With the Hammersley safely docked, her reports written and submitted, Kate's official duties were over. There was, however, one final personal matter that she needed to take care of before she could head home without the annoying, persistent encouragement from her Swain to accomplish the task at hand.
The time had finally come, despite her procrastination.
Who would ever have thought that the contents a small piece of cardboard, folded neatly into a rectangle and decorated by a pharmaceutical company could torment a person quite so much? The packet had remained securely locked in her desk drawer since Swain had issued her with the device, reluctant to release the fiend that would determine her future.
Shaking fingers grabbed the box and jelly-like legs carried her to the bathroom where she slipped the lock firmly in place. The dim light of the energy-saving bulb cast greater shadows under her eyes than were actually present. Drowning in a uniform that had once fitted, she cast a critical eye on her thin frame and paling reflection.
And her life.
Nearly four months ago she had made that fateful decision to end things with Mike. Then, right on cue, Jim made a blessed, and welcomed, return to her life. Ready to pick up the pieces of her broken heart, he pulled her from her stupor, and swept her away with all the love and attention she had fought so long to win from Mike.
Mother Nature, however, had other ideas, and had now shot her back down to earth with a resounding thump, when reality had ripped through her blissful existence. Ever since she had woken up and made friends with the toilet bowl a few mornings prior, her thoughts had been preoccupied with apprehension and stress, the question about her condition lingering at the forefront.
A warmth flourished on her cheeks just thinking about that humiliating boarding when she had failed to hide a symptom that was starting to turn persistence. Everyone had seen, everyone had heard; and not just once, but twice. On two separate occasions! Her embarrassment erupted further, the blotchy red path now tracing from her cheeks down to the top of her chest.
Embarrassed or not, it wasn't going to solve her current predicament, and very shortly she could have something far more awkward to explain to her sailors, and worse, her boss. A handful of cold water doused the burning sensation.
"Suck it up," she instructed her reflection. "Just do it."
She extricated the white plastic stick from the box and placed it on the rim of the small basin. The printed box instructions consumed her attention, her eyes reading the content once, then twice. Then several more times, each scan delaying the inevitable a few moments longer. Frustrated by her evasiveness, the packet took the brunt as it hurtled towards the corner wall and connected with a loud thud.
This was ridiculous! She knew exactly how these things worked; knew exactly what she had to do and what to look for after those three agonising minutes. She had done this all before; several times, in fact. This was not the first scare to threaten her entire naval career.
Then it hit her.
This wasn't like any of the other times.
Until now, she had always dreaded the results, fearful that her career might be put in jeopardy because of a silly mistake on her part; but not this time. Whilst a positive reaction might well put a halt to any of her immediate career plans, and maybe even her long term goals, that knowledge no longer scared her. There was more to her life than just her career.
A secret thrill cursed through her body, directing a now steady hand to grab at the stick and complete the required motions. Her mind filled with terrifying hope. Scared and excited, the trepidation and anticipation growing, she set in for the longest three minutes of her life.
One line. No, two lines; that was all she was waiting for. A simple shape, no more than a centimetre in length and width was about to determine the rest of her life. For a fleeting moment she wished she was doing this in the comfort of her own home, with Jim beside her to hold her hand, get her through those long drawn out minutes, and to share in either the heartbreak or joy that this tiny little stick was about to bring.
But needs must – she had to know for certain, one way or the other.
She could just imagine telling Mike that she was putting herself on light duties and relinquishing her boarding parties to Dutchy, that as soon as arrangements could be made, she would be transferring off the ship. Then, of course, there would be the resounding 'why' that she would have no option but to answer.
The explanations played over and over in her head, each one as taunting and tantalising as the next. 'I have to, I'm pregnant,' 'I just found out I'm in the family way', 'I don't have an option – Jim and I are having a baby'. The many ways to break the happy news circled through her head, a small smile tugging at her lips in the process.
And it would be happy news; welcomed news. It was the news she had wanted to voice out loud for so much longer than she had ever realised. With whom, wasn't such a consideration, but she just longed to be able to speak those words – 'I'm pregnant' – and feel the love and support that everyone else had received with their own baby announcements. Only this time, it wouldn't be them, it would be her!
One tiny plus on the stick; that was all she needed. A nervous sickness engulfed her from the stomach outwards, her palms sweating as shaking fingers held the stick in a death-grip. This was worse than waiting for her ADFA placement confirmation. Even her deep breaths were shaky.
