Shore Leave
By: CindyR
Commander Chip Morton barely restrained himself from whooping with joy as he checked Kowalski's name from the list. That was it -- the last sailor on official leave. Now it was his turn. Kowalski hefted his sea bag higher up onto his shoulder, then paused, one foot on the ladder. "Uh, Mr. Morton, Sir?"
He fixed his superior with such an innocent look that Morton immediately went on alert. "Something on your mind, Ski?"
The sailor shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, Sir, I just figured if you weren't doing anything over the weekend...my, uh, sister is flying in from Florida, and...."
Morton gulped, barely restraining the instinctive urge to cringe. Kowalski had somewhere picked up the notion that his superior officer and his sister would suit perfectly and had spent nearly two years attempting to get them together. Unfortunately for his plans, Morton had once caught a glimpse of a picture of Janet Kowalski, and had mistaken it for a photo of a short ottoman. It took an effort to appear properly regretful, but somehow he managed. "Sorry, Ski, but I'm going to be very tied up this weekend. Madalyn." He described a pair of parabolas in the air, and Ski grinned knowingly.
"Oh, Madalyn! Not Cheryl this time out, eh?"
Chip's brow furrowed. "I don't think so. I was sure it was Maddy this week." A mischievous light twinkled in his arctic-blue eyes. "Maybe I'd better check my book -- just to be on the safe side?"
"Might be a good idea, Sir."
Chip grinned. "Have a good leave, Ski."
"No problem there, Sir," and he was gone, the smell of his aftershave wafting through the hatchway after him.
Chip double-checked the manifest before signing the bottom. All he had to do now was to turn some reports over to the Captain and he was off for a well-deserved ten days of fun, sun and Madalyn. He-- Oh, no! Morton stopped cold. He'd forgotten -- his parents were flying in ... was it tomorrow? No, today! They'd timed their visit to Chip's sister to coincide with the end of Seaview's voyage hoping to spend some time with their eldest -- and favorite -- son, namely Chip. It would be wonderful to see them again, Morton reflected. He'd make the drive to Los Angeles early tomorrow, maybe pick up a good wine to take along....
These pleasant plans were interrupted by a light touch on his elbow. "S'cuse me, Mr. Morton. Message for you, Sir."
Morton nodded the relief crewman away before unfolding the message. It was from Madalyn. The airline had changed her schedule -- she was off to Paris tonight and not due back until sometime next week. Could she see him next leave instead?
Morton crumpled the paper, images of long, tanned legs and bouncy blonde hair popping like soap bubbles. Blast! He'd been looking forward to seeing Maddy. A lot. Now....
He shrugged philosophically. No sense brooding over what couldn't be helped. Besides, there was still titan-haired Cheryl who'd be very glad to see him indeed! Chip brightened. He could call her when he reached his apartment in Santa Barbara, make sure she was available tonight. Cheryl -- all right!
Whistling a merry little tune, Morton made his way through the deserted corridors, enjoying the unusual peace and quiet. Even the steady throb of the great engines was mute. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. He laughed aloud. Merry Christmas, Mr. Morton! And Cheryl is just the present I would have wished for!
Stopping before an innocuous-looking door, he rapped once before peering around the jamb. Blue eyes twinkled affectionately at the muttered cursing emanating from the direction of the desk. "Lee?"
"... politicians, ..keelhauled...." The grumbling trailed off as the room's occupant became aware of another presence. "What..? Oh, Chip, come in."
Morton took two steps into the cabin before stopping aghast at the stacks of papers and reports piled high on the desk, on the bed, on the floor.... "What is all this?" he asked incredulously. "Looks like something exploded in here."
"Yeah -- me." Crane shifted a stack of reports to the floor, allowing Chip to perch on one corner of the desk. "Where do these, ..civilians," he practically spat the work, "get off trying to tell the Admiral what's necessary to run this sub? Look at this." He shoved an official-looking document -- they were all official looking documents from what Chip could see -- under Morton's nose.
Morton retreated. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"That is a list of proposed budget cuts due to affect the operation of this sub. They," his tone left no doubt as to whom "they" night be, "have decided that the Admiral should switch to a cheaper contractor for replacement steel plates for the outer hull. Notice -- cheaper, not better." He gestured toward a stack of reports on the bed. "That's a list of equipment and supplies they say we don't need and won't supply unless I can come up with reasons why we do"
"It figures," Morton said sympathetically. Like all Navy men, he had little-to-no patience with the land-bound bureaucrats who controlled the purse strings. "After all, it's not their lives on the line out where one faulty hull plate could be all that stands between a man and the deep."
