This is a first season story. It's a sequel to my earlier story, "Away from Monsters" (hence the title, "Monsters Return").
Rating: PG-13 for adult language and some adult content/themes. This deals with raw issues (such as child abuse); if you are in anyway uncomfortable with these themes, I would suggest looking elsewhere.
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Monsters Return
Part Three
A quarter past nine the following morning, Bridger stood waiting in the docking bay, his hands clasped tightly, rigidly behind him, his eyes frozen on the sealed doors to his ship. His uniform was perfectly pressed and crisp, his hair cleanly styled; no outward signs betrayed his anger or his fear. But that, of course, was merely appearance; inside, his every nerve screamed with worry. Beside him stood Commander Ford and Doctor Westphalen. Kristin's mouth was set in a harsh, barely contained frown. Ford's face looked like it had been carved from granite: emotionless, forbidding.
Crocker emerged from the docking bay doors, walking several steps in front of their guest. Though it wasn't obvious, Bridger knew Crocker enough to realize the Security Chief was just one step below simmering. He answered their guest's questions with short, sharp responses--borderline hostility in Crocker.
The guest himself soon stopped directly in front of Bridger. Slightly overweight, brown-haired, and smiling warmly, the man didn't look anything like what Bridger had expected. The man didn't look like a monster. There were no obvious fangs, no horns, no hooves emerging from his ankles; but he was a monster nonetheless.
"Hello, Doctor Wolenczak," Bridger began, shaking the man's hand. He touched the creature's skin as briefly as possible, as if fearing contamination. "I hope your trip here was pleasant."
Wolenczak smiled; again, it wasn't the pointed-tooth, evil smile one would expect of a monster. But, then, Bridger supposed that the worst monsters, the most dangerous monsters, were the ones that looked like everyone else: normal, pleasant, human. These were the monsters to truly fear. "Perfectly pleasant, Captain. Thank you." He looked around, then asked casually, "I was expecting Lucas to be here. Where has he gotten himself off to now?"
Bridger cleared his throat. "He's in the science lab right now. We just got in some new audio equipment for his project. He's been ecstatic about it, of course. Pulling him away has been next to impossible."
"Ah . . . I see."
"Well, if you'll just follow me, we'll get you set up for your work here," Bridger said as pleasantly as his voice would allow, grinding his teeth as he gestured the beast to his side. His fist ached--burned--to hit the brilliant scientist right on the snout. His mind kept seeing Lucas lying motionless before him, unseeing, lifeless . . . his father standing over him with the blood-soaked knife. The bastard--the spiteful, two-faced, monstrous, menacing bastard. He'd like to take that knife and shove it down Wolenczak's throat.
Unable to stand the sight of the man, Nathan strode from the docking bay with the creature in tow, his officers quietly choosing to remain behind. As they continued down the hall towards the Mag-Lev, Wolenczak asked, seemingly offhandedly, "So, how has Lucas been doing here? I mean, really, how has he been doing? Has he driven you nuts yet?"
The implications of Wolenczak's questions were obvious. Bridger fought the urge to stop, throw Wolenczak up against a bulkhead, and rip the lungs right out of his chest. Wolenczak somehow had the gall to think that Bridger's monthly reports on Lucas were simply doctored, packed with nonsense to make Lucas look good, to make Lucas look like a valued member of the seaQuest. He couldn't even seem to consider the possibility that these reports were true--that his son was, truly, one of Bridger's key crewmembers.
For a moment, Bridger was silent as they entered the Mag-Lev. He quickly stowed himself in one of the seats, watching as Wolenczak eyed the Mag-Lev with curiosity. Wolenczak didn't sit down. Bridger didn't bother to mention that sitting was crucial on the Mag-Lev. The Mag-Lev suddenly zoomed into motion, and Nathan heard a loud thunk. He hid his smile behind a fake, "Oh, I'm sorry . . . I forgot to tell you to sit down," as Wolenczak crashed into the nearest wall and flopped down hard on the floor.
