, letting his eyes roam hungrily over Seaview’s unique lines. He could see why a lot of people scoffed, but he’d seen her perform. Crossing the gangplank, he saluted the colors on the stern. The duty sentry - ‘Boots’ Malone, one of Kowalski’s friends - challenged him as soon as he stepped onto the deck. Well, at least his stunt had tightened up the security. He wondered if Malone’s presence meant that Kowalski was aboard, since the two of them usually shared the same watch.

“Malone, is Kowalski ashore?”

“No, sir,” the man answered. His tone was faintly hostile - not enough to be insubordinate, but enough to let Crane know he hadn’t been forgiven. “He’s making repairs on the sonar console in the control room.”

“Okay. Carry on then.” Crane sighed to himself as he ducked inside the sail hatch and began the climb down into the control room. He was challenged again before he got to the bottom of the ladder - this time by Kowalski.

“Checking security again, sir?” There was no emotion in Kowalski’s voice, but there was definite hostility in his eyes.

“Actually, Kowalski, I was looking for you. I owe you an apology for my previous behavior.” Crane looked the seaman right in the eye and put as much sincerity in both his expression and voice as he could. There was a moment of blank incomprehension on the man’s face before Crane’s words sank in, followed by puzzled disbelief mixed with rebellion.

“Sir?” Kowalski’s tone matched his expression.

“I seriously owe you an apology,” repeated Crane. “My attitude when I came aboard was reprehensible - and I’m sorry. I‘d like to clear the air between us, if that‘s possible. Is there someone who can replace you on watch for a little while so we can go somewhere and talk? I‘ll clear it with Mr. Morton first, if you prefer.”

The rating hesitated for a moment then said, “I really need to get this done, sir.” He indicated behind himself towards the gutted sonar console; wiring and electrical components were spread over the deck.

Crane looked over the snarled mess and sighed. He hadn’t realized the damage was quite so bad. “I see. Well, that does come first. I’ll give you a hand and then we can talk.” He saw Kowalski blink in surprise and could almost read the man’s thoughts; this jerk’s willing to get his hands dirty? Crane winced internally; he had only himself to blame for the crew’s attitude. Shedding his uniform jacket, he rolled up his sleeves and asked, “What do you need me to do?”

Kowalski looked at him for a long couple of seconds, then slapped a pair of wire strippers into his outstretched hand and indicated a bundle of new wiring lying on an adjacent console. Crane nodded. “Strip the ends. No problem.” He settled on the deck with the wires and began the process of preparing them for installation. Kowalski went back to the job of stripping the old wiring out of the sonar console, keeping a wary eye on him as he did so. For several minutes they worked in silence.

“What was Captain Phillips like?” Crane asked into the silence; he felt that was probably the one subject that might get Kowalski to open up to him - and there was little point in actually putting off their talk until later. The rating paused in his work before answering with a question of his own.

“Why do you want to know?”

A legitimate question. “I feel like I was misled by my briefing before I came aboard. What I found wasn’t what I’d been led to expect. You’re a good crew. Maybe not as spit and polish as some people would like, but as good or better than any crew I’ve ever sailed with. Captain Phillips was the one who molded this crew into what they are. I … I never had the privilege of knowing him and I wondered what he was like.”

The scowl on Kowalski’s face told him that the rating had a pretty good idea of just who had had a hand in that briefing - and exactly what had been said.

“Captain Phillips was one of the best,” he finally answered. “Strict, but fair. He was always there for anybody in the crew when they had a problem. He stood between us and the Admiral…”

Crane’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “Why would he have to stand between you and Admiral Nelson?”

Kowalski gave him a smirk. “You’ve never served with the Admiral in command before have you?”

“Well, no,” admitted Crane.

“Admiral Nelson is about as smart as it gets, but sometimes he forgets the rest of us aren’t on his level. He also forgets sometimes that none of us are superhuman either. Captain Phillips kept him grounded in reality.”

Crane blinked. That was an aspect of being Seaview’s captain he hadn’t considered - it hadn’t been an issue on the mission they’d just completed, not with the future of the world itself at stake. On reflection, though, he could see where Nelson’s sometimes single-mindedness could be a problem. He had to wonder if he would be up to the task; he knew from the Academy that Nelson’s temper and personality could be formidable. Phillips must have had an equally formidable personality to be able to stand up to him, not to mention Nelson’s complete respect. The shoes he was being asked to fill began to loom increasingly large.