"No, it's not." Crane slapped the paper onto a pile already listing alarmingly off center. "They -- " He broke off, running a weary hand through his dark curls. "Oh, what's the use. If the Admiral can't convince them, they're not going to listen to anything I have to say."
"Maybe, but if anyone can make them listen, it's Admiral Nelson."
Crane allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "That's the truth." He sighed. "What can I do for you, Chip?"
Morton apologetically laid a new stack of papers in front of his dismayed Captain. "I brought the Chief's analysis on that damaged ballast valve, the liberty manifest and the end-of-voyage maintenance reports."
"Oh." Crane's shoulders slumped a little further. "Looks like it's going to be a late night tonight." Again, Morton added silently. The last voyage -- a long and highly dangerous one-had elicited many late nights for them all, but especially for Lee on whom the primary responsibility for the mission had directly fallen. As the Exec, Chip had done what he could, but he lacked the necessary security clearances such as were held only by Crane and Nelson himself, to handle more than the sub's routine functions this time out. Of course now that they'd made port, it was a whole new ball game.
"Is there anything else that needs to be handled tonight, Chip?" Crane reached for the uppermost sheets, starting slightly when his wrist was encased in a firm grip.
"There's nothing there that needs to be handled tonight, Lee." Morton regarded his friend critically. "When was the last time you slept?"
Crane gently tugged his wrist free. "Budget report first."
"Lee, that report isn't due for two weeks," Chip pointed out firmly.
"But the Admiral--"
Chip cut him off. "The Admiral is flying to Chicago tomorrow afternoon to visit his sister." Morton rifled through a stack of files. "As a matter of fact, none of these are due before he gets back in two weeks."
"The CS-7 forms -
Morton laughed, shaking his head in affectionate exasperation. "You never could get the hang of all this, could you?"
"What?"
Chip laughed harder at the puzzled expression in the hazel eyes. "Look, buddy, while you were traipsing around the world on those glamorous, exciting little jaunts for Naval Intelligence.:
"Glamorous?" Crane interrupted incredulously.
"...I was working my way up the ranks using the more mundane aspects of command procedure, including learning how the bureaucratic mind works," Morton finished with a flourish. He paused.
"And?" Crane prodded after a moment.
"And none of these are really due tomorrow no matter what they tell you. Next week at the earliest. Plenty of time tonight to get out and do something about that headache of yours."
"How did you know -- ?" Lee caught himself. "I mean, I'm fine."
Morton raised one sardonic brow, adequately expressing his thought on that subject. He'd seen Crane stubbornly repeat that phrase right up to the time he collapsed. "Really?"
They stared at each other for a total of thirty seconds before Crane surrendered. "All right, all right, Doctor Morton. I give up. I'll get some rest tonight."
"Now that's more like it." Morton shifted slightly, knocking a stack of requisition forms from their precarious balance. The pile tipped sharply to port and both Morton and Crane dove to their rescue.
"Careful, Chip!" Lee straightened the stack, only to have another one to his right begin a steady slide toward the floor. "Blast. It took Yeoman Barette hours to get those sorted."
He conscientiously realigned the files, allowing Morton an unrestricted moment to examine his friend. The heavy pressures of the past voyage had marked him, exhaustion drawing the youthful features fine. Though most people credited the Captain with a seemingly bottomless source of energy, Chip, who knew Crane better than anyone, was better informed. Lee would work himself to the point of collapse, and still he'd push himself unless someone kept a tight reign on him. That duty generally fell to his best friend and Executive Officer. And of course there was no reason to believe that Lee really would put the paperwork aside for the night....
With a mental sigh, Chip consigned the energetic Cheryl to stand-by status. "By the way, you're coming drinking with me tonight."
Crane shoved the pile further over, then shot his friend a suspicious look. "I thought you had a date with... what was her name? Maralyn?" he asked, and swung over a sheet covered with an illegible scrawl. "Who was on the helm last night? Chasteen?"
"Madalyn, and Maddy's been called out of town tonight. Anyway, I want to check out this new club over on Cranmer Street. They say the girls there are not to be believed." He squinted at the crawled signature. "That's Crowley."
"I'll believe them," Crane muttered darkly, "when I see them.:
"What was that?"