She closed her eyes momentarily, summoning all her encouragement to open her eyes. 'Oh God, here goes,' she thought, opening her eyes and pulling the white plastic into view.
Her mind was thankful that her body was already sitting as relief and disheartenment flooded her system, all at the same time. Was that even possible? Could you cry for something that you didn't have, but at the same time, be thankful that you didn't have it? Her thoughts eventually slowed to a gentle swirling of contradiction, her feelings not following the fast-paced emotional rollercoaster and leaving tears in her eyes with a relieved smile to accompany.
It took a good while, but logical thought eventually returned and began questioning the results. They were not what she had expected, in fact, quite the opposite. All the symptoms had been there: her period was late by too many weeks for it to be a coincidence; her pants were fitting a little more snuggly around her waist; she had been irritable, unable to sleep and when the unexpected vomiting had kicked it, it was only pure denial that stopped her from looking into everything more deeply.
But since Swain's mention of the condition, the potential reality had begun to hit home. Her mood and energy had been low as her denial gave way to anger and eventually acceptance. Then she had analysed, calculated, and drawn her own conclusions. She had been convinced of the answer and the future that lay ahead of her.
But now, everything was tossed into turmoil once more.
'Oh, thank God,' a tiny voice squealed. It wasn't that she was grateful not to be pregnant; she would have been just as happy to see a positive result. It was just that so many issues would have been thrown at her, she was unsure of her readiness to cope. Her and Jim's relationship was steady, and growing, but to throw in a child and the commitment that came with raising offspring, she wasn't sure that was where they were heading. Not right now, at least, and thankfully, it was no longer a reality she had to deal with.
But no dealing with that reality also meant no child. No fulfilment of the restless emptiness that had settled inside of her nearly a year ago, and continued to remind her of her position in life. 'Goddamn it!' her inner voice screamed. It was just like her promotion all over again – one minute everything in her life was happy, and perfect, and going exactly where she wanted it to go, then boom, one decision from an outside entity and she was back to square one.
The disappointment lapped against her heart, the relief receding into a sea of turbulent emotions. 'Missed out, yet again,' the voice whimpered, a solemnness replacing her previous anger. It wasn't meant to be this way. Her results should have been different, should have been what she was expecting, that she was expecting. Instead, she felt nothing but an empty hollowness and no explanation for her symptoms.
'It doesn't matter,' she reassured herself. Chin held high and shoulders straight, the statement reassured her that she was right after all. She could once again return her attention to building her career, and not worrying about a life where family and children were concerned. Once again, she was back on her mission to become Chief of Navy, if she could only get her damned promotion.
'But you could have been a mother!' the taunting voice cried out, its insult refusing to stop as an insight into an impossible future sucked her away from reality for a few moments.
It was sunny; the heat of the afternoon sun warmed her cheeks, her eyes scrunching at the brightness. The aroma of freshly cut grass hung on the air and assaulted her nose, the smell dissipating only as the flowers from the colourful rose bed overtook the summertime scent.
Laughter and happy screeching came from behind, the sound drawing nearer just before the owner of the hysterical giggling appeared – a little girl, no older than five, dressed in a floral-patterned apron dress, with locks as blonde as Kate's hanging loose and stretching halfway down her back.
The little girl suddenly stopped, and turned to admire the adult that was watching her. Kate's breath caught. The girl was the mirror image of herself at that young age. She felt her eyes moisten with tears, but they had no time to fall as a tiny hand grabbed hers and began dragging her towards the sandpit. "Come on Mummy! It's time to play."
Boundless energy pulled her into the pit, and onto her knees, the sand grains rubbing against her knees. "Daddy started; we just need to finish building," she informed her matter-of-factly.
Kate found herself desperate to help the little girl, but the further around the sand pit she looked the less she could see the tools that were required to complete the giant sandcastle before her. A turret or two were missing from the back corner, but nowhere lay the bucket to construct the absent pieces. Shells were needed to complete the lower windows, but they too were not to be found in the sand.
The young girl was becoming increasing distressed as she too searched for the missing objects, Kate deciding now would be a good time to intervene. "It's okay, sweetheart. Maybe we can finish it another time?"
"But I wanted you to do this now!" the little girl cried.
"It's okay; it doesn't matter," Kate reassured her, opening her arms for a loving embrace. The child went willingly, her constant sobs soaking through Kate's top. "Another time," Kate whispered, gently stroking the girl's back in a soothing motion. "I can still do it another time. It doesn't matter!" she repeated.