Feels good, doesn't it, Wolenczak? Bridger asked silently, snickering inside. Feels real good to get knocked around like a bag of charcoal.
As the bastard righted himself and limped to a seat, Bridger answered Wolenczak's previous questions as if nothing of importance had happened. "Oh, Lucas has done beautifully here. His work is thorough, well-thought, and well-planned. Computer efficiency has improved by over forty percent since he's been on board."
Rubbing his leg, Wolenczak stared at this, then rolled his eyes--clearly not believing a word Bridger said. His voice was coldly polite when he said, "Well . . . it's good to hear he's finally cleaned up his act. I can't tell you how many times I've had to knock the sense right into that boy's head."
Bridger glared at him, his muscles literally twitching in an ardent desire to plant a fist in the beast's mouth. His mind repeated Wolenczak's words: Knock the sense right into the boy's head . . . sure, let's just try it with a fist across the jaw and a toss into the nearest wall. Is that what you mean, hmm? Is that what you really want to say? Instead of restructuring Wolenczak's jaw for him, though, Bridger forced himself to inhale sharply before replying, "Lucas is one of the smartest, most innovative young men I've ever worked with--bar none. You should be exceedingly proud to have him as your son, Doctor Wolenczak." Yeah, if you had a heart the size of a pea, that is . . . "In fact, he's saved the lives of many people on board this ship."
Wolenczak's skeptical eyes narrowed, rankling Bridger's nerves even further. Bridger added, "On the Ulysses, Lucas kept the ship from reaching enemy territory by sabotaging it. I owe my life to him, and the lives of several fine officers on this ship. He also withstood some pretty serious questioning without yielding any information. As I said, he's a son to be enormously proud of."
The Mag-Lev came to a stop, and they left the lift. Bridger tried to hide a smirk as he saw Wolenczak limping beside him. Good. Let the bastard hurt a bit. It will probably do him good. After a moment of silent walking, they reached Wolenczak's temporary quarters--placed as far from Lucas's as possible--and Bridger entered the doctor's code. He then looked at the man. "Well, here you are, doctor. You should find everything you need in here. There's a map of the ship on the desk inside. You'll also find a PAL there for your use. If you need anything, just give the bridge a call."
Wolenczak blinked at him, clearly not expecting such an abrupt departure. He nodded hesitantly. "Okay . . . thank you, captain. Will I be seeing Lucas later, do you think?"
Inwardly, Bridger pictured Wolenczak hanging from a noose from the center of the room. However, he simply said, "It depends on Lucas's schedule. He had a load of work to do, so it might be awhile. Of course, if you need him, you can find him in the science lab." Surrounded, I might add, by at least five or six adults, too. "If you'd like a tour, I'm sure one can be arranged. I'm afraid I won't be available for it because of my schedule, but I'm sure I can find someone if you'd like." As long as it's not me, Krieg, Ortiz, Crocker, Ford, Westphalen, O'Neill, or Hitchcock, of course. They'd lead you on a tour straight to hell. I doubt you'd like the sights there.
Again, Wolenczak blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Bridger. After a moment of strained silence, he finally said, "Yes . . . of course. I'll keep that in mind. Thank you again."
Bridger nodded quickly. "Your research team should be in later today. Most of them are due in about two hours. Again, let us know if there is anything you need."
With that, Bridger turned on his heels and left the man staring after him. A thoroughly bewildered expression lingered on the doctor's face as he watched the captain disappear. Bridger grinned, thinking it was about time the doctor got a little of his own medicine. If Wolenczak liked to play mindgames with his son, then by all means . . . Bridger would happily play mindgames with Doctor Wolenczak.
*****
Several hours later, Doctor Wolenczak wandered into the seaQuest's mess hall. Seeing no familiar faces, he simply grabbed a tray, piled it with what passed for food from the cafeteria food supplies, then planted himself comfortably in a chair.