“That’s something I never thought about,” he had to admit thoughtfully. “I wish now I’d had the chance to really get to know him. He sounds like someone I would have admired.”

“Captain Crane…” Kowalski paused, as if unsure what he wanted to ask was permissible.

“Go ahead and ask whatever is on your mind, Kowalski. God knows you deserve answers if I have them.”

“Well, sir. I was wondering why the brass keeps putting us down like they do.”

Crane looked pensive for a moment before answering. “I’ve been wondering that myself. I have some theories about it, but that’s all they are, is theories.”

Kowalski gave him a brief grin. “So do we, sir, so do we.”

Returning the grin, Crane said, “There are two possibilities. One is a deliberate misinformation campaign to make Seaview’s enemies underestimate her capabilities.” Kowalski nodded thoughtfully, so he continued. “The other is that Admiral Nelson’s personal enemies are doing it out of sheer spite.” The sudden scowl on Kowalski’s face told him that the rating - and probably much of the crew - believed the second to be true. “Of course, both could be true,” he felt compelled to add.

“What about what you were told?” Kowalski asked; there was a touch of anger and resentment in his voice.

Crane thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “That’s something that seriously puzzles me. But having had the opportunity to command Seaview, I have to wonder if they weren’t trying to goad me into doing something rash, so I’d piss the crew and maybe Admiral Nelson off and be unable to stay on even if I wanted to.” He gave Kowalski a rueful look and added, “And I do want to stay. Seaview is the most incredible boat it’s ever been my privilege to serve on, let alone command.”

“That’s the truth, sir,” responded the rating with a flash of a smile. “She is something else. But what about your own boat?”

“After Seaview….” Crane trailed off and gave a heartfelt sigh. “Parche’s got a good XO who’s ready for his own command. Which reminds me - why didn’t Admiral Nelson give Seaview to Chip? He’s certainly qualified.”

Kowalski shrugged uncomfortably. “Scuttlebutt has it that the OOM offered it to him but he turned it down.”

Crane shook his head and dryly replied, “I’m going to have to have a serious talk with Mr. Morton about his priorities. But that does sound just like him. He’d want it on merit - not because somebody else died and opened the way for him.”

The rating’s face took on a thoughtful look. “Do you really think that’s why he didn’t take the job, sir?”

“I’ve known Chip Morton since the Academy - I’d be willing to bet on it. I’d also say that if there hadn’t been any choice in the matter he would have taken the position - and done well at it.”

“You and Mr. Morton were at the Academy together?”

Crane nodded. “Roommates in fact. We’ve never served together though.”

Kowalski seemed to be turning the information over in his mind as Crane discretely studied him from out of the corner of this eye. Much of the hostility had faded from the rating’s posture, which gave him hope that he could mend fences with the crew. Otherwise, for the sake of the boat, he’d have to tell Nelson to find someone else to command his creation. That was something he really didn’t want to do.

“Huh,” muttered Kowalski, more to himself than anything, before lifting his eyes to meet Crane’s. “Do you mind if I think on this a while, sir? Alone?”

“Not at all, Kowalski. I need to go apologize to Mr. Morton too.” There was a brief startled look in the sonarman’s eyes that shifted into something else, the beginnings of respect he hoped. Smiling ruefully at him, Crane added, “I expect to be eating a lot of crow for a while.” That statement brought a twinkle into the other man’s eyes, raising Crane’s hopes even further. If he could get Kowalski to forgive him, then most of the rest of the crew likely would as well.

Or so he hoped.

He levered himself up from the floor and dusted the seat of his trousers off. “No time like the present then. Any idea where Mr. Morton is?”

“He was in the missile room the last time I saw him, sir, but that‘s been a while,” the rating answered as Crane picked up his jacket.

“Guess I’ll just have to find him then.” Crane turned and headed aft. “Good luck, sir,” followed him through the hatch.

Luck? If only it was that easy.

