The weather remained cooperative for three days after Norman spoke with Renée. The fourth morning dawned with rough seas and dwindling crab counts. With mounting frustration, Sig pointed the Northwestern's bow towards the grounds far to the north. He hated dropping gear so close to the ice, but something told him that's where he needed to go. During the eight hour run, he ignored Edgar's unhappy grumbling and sulked alone in the wheelhouse.
Setting the three ten pot strings of testers dangerously close to the ice, Sig ordered his weary crew to beat the thickening blanket of ice threatening to swamp the boat. While the five men battled the ice, Sig battled his own fatigue as he turned back south to check on another string. Grabbing the pack of cigarettes from it's nest of Kit Kat wrappers by the throttle, he swore darkly as he flipped open the lid. With another dark curse, he chucked the empty carton across the wheelhouse.
The cameraman flinched with each curse, a soft breath of air hissed past his lips as the cigarette carton smacked against his ankle. He knew the irritable skipper wasn't aiming to hit him and he held his silence to avoid bringing Sig's ire down upon his shoulders. Another wince scrunched his pale features as a large wave crashed viciously against the forward facing windows. He glanced over at the dash above Sig's head as the five handsets rattled against the force of the wave.
Oblivious to the wheelhouse cameraman's struggle to control his fear, the five fishermen struggled against the wind and waves in order to free their boat from the Bering Sea's icy grip. Each man avoided the boat's bow, unwilling to face the dangerous task of clearing the bow. They exchanged a worried look as Sig's rough voice came over the loudhailer.
"This bow isn't getting any clearer! Somebody get your ass up there and get that ice off my bow!" Edgar hollered up a 'roger' out of habit and winced as he realized his unwilling mistake. Rolling his eyes to the cameraman, he flashed the camera a sarcastic grin that looked more like a grimace than a smile.
"Guess I just volunteered myself for a beating. Anyone wanna join me? Norman, I wasn't serious…damn it, I was being sarcastic!" Throwing a confused glance back at the four remaining men, Edgar hastily hurried after his brother as he limped up to the bow. The two brothers settled into a routine as they began their aggressive attack against the growing ice.
Three hours dragged painfully on before Edgar and Norman made their way back down to the relative safety of the deck. Pulling the hatch closed behind them, Edgar hung his dripping rain gear and hoodie next to Matt's and joined his friends at the galley table. The deck boss was sitting for less than a full minute before finding himself flying across the galley into the cabinet door and succumbed to the blackness.
Seconds later, the sounds of alarms blaring roused the semi-conscious man and he rubbed the back of his head with a groan. He gazed around the dark galley, head swimming as he struggled to find the source of the alarms. Edgar's eyes settled on the swinging door leading to the engine rooms and his heart pounded in fear as he scrambled to his feet and down into the boat's belly.
Water sloshed around his ankles as he joined Norman and Matt. Squeezing past Matt, he leaned over Norman's shoulder to peer at the slack pumps.
"What the hell's going on here?" Edgar yelled above the alarms. Norman lifted a shoulder as he skillfully inspected the equipment before him.
"Pumps are dead, engine's dead…and if we don't get this shit fixed, so are we!" Norman shouted back as he adjusted the headlamp's beam. Jake, Nick, and the deck cameraman soon joined them and before long the six men were working through the pain of their injuries to save the boat. Nick, Jake, and the cameraman bailed water while Matt moved between Norman and Edgar to deliver tools or helping either man with repairs. By the time the crew was able to clear the engine room of its watery load and make temporary repairs, the weather lessened enough to allow the men to crawl into their bunks. Barely an hour passed before the stateroom phone began ringing and Jake dragged himself from his bunk to answer it. With a wince, he held the receiver away from his ear as Sig's irritable voice pierced the quiet; a lopsided grin crossed his face as Edgar lifted his head from the pillow cradled in his arms and scowled nastily at the youngest deckhand.
"What he fuck does he want now?" Edgar muttered as Jake put the phone back to his ear and, answering softly, threw on a dry shirt and hoodie. Pausing on his way out of the stateroom, he answered the deck boss's question.
"He needs a break, so I'm going up for wheelwatch. I'll be back in a couple hours." He laughed softly as Edgar waved a hand blindly in his general direction, having already returned his head to the pillow with closed eyes. Closing the door gently behind him on his sleeping friends, Jake climbed the wheelhouse stairs and stood in front of the manual steering wheel. When Sig failed to move from his chair, Jake cleared his throat and the skipper jumped. Aiming a dark glare at the young man, Sig rose and switched places with him. He took a moment to explain where the string he wanted to check was.
"If we reach the string before I'm back, get Edgar to come up and take over. Either way, I want someone to get me up in four hours." Jake merely nodded his understanding while hiding a huge yawn behind his hand. Sig laughed humorlessly and ruffled Jakes shaggy hair before making his way to bed.