Then just as quickly as her future flash-forward had appeared, it disappeared, and she was right back to the solitary confinement of her small metal cabin room; a room that had suddenly became too small to breathe in. She needed air. She needed out; and fast.
Scrambling for the door, she headed straight for the staircase and up out onto the main deck. The door handle received a harder yank than she intended, but the heavy metal object complied and drifted open. For a moment, the bright afternoon sun rendered her blind, her hand rising to her brow for temporary relief.
Her enemy stood proud and triumphant as he oversaw the delivery of their recent prisoner into the secure custody of the awaiting police. She studied the puff of satisfaction that brought his shoulders up square, his attention diverted to the key witness, his son, who was now safely secured on the ambulance gurney and heading to the best medical help the Navy could provide.
The door vibrated behind her as a resounding click signalled its closure. She just hoped she could shut out her own disrespectful, sinful thoughts just as easily. With a deep breath in her lungs and a fake smile planted in place, she took her armour and headed into the unpleasant battle of words that she knew would follow.
She observed Mike lifting a strong arm to wave a reassuring goodbye. Only the exchange brought the evilness back; the unwelcomed spitefulness settling low in her gut, her hatred boiling when an exhausted hand returned the gesture. With a single glance, he and Maxine shared a secret conversation of thanks, of gratitude, and of shared relief.
Jealousy stomped on the spitefulness before briefly trampling her own heart. That was their 'thing'; hers and Mike's. They were notorious for sharing secret, stolen glances where a dialogue would ensue without a single word ever passing either of their lips. And now, here he was, in broad daylight, doing that with her, with Maxine, in front of everyone.
The blood in her veins ran instantly icy hot. Fists clenched, she fought the urge to storm over to him and shake some bloody sense into the idiot. Or better yet, hammer home her newly discovered wisdom with a short, sharp slap to his cheek. Or two. Or three. The thought was appealing as she took a tentative step in his direction. But the years of discipline and etiquette that had been drilled into her kept her restraint firmly in place.
Her step faltered as she caught the tiniest shift in his broad shoulders; he had finally registered her presence. But rather than acknowledge her, his focus remained fixed on the dockside commotion; her nerves grated at his lack of civility. Did he already know? So what if he did? They were living separate lives and her news could just as easily be his news.
"Aren't you going? With your family?" she confirmed, a stiffness to her voice that only spoke whispers of the jealousy she felt.
The word stung – 'family.'
It was still such a foreign concept when she thought about him. And worse when she contemplated how he and Maxine would be so intrinsically entwined, forever and always because of it. But despite the residual bad feelings between father and son, his new position in their lives was clearly welcomed. He watched them approach the ambulance and smirked.
Kate wanted to slap him again.
Instead, she tried to hit back the green-eyed monster that the unjust situation had antagonised deep within. She just couldn't understand it. Only a few hours ago he had, albeit indirectly, asked her to step down and allow him to apprehend Davidson, all in order to deal out some fatherly justice for almost killing his son. And now, here he was, just standing by and taking the passive approach.
Ryan was still here.
Ryan was still alive.
Mike still had his son.
'And you have nothing,' the wicked voice taunted, just loud enough for her ears to hear. Her fists clenched and released once more.
Mike was met by her notorious XO stare. It apparently worked on him just as well as it did on her renegade sailors, and he had the sudden urge to defend his previous decision. "Thought I'd give them some space." Her incredulous glower didn't waiver. "I'll meet them at the hospital," he protested.
The world around her seemed to come to an almost stop, passing instead, frame by frame like an old film that had got stuck, and drawing out the silence that followed. She could sense the impending question on his lips, and wished he could instead just read her mind. Why couldn't he just look at her and see the hurt, see the pain, see the internal battle that was raging war within?
But then he hadn't seen through her lies all those months ago when she insisted their relationship was dead in the water, and she wanted out. He hadn't seen the tears that were swimming in her eyes, tears she tried so hard to fight back until she had spoken the words to commit relationship suicide. Why would he be able to read her now?
'You're an idiot!' she silently muttered, although whether in reference to herself or her boss, she wasn't sure.
He was oblivious; as always. It made her mad.
"Feeling better?" he asked, clueless to her emotional turmoil.