Chip Morton’s POV

Lieutenant Commander Charles Philip Morton wandered through the corridors of the submarine Seaview, ostensibly checking on the progress of the repairs being made to the boat. In truth, he was merely going through the motions. The repair crews were all gone for the night and most of the crew was ashore on leave.

He should have gone with them, but he’d switched duty with the weapons officer, Bishop. Truth be told, he wasn’t in the mood for leave. He had a lot of conflicting emotions that needed to be sorted out. That wasn’t something he could do with a belly full of booze; the last thing he needed would be to publicly lose control.

Because that’s what he felt would happen if he let his guard down for even an instant. He had admired Captain Phillips; after all, it was Phillips who’d brought him to Nelson’s attention back at the Academy and made sure he didn’t get lost in the brilliance of his roommate, one Lee Crane.

That had certainly been a rocky start to a friendship, he recalled wryly. Crane had been - and still could be - one of the most intense people Morton had ever met; it had sparked an equally intense rivalry. There hadn’t been many areas where Chip could best Lee Crane, so the two had wound up finishing first and second in their class. Lee had been first. Since Morton had never realistically expected to finish anywhere near that high, he had come to realize that Crane had in fact done him a favor.

They’d somehow become friends after Chip had come to that conclusion. The problem was, the jerk who’d sneaked aboard the boat - supposedly to check security - and then belted Kowalski in the chops - wasn’t the Lee Crane that Chip Morton had come to know at Annapolis. It had taken some hard thinking on his part to come up with an explanation for just why Crane had acted like that, but he still wasn’t entirely satisfied he had the answer. He knew Lee had been yanked off his own boat, and in all fairness to his friend, had to have been miffed about it, but still… striking an enlisted man! If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Crane would have wound up in the brig with charges filed against him. As far as that went, if Kowalski wanted to press the issue, it could still happen.

Not likely at this point, but if Crane did stay on as the new captain, there was every possibility that Kowalski - and probably a good many of the other senior ratings - would opt to transfer back into the Navy. Chip wasn’t entirely sure at this point that he would want to stay on himself unless Lee made some radical adjustments in his attitude. Would Nelson, faced with the wholesale defection of Seaview‘s crew, chose to pick another captain? As far as that went, Chip had to admit to severe misgivings at the prospect of serving with the Admiral without Phillips to run interference. Would Lee be up to the task? Did he have any idea of just how bloody single-minded Nelson could get? There had been shouting matches in the past between John and the Admiral over some of their missions - would Lee realize that he couldn’t just blindly follow orders - that part of his duty would be to keep Nelson’s brilliance grounded in reality?

Chip shook his head in frustration. He’d told Lee before just how different serving on Seaview was, but judging by his actions when he first arrived, Crane hadn’t taken that knowledge to heart. That meant there was likely going to be a confrontation between the two men sometime in the near future. There was also Chip’s grief over Captain Phillips’ death, which was a separate issue, but still hovered over everything to complicate the situation. That hadn’t been Lee’s fault in any way, and it would be unfair to take that pain out on his friend.

He allowed himself an ironic smile. He was pretty sure that Crane hadn’t realized when he’d come aboard as the temporary replacement captain that Nelson would pull strings after the mission was over to make the posting permanent. He strongly suspected that Crane might not have been quite so brash in his dealings with the crew if he had, no matter what the rationale had been for his actions, because now he was going to have to mend bridges. Or perhaps that possibility had occurred to Crane and his intent had been to make himself unacceptable for the position. That was quite possible, Chip realized, even though he couldn’t imagine Lee not wanting the captaincy. But then, he reminded himself, he had turned it down.

Finding himself in officer’s country, Chip paused in front of the captain’s cabin. Crane was ashore; that morning he’d finally let down his façade enough to admit to Chip that he didn’t feel comfortable staying in the cabin with so many of Phillips’ personal effects still there. The crew had been reluctant to have them packed up; it would have given an unwelcome finality to John Phillips’ death. As long as his belongings were still aboard, they could almost pretend that his absence was only temporary.

Almost.