Crane tossed down the sheet and leaned forward rubbing at his back. "Remember the last time you said that? It was a bar in Morocco-"
"That was not my fault!" Chip protested. "How was I supposed to know her father was the Chief of Police?"
Crane sat back again. "I almost married her! Not that I wanted to marry her...."
Chip grinned. "Yeah, but you escaped."
"Barely." But Chip's grin was infectious and Crane soon found himself smiling back. "Okay, you win. Let's go check out this wonderful new night spot of yours. I can always get on to these reports in the morning."
Morton studied the toe of one polished oxford. "Uh...no you can't."
Lee waited.
Chip waited.
Lee broke first. "Well, why not?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten," teased Morton, who'd done the same thing himself. "You promised my mother you'd have dinner with us tomorrow. It's the traditional 'gathering of the clan,' remember?"
Crane dropped his head into one hand. "Is that tomorrow? Oh, god, I don't see how I can make it, Chip. I've got so much to do...."
"Lee, relax." Morton grasped one lean shoulder. "I'll show you a couple of shortcuts I leaned when I was assigned to the Pentagon. I guarantee this paperwork will be done long before deadline."
Crane hesitated. "Well...."
"Besides, Morn's kind of fond of you -- lord knows why. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"
Crane shook his head firmly. "Not in a million years."
"Then it's settled?"
"You've convinced me." Crane stood up. "The budget can wait a couple days." He scrubbed one hand over his eyes. "And I can use the rest. God, I'm tired."
"You're admitting it?" Morton whistled. "You must be in worse shape than I thought." He snatched up Lee's battered flight jacket with one hand, using the other to propel his friend to the door. "Come on, we're getting out of here now."
"What's the rush?" Crane gasped, suddenly finding himself half-way down the hall.
I don't want to give you a chance to change your mind, Chip thought. "I've got 8:00 reservations for dinner at Giancarlo's and the Golden Eclipse opens at nine."
"Planned to the minute," Crane laughed, falling into his friend's stride.
Morton ushered the Captain on deck. "Don't I always?"
Crane smiled warmly. "Yes, I suppose you do. Efficient as always, Mr. Morton."
Chip shrugged deprecatingly. "No sweat, Captain. After all, what's an Exec for?"
***
By: CindyR
Commander Chip Morton barely restrained himself from whooping with joy as he checked Kowalski's name from the list. That was it -- the last sailor on official leave. Now it was his turn. Kowalski hefted his sea bag higher up onto his shoulder, then paused, one foot on the ladder. "Uh, Mr. Morton, Sir?"
He fixed his superior with such an innocent look that Morton immediately went on alert. "Something on your mind, Ski?"
The sailor shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, Sir, I just figured if you weren't doing anything over the weekend...my, uh, sister is flying in from Florida, and...."
Morton gulped, barely restraining the instinctive urge to cringe. Kowalski had somewhere picked up the notion that his superior officer and his sister would suit perfectly and had spent nearly two years attempting to get them together. Unfortunately for his plans, Morton had once caught a glimpse of a picture of Janet Kowalski, and had mistaken it for a photo of a short ottoman. It took an effort to appear properly regretful, but somehow he managed. "Sorry, Ski, but I'm going to be very tied up this weekend. Madalyn." He described a pair of parabolas in the air, and Ski grinned knowingly.
"Oh, Madalyn! Not Cheryl this time out, eh?"
Chip's brow furrowed. "I don't think so. I was sure it was Maddy this week." A mischievous light twinkled in his arctic-blue eyes. "Maybe I'd better check my book -- just to be on the safe side?"
"Might be a good idea, Sir."
Chip grinned. "Have a good leave, Ski."
"No problem there, Sir," and he was gone, the smell of his aftershave wafting through the hatchway after him.
Chip double-checked the manifest before signing the bottom. All he had to do now was to turn some reports over to the Captain and he was off for a well-deserved ten days of fun, sun and Madalyn. He-- Oh, no! Morton stopped cold. He'd forgotten -- his parents were flying in ... was it tomorrow? No, today! They'd timed their visit to Chip's sister to coincide with the end of Seaview's voyage hoping to spend some time with their eldest -- and favorite -- son, namely Chip. It would be wonderful to see them again, Morton reflected. He'd make the drive to Los Angeles early tomorrow, maybe pick up a good wine to take along....
These pleasant plans were interrupted by a light touch on his elbow. "S'cuse me, Mr. Morton. Message for you, Sir."