****
Slowly drifting into wakefulness, Norman opened his eyes and stared up at the bunk above him. He rolled from his bunk and threw on a pair of sneakers before staggering into the galley to fix a pot of coffee. He leaned against the counter; brows furrowed in a confused frown as he pondered over the unsettling feeling that woke him. He stared at the engine room door with an unfocused gaze and failed to see Matt trotting in from the deck to fix up a quick meal.
Matt paused, surprised to see Norman standing in the galley with a disoriented look on his face and momentarily entertained the thought of scaring him back into reality. He instantly tossed the idea away when Norman's blank eyes flicked to him. Instead he went about his original mission of cooking and greeted his friend.
"Hey, we've just been through two strings. We're gonna haul one more string before we head in to offload." Norman silently filled a mug from the steaming pot of coffee and held the pot out to Matt, who shook his head as he fiddled with the contents of a skillet. He winced as a stream of scalding fluid raced down his throat and coughed against the pain. He caught the concerned look Matt tried to hide as the coughs subsided and cleared his throat.
"How long was I asleep for?" Matt kept his gaze on the skillet, dark brown eyes flicking once to the engineer before returning to the food.
"You don't look so good, Norman. Maybe you should go lay back down…"
"I said…how long was I out?" Matt suppressed a shiver as Norman's low, gravelly growl grated along the deckhand's spine. Setting the meal on low until he could return to it, he answered his friend's question.
"Two days, you were out for two days. But…damn it Norman! We need you to get healthy more than we need you on deck right now!" Matt's protests went unheeded as Norman limped to the ready room and struggled into his rain gear before stepping out on deck with Matt hard on his heels. A strong gust of sleet-filled wind sent Norman sliding across the deck and into Nick. Both men crashed to the deck with a curse and Norman rolled to the side with a groan, leaving Nick flat on his back and rubbing the back of his head.
Jake and Matt helped their friends to their feet, Jake hovering anxiously near Norman until he was mostly certain he would keep his feet. Norman scowled up at the wheelhouse, as Sig's voice demanded the engineer wear a life vest for the remainder of his time on deck boomed out over the storm. With a sour mood, Norman secured the vest around his chest before taking over control of the block from his youngest brother. His sour mood deepened when, five pots later, Sig turned the Northwestern back towards Saint Paul and called Norman into the wheelhouse.
Climbing through the hatch, Norman didn't bother to remove his dripping rain gear as he trudged up the stairs. Collapsing onto the bench near the stairwell, he shoved the hoods from his damp head and watched silently as Sig throttled through a cresting wave. The sensation of freefalling into the ditch sent the engineer's empty stomach flipping and Norman squeezed his eyes shut with a nauseous moan.
"Turn the fucking cameras off, take your fucking LAVs, and get the fuck out of my wheelhouse." The color drained from the cameraman's face as he fumbled to catch the small microphone Sig tossed at him before quickly powering down all the wheelhouse cameras and making a hasty retreat to the galley. The brothers sat in an uneasy silence as the moments dragged by, neither wanting to broach the subject needing to be discussed. Finally, Sig sighed heavily and dragged his left hand back through his hair. Pulling a drag from his cigarette, he slowly exhaled the smoke and peered through the pale blue haze into the stormy scene before him.
"I'm tempted to just leave you behind in Saint Paul when we offload." The sound of the waves crashing around the boat was nearly deafening in Norman's stunned silence and he gaped at Sig's profile.
"What? Why? You need me here." Sig snorted humorlessly at his brother's protests.
"Bullshit, Norman. You were unconscious for the past two fucking days! You're slowly killing yourself out here, and for what? Your stupid, Goddamned Norwegian pride? Get the fuck over yourself." Sig chanced a glance at Norman to gauge his reaction. Norman's pale face reddened as he struggled to control his sudden surge of anger, mouth moving silently as he fought to organize his thoughts. Sig's voice softened as he continued, "Right now, Renée needs you more than we do…and I think you need her more than you need the work. If our numbers are right, we ought to be heading home in a week and a half anyways. We can manage a week of fishing without you."
Norman's mouth thinned into a tense line, narrowed eyes focused on the rough seas beyond the bow doing nothing to quench his nausea and only fueling the disappointment dragging him down. Taking a moment to think on his brother's words, he slowly nodded as he accepted Sig's threat and slid to his feet. Feeling the boat shudder under the force of another wave slamming off the stern, his earlier disappointment melted into an all too familiar unease.
