Title: Dutchy Was Here!
Author: wickeduk
Rating: T - A few swear words and a bit of a steamy flashback!
Summary: Set between seasons 4 and 5, a drunk night out provides Kate with an unexpected piece of artwork. This fic is in answer to the challenge issued by angelical.
Required challenge elements:
- Kate has just come back from shore leave & she is very hungover.
- Kate finds she has a tattoo on her arm with the name of a Hammersley crew member (who is not Mike).
- Kate can't remember how it got there.
- Kate has to make a decision whether to leave it or go back to the tattoo shop.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned them, but I don't, so I'm just borrowing them and taking them on a literary adventure. No harm intended.
Author Note's: It's been six years since I last posted and shared any fanfiction, and over a decade since I last did any serious fanfiction writing. Please bear with me. I hope you don't find it too stale and boring. Feedback always welcomed.
Kate stumbled down the dockside, the darkest pair of sunglasses she could find slipped on her face. They looked hideous, the dark lenses looking more like the eyes of a horror movie fly, but they served their purpose and shielded her aching pupils from the powerful sun that was blazing through the sky that morning.
The coffee in her hand was warm and comforting, although the aroma did little to settle her stomach. What were they drinking last night? She hadn't felt this hung over since… Well, she couldn't remember being this hung over. All she knew was she felt like utter crap and wasn't sure how she was going to make it through the next few hours.
She brought the polystyrene cup to her lips and took a sip of the hot acid liquid. It burned all the way down, the mouthful quelling the contents of her stomach that threatened to rise. Why did she think it was a good idea to try Charge's 'miracle hang over cure' just before work?
The thought of the random ingredients for breakfast made her stomach lurch again, the acid burning the back of her throat as she tried to keep it contained. She should have just let nature take its course, the prevention of her release causing a coughing fit that ricocheted through her head. She moaned to herself.
"Ma'am!" A voice stopped her. Squinting, she tried to focus on her surroundings, and found herself stood outside the Hammersley, with Dutchy in front of her, his salute still in place, awaiting her response.
Kate allowed a floppy hand to reach her forehead in a feeble excuse of a formal response.
"Good shore leave, ma'am?"
"Not funny, Dutchy," she grumbled, her fingers rubbing her aching temple.
"Ah, X!" Mike yelled, jumping across the gangway to join the two crewmembers. He watched Kate attempt to weakly salute her commanding officer, a grin creasing his lips the entire time. After returning the greeting, he turned to Dutchy and issued orders to get ready to set sail. He focused his attention back to Kate.
He took in her disheveled appearance. "Sorry I had to call you in early, X, only we've got orders to crash sail by 1100." He surveyed his second-in-command, feeling a little sorry and guilty that he dragged her away from her bed, somewhere she clearly needed to be right now. Those thoughts aside, he couldn't help but smile at her. "So, X, have a good night did we?"
"To be honest, sir, I don't really remember."
Mike barked with laughter, the twinkle in his eye suggesting he knew more about her night out than she did. "That good, huh?"
"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the gangway and the fact that she had a job to do, despite her unfit state. Mike nodded and allowed her access. She headed straight for her cabin and some alone time to try and right the wrong that last night had produced.
Kate caught sight of herself in the mirror as she changed, something odd stopping her. "What the…?" Having crawled out of bed just over an hour ago, she had blindly dressed and prepared herself to return to the ship. The suspect areas had gone completely unnoticed, only fleetingly registering a dull pain in their place. She attempted to look at the offending spot in the mirror, but being so far around the back of her neck, the more she tried to look, the more she spun around. It was fruitless.
Then a similar marking on her upper right arm seized her concentration, only there was something a little different about this one. The size, shape and colouring were the same; the dark reddish-brown pattern over the top was very different.
She froze.
Forcing her still slightly blurred vision to focus, she realised that it was no random pattern, but a short statement that seemed engraved on her arm. Now, it all made sense. Her upper arm had been hurting all morning; the large bruise obviously the cause. But the bruise itself was of little consequence; it was the message it proclaimed that worried her more. Gingerly, she prodded the spot, wincing as a dull pain radiated from where her fingertip touched.
Really?
A tattoo?
How?