Morton nodded the relief crewman away before unfolding the message. It was from Madalyn. The airline had changed her schedule -- she was off to Paris tonight and not due back until sometime next week. Could she see him next leave instead?
Morton crumpled the paper, images of long, tanned legs and bouncy blonde hair popping like soap bubbles. Blast! He'd been looking forward to seeing Maddy. A lot. Now....
He shrugged philosophically. No sense brooding over what couldn't be helped. Besides, there was still titan-haired Cheryl who'd be very glad to see him indeed! Chip brightened. He could call her when he reached his apartment in Santa Barbara, make sure she was available tonight. Cheryl -- all right!
Whistling a merry little tune, Morton made his way through the deserted corridors, enjoying the unusual peace and quiet. Even the steady throb of the great engines was mute. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. He laughed aloud. Merry Christmas, Mr. Morton! And Cheryl is just the present I would have wished for!
Stopping before an innocuous-looking door, he rapped once before peering around the jamb. Blue eyes twinkled affectionately at the muttered cursing emanating from the direction of the desk. "Lee?"
"... politicians, ..keelhauled...." The grumbling trailed off as the room's occupant became aware of another presence. "What..? Oh, Chip, come in."
Morton took two steps into the cabin before stopping aghast at the stacks of papers and reports piled high on the desk, on the bed, on the floor.... "What is all this?" he asked incredulously. "Looks like something exploded in here."
"Yeah -- me." Crane shifted a stack of reports to the floor, allowing Chip to perch on one corner of the desk. "Where do these, ..civilians," he practically spat the work, "get off trying to tell the Admiral what's necessary to run this sub? Look at this." He shoved an official-looking document -- they were all official looking documents from what Chip could see -- under Morton's nose.
Morton retreated. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"That is a list of proposed budget cuts due to affect the operation of this sub. They," his tone left no doubt as to whom "they" night be, "have decided that the Admiral should switch to a cheaper contractor for replacement steel plates for the outer hull. Notice -- cheaper, not better." He gestured toward a stack of reports on the bed. "That's a list of equipment and supplies they say we don't need and won't supply unless I can come up with reasons why we do"
"It figures," Morton said sympathetically. Like all Navy men, he had little-to-no patience with the land-bound bureaucrats who controlled the purse strings. "After all, it's not their lives on the line out where one faulty hull plate could be all that stands between a man and the deep."
"No, it's not." Crane slapped the paper onto a pile already listing alarmingly off center. "They -- " He broke off, running a weary hand through his dark curls. "Oh, what's the use. If the Admiral can't convince them, they're not going to listen to anything I have to say."
"Maybe, but if anyone can make them listen, it's Admiral Nelson."
Crane allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "That's the truth." He sighed. "What can I do for you, Chip?"
Morton apologetically laid a new stack of papers in front of his dismayed Captain. "I brought the Chief's analysis on that damaged ballast valve, the liberty manifest and the end-of-voyage maintenance reports."
"Oh." Crane's shoulders slumped a little further. "Looks like it's going to be a late night tonight." Again, Morton added silently. The last voyage -- a long and highly dangerous one-had elicited many late nights for them all, but especially for Lee on whom the primary responsibility for the mission had directly fallen. As the Exec, Chip had done what he could, but he lacked the necessary security clearances such as were held only by Crane and Nelson himself, to handle more than the sub's routine functions this time out. Of course now that they'd made port, it was a whole new ball game.
"Is there anything else that needs to be handled tonight, Chip?" Crane reached for the uppermost sheets, starting slightly when his wrist was encased in a firm grip.
"There's nothing there that needs to be handled tonight, Lee." Morton regarded his friend critically. "When was the last time you slept?"
Crane gently tugged his wrist free. "Budget report first."
"Lee, that report isn't due for two weeks," Chip pointed out firmly.
"But the Admiral--"
Chip cut him off. "The Admiral is flying to Chicago tomorrow afternoon to visit his sister." Morton rifled through a stack of files. "As a matter of fact, none of these are due before he gets back in two weeks."
"The CS-7 forms -
Morton laughed, shaking his head in affectionate exasperation. "You never could get the hang of all this, could you?"
"What?"
Chip laughed harder at the puzzled expression in the hazel eyes. "Look, buddy, while you were traipsing around the world on those glamorous, exciting little jaunts for Naval Intelligence.:
"Glamorous?" Crane interrupted incredulously.