Annoyance sliced through her rage. "Yeah, I'm better." She sounded far more sarcastic than she intended, but she didn't care; she was anything but. If only he could see that!
Better? Who was she kidding? Her eyes rolled at her own lame response, a disappointed shake of her head. One day she would learn to answer with something other than a variation of 'I'm fine'. But that wasn't today, and certainly not right now.
He smiled. "Good."
She jiggled on the spot, desperate for an excuse to escape, but it never came. Just more silence; more awkward silence, that kept her pinned to the spot and in the presence of her commanding officer. "You know there was a rumour going around the crew that you were pregnant?" he finally announced.
Her gaze snapped to him. She didn't miss his intonation or tone; it was as though her being pregnant was an absurd possibility. Clearly he believed there was no chance her and Jim had been that intimate, and that the entire crew had been barking up the wrong tree.
How wrong he was!
His smirk did nothing to control her temper either. A deliciously devious part of her contemplated filling him in on all the sordid details of her love life – the 'when's, the 'where's, the 'how's, and even better, the 'how many's. She could make him crawl with every last single intimate detail.
But he had mistaken her revengeful look for shock; hands rising in defence of his personal observation, his "What do you expect?" snapping her back to reality.
'Exactly that,' she thought bitterly. Living and working in such close quarters, everyone always knew everyone else's business. It had been the hardest thing she had to adjust to when she had first transferred to the Hammersley. And when an otherwise healthy young woman, of child-bearing age, in a relationship with a man, starts throwing up, for no obvious reason, then of course the rumours were going to start flying. How could they not?
Confirmation of what had not come to pass stilled her. With a deep breath she started. "I can tell you…" But the rest of the sentence stuck in her throat.
This was it.
If she spoke the words now, there would be no denying their legitimacy. Once she spoke the truth, there would be no taking it back. No return to blissful ignorance. Each word that followed was forced against considerable emotional protest. "Categorically, that I'm not." And with that statement, she admitted her shortcomings without mentioning the word that suddenly tasted like acid in her mouth.
He lifted his hand, part in apology, part in silent agreement not to force the issue any further. Determined, she looked away, knowing if he so much as looked at her at that moment, she would crumble.
He was doing it again, irking her without even realising it. For an officer who was usually so in tune with his crew, especially his second-in-command, he was doing a really lousy job today, when she needed it the most. Right now she needed his eyes on her, a silence conversation where she could safely divulge her heart's deepest desire without ever having to voice it.
Instead, he was merrily tapping his fingers on the railings as though he had no care in the world. In reality, he didn't. His son was alive, the bridge he thought had been burnt had somehow managed to rebuilt itself, even if it was still a rocky crossing. He was carefree. It was only she who had lost out. Lost out to a future that held so much potential just earlier that morning.
It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair; especially when it concerned her. But she had a chance to turn the tables a little, bring him down to the self-hating abyss that she was currently drowning in. 'Fine. If that's how you want to play it,' the vindictive voice silently screamed, 'I know exactly how to hurt you!'
Before she had time to engage her brain, the words were out, although halted a second later by a sudden attack of conscience. "Just out of interest…" There was still time to dismiss her question, tell him that it didn't matter, and leave it at that. Only it did matter. She wanted to, needed to, hear his answer, so she continued. "…How would you feel if I was?"
She threw him a glare, challenging him, daring him to answer. Just waiting, just hoping. Only it never came. He remained just as closed lip about his feelings as she was about hers. Her eyes begged for further insight, some indication that her predicament might have irked him enough to fight for her.
At least one last time.
But it didn't.
Why she needed that acknowledgement, or confirmation, she didn't know. She was supposed to be in a loving relationship with Jim. Ten minutes ago, as she held that pregnancy test in her hand, she had been contemplating starting a new life, a new family with Jim, and she had been happy, verging on ecstatic.
But now, she suddenly wanted Mike to fight for her, for them. It was insane, twisted even. She had no right to ask that of him. No right to expect an answer, but she wanted one. Needed one.
Only of his silence came his answer – and her greatest hurt.
Needles pricked the back of her eyes, tears offering only a temporary relief. The growing lump in her throat kept her voice quiet. "You should go. Go be with your family. While you can." She swallowed back her tears, but it was an exercise in futility when his gentle hand on her shoulder instantly undid her work. "I'll be fine." A single escaping tear betrayed her. "Go!" Following her own whispered direction, she dismissed him just as easily as she had four months prior, and disappeared back through the hatch door.