He blew out a gusty sigh. But it wasn’t temporary. Phillips wasn’t ever coming back and things were never going to be quite the same. Even if things didn’t work out with Crane, the inescapable fact was that Seaview was going to have a new captain. It could have been him; Nelson had made the offer only hours after Phillips‘ death. He’d turned it down, though as a last resort he would have taken command and done his best on the mission. It could still be him, though at this point it still wasn’t something he wanted. The very idea of filling a dead man’s shoes - especially when it was someone he had known well - gave him the creeps. Illogical he knew, but there it was. It would be easier for someone who hadn’t known the previous captain.

Which brought him back to Lee. Whatever burr his old buddy had up his six was going to have to go. Seaview’s crew would never stand for his current attitude. He would never stand for it either. If Lee had truly changed into the idiot who’d snuck aboard - something Chip was reluctant to believe - then their friendship was at an end and Nelson needed to get someone else to command Seaview. Shaking himself from his morose thoughts, he turned to continue on down the corridor towards his own cabin. There wasn’t any further point in wandering around the boat pretending to be busy. With only a skeleton crew aboard, no one was going to care if he spent the last part of his watch in seclusion.

A few steps brought him to Nelson’s cabin, where he paused again. Light seeped under the crack at the bottom of the door, indicating the Admiral was still up. He debated knocking, but decided he really didn’t want to disturb the OOM. Nelson had taken Phillips’ death hard. He’d put it aside for the mission, but now that they had time to decompress, he was about as approachable as a wounded bear. Shaking his head, Morton decided to wait to approach the admiral about some of the things on his mind.

A few more strides brought him to his own door. Entering, he flipped on the light - and found he had company.

“Lee!” he exclaimed in surprise, “What are you doing here? Aren‘t you supposed to be on leave?”

Crane had been seated in a chair in front of the desk with the lights out. Now he stirred from his slumped position and put his elbows on the edge of Chip’s desk.

“I needed to talk with you, Chip. I owe you an explanation and an apology.”

“Actually, it’s Kowalski you owe the apology to,” responded Chip tartly as he settled into his own chair behind the desk.

Waving a hand, Crane told him, “I already have. Along with an explanation.”

“I’d be interested in that explanation myself,” Chip told him dryly.

Crane hung his head and gave him a small embarrassed smile. “I was misled in my briefing from certain Admirals about the professionalism of the crew - I thought they needed somebody to unite against so they’d get their minds back on their duty. I … I misjudged them.”

Chip snorted. “I could have told you they would do their duty, if you’d bothered to ask me. In fact I have told you in the past. We may not be regular Navy, but we‘re all professionals here.” Well, that certainly explained why Crane had gotten off to such a bad start - but he would have thought that by now his friend would have better sense than to take everything certain of his superiors told him as gospel. Particularly since Morton had a pretty good idea of who at least one of those admirals was.

“I came to realize that, Chip, by the end of the first day at sea. I shouldn’t have made assumptions based on what Admiral Johnson and Admiral Starke told me, particularly since you‘d already told me something different.” Crane sighed and added, “I’m prepared to eat however much crow it takes to square things with you and the crew.”

“Starke.” He made the name sound like an obscenity. “That old windbag is just jealous because Seaview isn’t his.” In retrospect it shouldn’t have been a surprise; COMSUBPAC was always grousing about the boat and crew to Nelson - and anybody else who got within earshot when he was spouting one of his tirades. It shouldn’t have surprised him about Johnson either - he wouldn’t want to lose one of his best ONI operatives. Chip was still ticked at Lee over his actions, however. He got up to pace.

“You’ve known me how many years, Lee? Fourteen? Fifteen? And you gave more credence to what Starke and Johnson told you than me?” Chip couldn’t quite keep the outrage out of his voice.

Crane flinched and looked away, turning his signet ring in agitation. “I know it was stupid, Chip. I just… oh, hell, I admit it. I was pissed when the Navy jerked me off Parche in the middle of a mission without bothering to say why. And I let my irritation color my perception during the mission brief. Plus,” Crane sighed, “I guess I was jealous when Nelson hired you for the Institute and didn’t even ask me. I… I didn’t want to believe when you told me how extraordinary Seaview was. You don’t know how sorry I am for being such a jerk.”

“You were jealous?!” Chip stopped in his tracks and glared at the other man, who had the grace to blush. “I swear to God, Lee, right now I’m not sure I know you anymore.”