He was halfway through his meal when several shadows splashed across his food. He looked up, surprised, then smiled slightly as he recognized one of the faces: Doctor Kristin Westphalen, if he recalled correctly. He beckoned them to sit down beside him. "Well, hello, Doctor! It's good to see a familiar face! Though I can't guarantee the safety of the food here, I can say it's good to have some company."
She smiled weakly, sitting down and then picking at her food. "Thank you, Doctor. Allow me to introduce my friends." She introduced Tim, Ben, Katie, and Miguel, pointing at each respectively. She then looked at him, her smile disappearing. "So . . . have you spoken with Lucas yet?"
Wolenczak frowned at her dark expression, but simply said, "No. I haven't had the chance yet. And it sounded like he was pretty busy."
Katie, who had been sipping some water from her glass, slammed the glass down with a grimace. She ignored Wolenczak's startled stare as she studied her food with something like a flame-kindling glare.
"You must be real close to your son," Ben began sarcastically, his voice biting, harsh. Wolenczak flinched at the tone. "I hear you try to call him on a real regular basis. What a pop."
Stunned, Wolenczak simply looked from one face to the next, clearly trying to understand what was happening.
"Yeah, you're a real charmer, from what we hear, Wolenczak." Ortiz leaned towards the man, holding his gaze with angry, intense eyes. "Lucas tells us you could qualify for Dad of the Year any time now."
Wolenczak leaned back in his chair, his movements choppy, as if his muscles weren't working correctly. He again stared at the faces around him.
Tim's heated voice--barely above a whisper--cut through the distance between them as if it had never existed. His eyes were slits in his pale face, his lips compressed into a thin line of anger. "We've heard all kinds of things about you, Doctor, and we're just going to say this once: you mess with Lucas, you lay a finger on him, and you'll have everyone on this boat hunting your worthless hide." Tim's friends stared at him in amazement, but he continued on, his voice harsh, cold: "And I'll tell you something else, Wolenczak. I think violence is wrong, that it should be at all costs avoided. But in your case, I'm willing to overlook it. No one abuses a child and gets away with it. No one."
Silence. Ben hissed, anger clear in every syllable he spoke, "What we're saying is simple You'd better watch your back, Wolenczak. You hurt Lucas, and there won't be enough of you left to use as shark bait. Is that clear enough for you?"
Wolenczak swallowed. He looked from one face to the next, then slowly nodded. His face was white, sweat lining his forehead and upper lip, when the friends rose as one and left him sitting alone in the mess hall.
*****
Later that day, Doctor Wolenczak walked into the sea deck, a sample of the latest water tests in his hand, one of his research assistants at his elbow.
In the middle of a lengthy explanation, Wolenczak abruptly froze, his feet and mouth stopping as one. He didn't even notice his assistant as she ran into him, not expecting the sudden stop.
His hazel eyes were fixed on one figure in the room: messy blond hair, jeans, baseball shirt and turtleneck. His son.
Seeming to feel his stare, almost like a magnetic pull, Lucas looked up. The various samples sitting in front of him were quickly forgotten as his eyes met his father's.
A moment . . . a lifetime . . . an infinity . . . the minutes revolved around that one center, that one focus point: time eternal, neverending, a black hole where his father's eyes burned into his own memory, a world spinning out of control in the hate of that hazel gaze . . .
A life of yes and no, years of fear, tears streaming the face, bones aching and crushing beneath a powerful grip . . .
Shouts and anger, hatred and disgust . . .
Trying so hard to understand what was expected of him, trying so hard to be what his father wanted him to be . . .
Culminating in a minute--one single, little minute--sixty seconds that had nearly ended his life as he sliced his own wrists, as blood flowed from his veins to drip into the floor . . .
All ending at this point: his father once more standing in front of him, his father once more invading his space, his father once more violating who and what he was.
Lucas's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he could feel his own heart beating out of control, the blood rushing in a frenzy. But then . . . the moment broke. It dissolved. He could move again.
With barely a flicker, Lucas looked his father in the eye, then simply turned back to his work, dismissing from his mind the man he had called "father" for so long. For the first time in his life, Lucas dismissed his father as his father had so often dismissed him.