This had to be a joke, right? That must be it. The guys must have played some God awful trick on her when she was too drunk to remember. 'Serves you right, then,' she thought to herself. There was no way she could return to work with that on her arm, so she grabbed the wash cloth from her bathroom, and ran it under the water before she tried to rub away the insinuating writing.
Only it didn't seem to matter how hard she rubbed, the writing remained exactly where it was. She tried again harder, ignoring the pain the irritation was eliciting. The tattoo was definitely was there, and most definitely permanent. The culprit was going to pay. Unlucky for them they had endorsed her body with evidence of the perpetrator.
Pulling on the rest of her Navy uniform, she stormed out of her cabin in search of her target. She knew exactly where to find him. She climbed the steps to the bridge, ready to yell fire and brimstone, when Mike stepped into view, instantly taking in her feisty nature. "Everything okay, X?" he questioned.
"Yes, sir. I need to borrow Dutchy for a moment, if I may?"
Mike contemplated the request. "What's our sit-rep?" On hearing the radar was clear, and Coast Watch's latest fly-over had revealed nothing in the area, he relented. "Of course, X, but make it quick."
"Oh I will, sir, I will," she huffed through gritted teeth. "Petty Officer Mulholland, ship's office. Now!" Her stern voice and use of his full title told him that their meeting was not going to be one of friendship, or even niceness. She said nothing more until they were in the safety of the office and the door was closed.
"Would you care to explain this?" she demanded, grabbing the hem of her grey t-shirt sleeve and pulling it up to reveal the new tattoo she was now sporting.
The cursive words etched across her obvious hickey stood out a mile: 'Dutchy was here'. On hearing him snigger, she covered up the offending declaration, and faced him square on. "I'm glad you find this funny, Petty Officer. But running around with that kind of statement about my second-in-command is not exactly appropriate, or professional."
"Maybe not," he smiled. "But it's not as classy as mine, ma'am," he replied, turning around and lowering the waistband of his trousers enough to expose his own newly acquired message. She took in the 'KISS MY A$$' message, complete with dollar signs and accompanied by a delicately drawn arrow pointing south.
Kate bit back a laugh, the anger slowly dissipating from her body. "I don't remember much of anything, not after the CO left. How much did I have to drink?"
"Obviously too much if you don't remember how you got that little beauty," he smirked; only she got the distinct impression he wasn't referring to the tattoo at that point.
She eyeballed him. "Did we… did you… were you responsible for…"
"No, ma'am! Well, the tat yes, the other thing…" There was that smirk again. "No!"
"Then, who?"
She closed her eyes for a second, a blinding flash transporting her back to the earlier events of the previous evening. When the CO had stood and announced that he was returning to the ship, his proclamation had been met with disapproval. Before he disappeared, he had issued warnings to Swain and Charge not to make it a late night as they had watch in the morning, and for Dutchy to watch out for the rest of the crew, since he seemed the least inebriated at the time.
Kate, knowing she wasn't on duty until late the next evening, downed her drink in one, an exuberant beam gracing her lips as she slammed the glass down on the table. She was up for enjoying herself tonight, ready to let her hair down and paint the town red. It was the first time in a long time that things were looking up professionally, and personally, so why shouldn't she take the opportunity to relax?
Her glass emptied, she returned to the bar, where she ordered yet another cocktail. She informed the bartender she would be back shortly, and made a beeline towards the bathroom. By the time she was finished, her next drink would be ready and waiting, the vibrant coloured liquid calling her name.
Only, as she stepped into the corridors that led to the bathrooms, she felt a hand grab her wrist and drag her into a back corner. Familiar lips were on hers before she could utter a word, the pleasant ministrations quelling any coherent thoughts. She found herself enjoying the moment, and what a moment it was!
Large hands traveled up and down her sides, while strong demanding lips occupied her mouth and prevented any words of resistance; not that there was anything to protest about. She smiled against the bruising kiss. He murmured her name with such desire, her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She groaned and buried her face in his neck, kissing, sucking and nipping at the flesh.
Desire egged her on, her enthusiasm causing her to bite down hard. Her suitor sucked in a harsh breath, the metal taste in her mouth alerting her to her crime. "Easy tiger," he whispered. A faint 'sorry' was all she could muster through her panting breaths. "My turn," he grinned, his lips teasing hers for a mere second before moving swiftly southwards, hungrily devouring the skin of her exposed neck and shoulders, stopping on her upper arm when she shivered with delight - he had found a sensitive spot and was about to make the most of it.