Crane’s head jerked up. “Chip, I said I was sorry. It was a bad lapse in judgment on my part - and I certainly should have known better.”

“You’ve got that right,” growled Chip. He was finding it increasingly difficult to hang on to his temper. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that it wouldn’t look good on his record if he struck a superior officer - even if they were masquerading as civilians. He jammed his hands down into his pockets and turned his back on Crane while he fought for control.

“Go ahead and hit me, Chip,” came softly from behind. “Get it out of your system. I deserve it.”

“You sure as hell do.” Chip whirled to find that Crane had gotten up and was standing beside his desk. He balled his fists - but kept them in his pockets as he visibly trembled with the effort to restrain himself.

Crane spread his arms wide and repeated, “Go ahead. You need it and I deserve it.”

With great effort Chip turned himself around and fled to the head, locking the door behind himself. He knew that Crane wouldn’t have reported him if he had taken a swing - not under these circumstances - but he was afraid if he let his barriers down, he wouldn’t know when to stop. That aspect of his personality was something he tried very hard to keep caged. Not even Lee Crane had ever seen him completely lose it. As turbulent as his emotions were right now, that was something that could all too easily happen. He put both hands on the edge of the sink and gazed unhappily into the mirror.

The door opened behind him. He whirled, startled, to see Crane standing uncertainly in the doorway, lock pick in hand.

“Chip, we really need to get past this if we’re going to work together. What do I have to do to make it up to you?” Crane’s expression conveyed both earnestness and worry.

It was the last straw. With an inarticulate howl of pain and rage, Morton launched himself at the other man, catching him by surprise. There was a solid thud as his fist connected with the captain’s jaw; Crane staggered back and tripped backwards over the chair in front of the desk. He went down, landing flat on his back with a solid thump accompanied by the distinct whoof of expelled air.

Chip skidded to a halt, his rage abruptly chilled, appalled at what he’d just done.

“Lee, are you okay?” he asked as he hurried to his friend’s side. His answer was a groan as Crane looked up at him with a dazed expression. “Shit. And Doc’s ashore.”

“No need for the doctor,” Crane managed to grunt, “just knocked the breath out of me.”

“Are you sure?” Crane was blinking and slowly shaking his head like he was trying to focus. Chip made up his mind - whether or not it got him in trouble, Lee needed somebody to check him over for injury, especially since he already had bruises from the mission they‘d just finished. With the boat’s doctor ashore, that meant one of the corpsmen. He reached for the microphone beside his bunk.

Crane’s hand shot out and caught his arm. “Chip, just help me up.”

Chip paused uncertainly. “Are you really sure, Lee? You hit pretty hard.”

“You hit me pretty hard, too,” responded the other with wry humor, “but I’ll survive. Call it paybacks for Kowalski.”

“Doc and the Admiral are going to notice more bruises, you know.”

“So I ran into a bulkhead.”

Chip snorted. “With your chin? Somehow I doubt they’ll swallow that.”

“As long as they can’t prove it.” Crane managed pull himself to his feet, but seemed slightly wobbly. Chip got a solid grip on the captain’s arm and steered him to the edge of the bunk, where Crane sank down with a sigh that could only be relief. “An ice pack would probably help, along with some aspirin,” he admitted.

“For both of us,” said Chip. Now that his adrenalin rush was wearing off, his hand was beginning to throb as the bruised knuckles swelled. Crane arched an eyebrow at him, then reached out to lift Chip’s hand for a look.

“Chip, that looks like you might have broken some bones.”

“It’s starting to feel like it too,” he had to admit, for his fingers were starting to look a bit like canned sausages. Good thing he wasn’t wearing any rings or by the time they got to sickbay they’d have to be cut off. As much as he didn’t want anyone to know what had just happened, it was obvious he was going to have to seek medical treatment for his hand.

“I think maybe we’d better go see the corpsman after all,” sighed Crane, openly speaking what was on Chip‘s mind. “Who’s got the duty?”

Chip had to think for a moment past the mounting pain, then grimaced. “Dallas does.”

Crane grimaced as well and Chip didn’t have to ask why; Dallas Somers was one of the boat’s worst gossips. “It might be better to go the base hospital then. How do we get there?”