"...I was working my way up the ranks using the more mundane aspects of command procedure, including learning how the bureaucratic mind works," Morton finished with a flourish. He paused.
"And?" Crane prodded after a moment.
"And none of these are really due tomorrow no matter what they tell you. Next week at the earliest. Plenty of time tonight to get out and do something about that headache of yours."
"How did you know -- ?" Lee caught himself. "I mean, I'm fine."
Morton raised one sardonic brow, adequately expressing his thought on that subject. He'd seen Crane stubbornly repeat that phrase right up to the time he collapsed. "Really?"
They stared at each other for a total of thirty seconds before Crane surrendered. "All right, all right, Doctor Morton. I give up. I'll get some rest tonight."
"Now that's more like it." Morton shifted slightly, knocking a stack of requisition forms from their precarious balance. The pile tipped sharply to port and both Morton and Crane dove to their rescue.
"Careful, Chip!" Lee straightened the stack, only to have another one to his right begin a steady slide toward the floor. "Blast. It took Yeoman Barette hours to get those sorted."
He conscientiously realigned the files, allowing Morton an unrestricted moment to examine his friend. The heavy pressures of the past voyage had marked him, exhaustion drawing the youthful features fine. Though most people credited the Captain with a seemingly bottomless source of energy, Chip, who knew Crane better than anyone, was better informed. Lee would work himself to the point of collapse, and still he'd push himself unless someone kept a tight reign on him. That duty generally fell to his best friend and Executive Officer. And of course there was no reason to believe that Lee really would put the paperwork aside for the night....
With a mental sigh, Chip consigned the energetic Cheryl to stand-by status. "By the way, you're coming drinking with me tonight."
Crane shoved the pile further over, then shot his friend a suspicious look. "I thought you had a date with... what was her name? Maralyn?" he asked, and swung over a sheet covered with an illegible scrawl. "Who was on the helm last night? Chasteen?"
"Madalyn, and Maddy's been called out of town tonight. Anyway, I want to check out this new club over on Cranmer Street. They say the girls there are not to be believed." He squinted at the crawled signature. "That's Crowley."
"I'll believe them," Crane muttered darkly, "when I see them.:
"What was that?"
Crane tossed down the sheet and leaned forward rubbing at his back. "Remember the last time you said that? It was a bar in Morocco-"
"That was not my fault!" Chip protested. "How was I supposed to know her father was the Chief of Police?"
Crane sat back again. "I almost married her! Not that I wanted to marry her...."
Chip grinned. "Yeah, but you escaped."
"Barely." But Chip's grin was infectious and Crane soon found himself smiling back. "Okay, you win. Let's go check out this wonderful new night spot of yours. I can always get on to these reports in the morning."
Morton studied the toe of one polished oxford. "Uh...no you can't."
Lee waited.
Chip waited.
Lee broke first. "Well, why not?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten," teased Morton, who'd done the same thing himself. "You promised my mother you'd have dinner with us tomorrow. It's the traditional 'gathering of the clan,' remember?"
Crane dropped his head into one hand. "Is that tomorrow? Oh, god, I don't see how I can make it, Chip. I've got so much to do...."
"Lee, relax." Morton grasped one lean shoulder. "I'll show you a couple of shortcuts I leaned when I was assigned to the Pentagon. I guarantee this paperwork will be done long before deadline."
Crane hesitated. "Well...."
"Besides, Morn's kind of fond of you -- lord knows why. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"
Crane shook his head firmly. "Not in a million years."
"Then it's settled?"
"You've convinced me." Crane stood up. "The budget can wait a couple days." He scrubbed one hand over his eyes. "And I can use the rest. God, I'm tired."
"You're admitting it?" Morton whistled. "You must be in worse shape than I thought." He snatched up Lee's battered flight jacket with one hand, using the other to propel his friend to the door. "Come on, we're getting out of here now."
"What's the rush?" Crane gasped, suddenly finding himself half-way down the hall.
I don't want to give you a chance to change your mind, Chip thought. "I've got 8:00 reservations for dinner at Giancarlo's and the Golden Eclipse opens at nine."
"Planned to the minute," Crane laughed, falling into his friend's stride.
Morton ushered the Captain on deck. "Don't I always?"
Crane smiled warmly. "Yes, I suppose you do. Efficient as always, Mr. Morton."
Chip shrugged deprecatingly. "No sweat, Captain. After all, what's an Exec for?"
***
