Author's note: This is based on a vignette I posted to the Harriman Nelson Yahoo list many, many years ago. Thanks to blueseacowboy for finding it buried in the archives.

Admiral Nelson and the characters from Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea do not belong to me. I get nothing from this but the joy of writing Harry Nelson.

"A trip?" Admiral Harriman Nelson asked. He was standing in the doorway leading to his office, his question directed at his executive assistant, Angie Moreira.

Angie rolled her eyes. "You know, a vacation? People take them all the time. They pack suitcases, forward the mail, have someone water the plants while they go away for an entire week. It's really very relaxing. You should try it some time."

He put his arms behind his back and leaned against the doorframe. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"You haven't taken an actual vacation, and I don't mean medical leave, since I came to work for you. That's been nearly six years."

"You've worked with me for nearly six years?"

"You're avoiding the subject."

"No, I'm genuinely amazed that you've managed to put up with me for such a long time." He mentally made a note to send her a plant or something on her next anniversary.

"You pay me very well."

He cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "Let's get back to this vacation thing. Any ideas?"

"What about Edith's place up in the mountains? She's always going on about how you should use it more often."

Harry laughed. Edith's place up in the mountains wasn't exactly a rustic cabin in the woods. His sister had three decorators helping her with the design. It had been featured in one of those home interior magazines. Nelson figured he'd have to turn in his man-card if he spent any amount of time in the place. However, it did have one thing going for it.

Angie always felt that if anyone other than Lee Crane could read the Admiral's facial expressions, it was her. But at the moment she had no idea what was going on in his head. He'd started off frowning but now the faintest of smiles tugged at one corner of his mouth.

His smile widened. "The Indian's up there."

"The what?" She'd heard what he said but the first thing that came to mind was the wooden Indian that stood outside the cigar and tobacco shop in downtown Santa Barbara.

Seeing her confusion, he couldn't help but chuckle before explaining, "It's an old motorcycle – a leftover from my misspent youth."

"I'm sorry," Angie couldn't suppress her laugh, "I'm having a hard time picturing you on a motorcycle."

For a moment he looked offended. "I wasn't always an admiral you know and this isn't just any motorcycle. It's a 1946 Indian Chief. Hang on a minute." He disappeared into his office.

She could hear him rummaging through desk drawers and strolled over to his doorway. Leaning against the frame, arms crossed over her chest, she smiled as he stood up straight, obviously thinking, then went over to the credenza to continue his search. In his wake papers were strewn across his desk and onto the floor. Shaking her head, she knew she'd be the one to tidy up later.

"How did your motorcycle end up at Edith's cabin?"

Leafing through a folder he'd just extracted from under a pile of other folders, he held it out to Angie. "Hang on to that," he said, handing it over to her. "What did you say?"

She repeated her question.

"It's a classic. The sea air down here isn't good for it so I store it up there."

"Does it run?"

He looked up from his search and shrugged. "Not sure. It's been a while since I had it out." Leaning in for one last look, "found it," he said, holding a 3x5 color photo out for her. "This is the Indian."

Angie took the picture from his hand and gaped. It wasn't the shiny red motorcycle that held her attention. It was the fresh faced, muscular, freckled and tanned man with the wavy strawberry blond hair standing next to it, squinting into the bright sunlight, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Is this you?"

There was more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. "You're supposed to be looking at the bike."

"The bike is nice. How old were you?"

He shrugged. "Early thirties."

She glanced at the man standing before her in the khaki uniform and then back to the picture, to the younger version of the same man a white T-shirt, Levis, and boots. With his rugged good looks, wavy reddish brown hair, and intense blue eyes, Angie had always thought the admiral was a very attractive man. However, the man in the picture could have easily been a movie star.

His private line suddenly buzzed and as he disappeared once again into his office to take the call, she picked up the old photo, settled into her chair, and sighed. It wasn't hard to imagine what he must have looked like, buzzing around San Diego on that motorcycle, the wind in his hair. But it was hard to imagine the same man today. He was too weighed down with the world's problems to be so carefree now.

"You know, I think you might be onto something." He was standing in the doorway to his office again, running his left hand over the back of his head. "I'm going to give this vacation thing a try."

"Edith's cabin?"

"Might as well. It'll make her happy." The Indian, a good bottle of scotch, and some of those cigars he liked. Maybe he could keep his man-card after all.

One Week Later

Angie opened the door to the office, not surprised to find it already unlocked. Coming back from vacation, she expected the Admiral to be in very early. She didn't expect the sight that greeted her when she peeked into his office to welcome him back.

His hair was tousled and his face sported a nice bit of color, something that generally evaded a man who spent three quarters of his life on a submarine. But what caused Angie to stop in her tracks and unabashedly stare at him was what he was wearing. Or rather, not wearing. Missing was the usual khaki uniform and in its place a pair of green cargo pants with a navy blue polo, all of the buttons undone, and a pair of well-worn black motorcycle boots. Right now, older Nelson was giving younger Nelson a run for his money and quite honestly, older Nelson was winning.

Leafing through a stack of folders on the edge of his desk, he leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. "That file I asked you to hang on to last week, do you still have it?"

She was still gaping at him, watching the way his muscles flexed each time he moved his arms. She couldn't recall ever seeing him in a short sleeved shirt before. A very form-fitting short-sleeved shirt. The sound of his voice stirred her from her trance. "Yes, it's on my desk."

He'd caught her look and smiled inwardly, not because his assistant was staring at him, but because the usually cool and composed Angie Moreira was blushing. "I'm going to spend a few more days at the cabin so I'd like to take it with me. Do a little work while I'm there."

Returning moments later with the file in hand, she set it on his desk. "The mountain air agrees with you."

"I admit, the change of scenery has been nice, although Edith's taste in decorating a mountain cabin leaves a lot to be desired." He pointed a finger at her. "And don't tell her I said that."

Angie laughed and held up three fingers. "Girl Scout's honor." Playing her hunch, she added, "The, uh, Indian seems to agree with you as well."

"I had a devil of a time getting her up and running again but there's nothing like taking her all out on some of those back roads." Nelson stood up from the chair and slipped the file into a satchel then picked up the leather jacket lying across his desk. "Well, Angie," he said, slipping on the jacket and fastening the snaps, "hold down the fort and I'll see you on Thursday."

Twirling on her heel as the door closed behind him, Angie fell into her chair and blew out a breath.

Captain Crane's assistant, Lola Myers, opened the door and stepped inside. "Was that the Admiral?"

Angie was leaning back in the chair, fanning herself with an empty folder. "It was."

"Hot in here?" Lola was well aware of the effect Admiral Nelson had on her friend.

"Did you see him?"

"Just the back of him as he was going down the stairs but I didn't even realize it was him at first. Was he wearing a motorcycle jacket?"

Angie waved her over to the balcony. "Look outside – at his parking space."

Lola stepped outside and with Angie next to her, peered over the railing in time to see the Admiral bring a boot down on the pedal to kick start it and hear the bike roar to life. Giving the throttle a couple of turns, he adjusted the satchel as he walked around to the other side of the Indian and swung a leg over the seat. Looking up at the third floor, he gave the two women a casual salute before rolling out of the parking space and heading towards the main gate.

"Holy cow!"

"Yeah."

Hearing a phone ring in the distance, Lola took a step back from the window. "I think that's me. See you for lunch?"

"Sure," Angie said absently, her gaze focused on the lone figure riding the red Indian Chief up the main road, away from the institute. "Yup," she said to no one in particular, the sea breeze ruffling her hair, "the bike is nice but I'd much rather look at the man on the bike."

The End