“We have a motor pool car assigned to the boat for Admiral Nelson. Kowalski has some first aid training - and he’s nothing if not discrete, Lee. He could drive and nobody else would need to know until later.” Chip had scant hope that they could hide their injuries; the best they would be able to do was lie like dogs about what really happened and hope nether Nelson nor the boat’s doctor pressed for the truth. He almost grinned; it was reminiscent of some of the escapades he and Lee had gotten into at the Academy. Curiously, the thought pushed most of his resentment at Lee away - what had happened on the mission was in many ways a repeat of the process the two had gone through at the Academy on the way to becoming not just roommates but friends. Apparently there were lessons they’d both needed to relearn about the dynamics of working together.

Apparently Lee thought so too, for the look he turned on his XO was one of amused resignation. “Do you want to explain to Kowalski, or shall I?”

“I’ll do it,” said Chip as he sank down on the bunk beside Lee. His hand was really starting to throb now.

Crane nodded, apparently willing to trust his judgment now. “So what do we tell the base doctor?”

Chip looked down at his still swelling hand. “Well, the last time I saw something like this aboard Seaview, it involved a watertight hatch that had swung shut unexpectedly.”

“That might work,” admitted Crane in a thoughtful tone, “for both of us.” He reached for the mike beside Chip’s bunk. Clicking it to broadcast throughout the boat, he ordered, “Kowalski, report to Mister Morton’s cabin immediately.”

There were almost immediate footsteps in the corridor outside. Chip found his eyebrows rising as he glanced over at Lee.

And found Lee looking back with a somewhat sheepish expression.

“I did tell Kowalski that I was coming to talk to you,” the captain admitted.

Chip could only sigh. He’d be willing to bet that Ski had heard the whole fight, if not the hot words that had passed between the two officers. He just hoped no one else had. At the discrete knock on the door, he lifted his voice and said “Enter.”

Kowalski stood there, the anxiety on his face washed away by relief as he saw the two officers sitting together on the edge of the bunk.

“Sirs?”

“We need you to get Admiral Nelson’s motor pool car and take us to the base hospital. We’ve had a little… accident,” Chip told him. He could see Ski’s eyes dart from the darkening bruise on Crane’s face to the right hand that Chip was carefully cradling against his chest.

“I see, Sirs,” responded the rating with an almost straight face. Chip knew he knew very well their injuries weren‘t from any accident. “Should I get the corpsman…?”

“No!” said both officers in perfect unison. At the seaman’s suddenly perplexed expression Morton felt compelled to add, “Dallas has the duty.”

Kowalski’s eyes widened in startled comprehension. Nobody on the boat wanted to be seen in sickbay by Dallas Somers. Not that he wasn’t excellent in the performance of his duties, mind; he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “it’ll take me maybe five minutes to get the car here.”

“We’ll meet you dockside then, Ski,” Morton told him.

“You sure don’t need any help getting ashore, sirs?” Kowalski hesitated at the door, looking back over his shoulder.

Both officers shook their heads with Morton adding, “If something comes up that we do, I’ll call for Pat or Boots.” Kowalski nodded, satisfied, and disappeared down the corridor.

As the sounds of the seaman’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Chip looked over at Crane and commented, “If we don’t start now, we won’t be there by the time he has the car.”

“Right. And if he has to come back and help, the more likely we are to be seen - and Admiral Nelson called,” added Crane.

Chip couldn’t help a shudder. “The Admiral’s got enough of a burden already.” Crane nodded gingerly in agreement. Together the two officers made it to their feet, and leaning on each other for support, began the walk down the corridor towards the control room and the ladder topside. Morton couldn’t help the wry smile that flitted across his face as he imagined the sight the pair of them presented.

It was just like when they’d been together at the Academy. He felt his spirits lighten - briefly - before an appalling thought intruded. God, what would he do if something happened to Lee? He felt his hard won peace crack and threaten to implode back into the black hole he’d just climbed out of.

No. Chip Morton made up his mind right then and there he’d do everything in his power to keep Lee safe. He wasn’t going to another memorial service, not for another friend, not if he had any say about it.

He didn’t think he’d survive going through the experience again.