A trail of white foam snuck up on the unsuspecting boat and the rouge wave reared its ugly head at the last second before slamming into the starboard side, sending Norman crashing into the wall. As the boat righted herself, Norman's groggy brain barely registered the sensation of cold water trickling down the back of his neck nor the warmth trailing down his temple. He groaned as Sig's voice pierced his throbbing head and his eyes flickered open. In a daze and with vision swimming, Norman cradled his head from where he sat slumped between wall and chair.
Nick raced up the wheelhouse stairs with first aid kit in hand, ignoring the throbbing in his own head and shoulder. He snatched the flashlight Sig tossed to him and knelt next to his semi-conscious friend, administering basic first aid before yelling down for someone to help him move Norman. Jake appeared up the stairs and his eyes widened at the sight of Norman's condition before he grabbed hold of the older man's feet. Both men paused in the stairwell as Sig spoke aloud, mostly to himself and punched June's number into the sat phone.
"That's it…he's getting off at Saint Paul and he's staying off! While the crab is being offloaded, I'm taking his sorry ass to the hospital and then shipping him straight to Seattle!" Nick shared a confused glance with his nephew and shrugged awkwardly as they continued down the stairwell and into the stateroom Norman shared with them and Matt. They hefted the glassy eyed man into bed and, once Jake returned with the first aid kit, Nick set about stitching up the cut on his friend's pale face while Jake returned to the galley and helped Edgar, Matt and the two cameramen pick up the mess.
****
Hushed voices swam around in the blackness. The steady mechanical beeping of equipment grated on his nerves and the occasional coo of infants confused him. He struggled to emerge from his dark stupor, his efforts earning him a soft shushing and a gentle hand on his burning forehead. His brain struggled to put a name to the voice and touch, but he succumbed to the black void before he could summon the name.
Renée sat beside Norman's still form, chewing worriedly at her lip during her vigil. Although he was stabilizing quickly and his previous injuries were halfway healed, the added strain of fresh injuries sustained during the hellish season put his healing on hold. Every day Renée sat by his side, holding a one-sided conversation with the man floating in and out of consciousness.
With one arm wrapped protectively around Andrew, Renée brushed hair from Norman's brow for the umpteenth time. Her fingertips brushed lightly over the stitches in his forehead, and a soft moan issued from his parted lips. Renée smiled sadly as his head turned weakly into her gentle caress and his eyes cracked open. She shifted the slumbering infant in her arm so Norman could get a better look.
"This is Andrew James. Norman Joseph is sleeping in the car seat next to me, but he looks exactly like Andrew. Except that Andrew has lighter hair than little Norman. But other than that, they're identical." Norman grinned as Andrew yawned and blinked owlishly at the man lying before him. Reaching a hand out, he laughed softly as the infant curled a tiny fist around his finger and tried putting it in his mouth. Andrew squealed a laugh and squirmed with excitement at the added attention; hearing his brother laughing, Norman Joseph began fussing and squirming against the car seat's restraints.
"Could I hold Andrew while you get Norman?" Norman's heart went out to Renée as he saw her sudden uncertainty. His smile brightened with relief as she carefully lowered Andrew to his chest and the man tenderly wrapped his arms around the tiny babe, gazing down at him with sleepy eyes. They were right…Andrew looks nothing like Vince did. He looks almost exactly like Renée. Norman tore his gaze from the infant in his arms to see Renée nursing her second born son. He looked away with a blush, which earned him a kind yet equally shy laugh from Renée.
"It's okay, Norman, I don't mind. Hey, I think Andrew likes you…it looks like he fell back…" Her voice trailed off as she noticed Norman had drifted off to sleep as well. Careful so as not to disturb her nursing son, she leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on the slumbering man's forehead. She returned to her chair by his side and sang a whispered lullaby to her three sleeping loves.
****
A/N: When Norman was originally injured during the King season, he'd developed bacterial pneumonia that had never fully gone away. But I promise I'm letting him heal fully this time around. If anyone wants a definite timeline, the last section takes place over a period of two or three weeks. I realize that getting a smooth flow of time is something that needs to be worked on.
Sorry it took so long to get this chapter written. I needed to just step away from it for a little bit and the ending kinda fell into place after that. The story's ending is coming up....but I'm not sure how many chapters it'll take. At this moment, I'm thinking one but don't quote me on that. Hehe.
Thank's for reading and thanks for your reviews and comments. Just to reiterate, I make no money whatsoever from these stories. I do not own any actual people, places, places or businesses/objects. Renee, her babies and other family, Njord, Vince and Amy are my creations; Amy is just because I can't remember Edgar's daughter's name for the life of me. Reviews and constructive critiques/criticsisms are welcome and appreciated.
This chapter's title is borrowed from a country song by the same title. The song is property of the singer, songwriter, and producer. I am gratefully borrowing the song as it appears to be an apt description of the chapter.
Copyright 2009 to Alissa Franko