Snapping back to reality, her cheeks were still burning from the intense images that had shaken her memory. "Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?" She began pacing the small office, expecting an answer. When one didn't come, she turned to look at Dutchy to find him grinning that knowing grin. "Oh no," she whined. "I didn't. I couldn't."
Smiling, he continued. "'Fraid so, ma'am. The cab driver wouldn't take you home - he was afraid you might try to redecorate his new upholstery, so we had to walk home. The flashing neon sign of the tattoo parlour caught your attention, and the next thing I knew, we're sat in opposite chairs waiting to get inked!"
She couldn't believe the words he was saying, but then who was she to doubt them? Her recollection of the previous night wasn't exactly detailed in any way, shape or form. Although something about his words did trigger a snapshot.
It was like an out-of-body experience. She saw herself, and Dutchy, inside the shop. Four chairs occupied the space, two of the seats taken by herself and her companion. Her body looked rested on the seat, drifting in and out of drunken consciousness, but not before she had the forethought to ask, "What are we doing again, Dutchy?"
"Getting tattoos," he replied, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for them to be doing.
"Of course, right." She watched her own smile grow, her other self knowing the soothing radio music and rhythmic buzzing would send her to sleep.
She shook her head in disappointment when Dutchy's hand came to rest on her shoulder. "So, what are you going to do about, ma'am?"
"Since we're already at sea, not a lot! Get a giant band aid or bandage perhaps?" She eyed him again, taking her time to form her next words. "No one, and I mean no one, can know about this." She stepped closer, her hands on her hips, determination in her eyes. "If you say a word, a single word, about any of this, I'll have you up on charges quicker than you can whistle."
He didn't doubt her for a second. But being the good friend she was, he knew just what buttons to press, and how far to push her. "Under what premise, ma'am?"
"Oh, I don't know - reckless endangerment, causing harm to another fellow officer, insubordination?"
"Fraternization?" he suggested, his eyes dancing with mischief.
"Watch it!" she warned.
"Yes ma'am." He allowed their friendly banter to subside, before taking a more sombre approach. "Ma'am, it will all go away, just give it a few weeks."
It was her turn to scoff as she ushered him out of the office and ordered him back to the bridge.
FEW DAYS LATER
Kate walked into the tattoo shop, only a bare recollection of having been there a few days ago. "Ah, Navy lady!" the gentleman behind the desk called out. Well, he clearly knew her. "So, what can I do for you this time?" He caught her unimpressed expression. "Sorry, lady, no refunds."
"Then, I suggest you do something - anything - about this," she replied, pulling up the sleeve of her tee, revealing the handy artwork he had done a few days ago.
He scrutinized the depiction. "The bruise is healing well," he admitted. "That will be gone shortly."
Kate whirled around. Had she had her weapon with her, she would have used it. "I don't care about that. I care about what you wrote. I want, no, I need it removed. Like yesterday!" she demanded.
The gentleman smiled. "No can do, lady." His grin remained in place as he handed her a leaflet on 'Caring for your Henna tattoo', only she didn't stop to read it. She wanted a solution and she wanted one now; the smug look on his face was only adding to her irritation further.
"You have to do something," she pleaded. "At least rectify the writing somehow. Change it to a different message?"
"I could add 'not', so it reads 'Dutchy was not here'!"
That comment got her boiling mad. One more quip like that, and he was going to be on the floor in seconds, his arms around his back and squealing for release. "I don't care what you do, just do something!"
"I could always get a matching one," she heard a familiar voice say. So caught up in her reprimand of the tattoo artist, she had failed to hear the shop doorbell ring and somebody enter behind them.
"Sir?" she questioned, swallowing the knot that was forming in her throat.
He stood in front of her, and slowly removed his shirt, his eyes locked on her the entire time. He was now naked from the belt up. She took in the all too familiar sight before her, her eyes roaming his chest and abs before settling on the five smaller circular bruises that decorated his collarbone, much like her own.
"Only, I have a bit of a problem." He grinned. "I'm just not sure which one to have documented."