The windows rattled in his bedroom as Lucas slammed the door with a satisfying bang. He kicked off his shoes and threw himself so hard into the chair in front of his desk that it nearly toppled over. Out of habit more than anything, Lucas turned on his laptop and typed his way through the security systems he'd set up to log on.

He heard a knock at his door.

"Go away," Lucas yelled, but the knocking persisted.

"I'm coming in, Lucas."

Lucas scowled into his computer, but didn't say anything. He opened a file he'd been working on all week at the UEO labs. Bridger opened the door and walked in.

"You left these in the other room," he said, tossing a backpack and motorcycle helmet onto Lucas' bed. Lucas continued staring at his computer. "Look, I know it's frustrating learning something new-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Lucas interrupted.

"All right, you don't have to. But you could learn to control your temper a little bit."

"And maybe you could learn to control your sense of humor," Lucas spat back.

"I said I was sorry," Bridger said patiently. He waited in the doorway for another moment before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Lucas winced after the captain had walked out. He recognized he was being childish. He knew he was behaving badly because his pride had been wounded, not because he was actually angry with the captain. But he couldn't admit that now.

Lucas blushed as he recalled the incident that had set him off. They'd taken the motorcycle to work that morning, as they did two or three days a week when Bridger was in the mood. On the way back, Bridger had surprised Lucas by allowing him to drive. Lucas had been thrilled but nervous – he'd never driven off the island. He had done fine, though, until they got to the ferry gate. Lucas had stopped too suddenly and stalled. In his surprise at messing up, Lucas had lost his balance and, before he knew it, he and the captain had tipped over and were sprawled awkwardly on the pavement. No one had been hurt, but Lucas had been furious at himself for the mistake. It had only made matters worse when he'd looked up and seen Bridger and Skipper laughing.

Lucas had been so angry that he'd refused to speak to the captain or Skipper on the ferry ride back to the island, and as soon as he'd entered the house he'd thrown his helmet onto the kitchen table and stomped to his room.

If he was honest with himself, Lucas had to admit that his temper had been surfacing more than usual in the past several weeks since they'd started working at the UEO labs designing the new seaQuest.

It wasn't the job. Lucas was enjoying his work very much, in fact. The team he'd been assigned to was friendly and unbiased – they didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at Lucas' age, and in fact had seemed eager to meet and work with him. They listened to his theories with enthusiastic interest, and regularly told him how impressed they were by his accomplishments on the sub. In fact, their welcome had been so warm that, for a day or two, Lucas had wondered if Bridger had forced them to treat him kindly, or if they were taking pity on him because they'd heard about his father. But by the end of the first week, Lucas was so absorbed in the project that he didn't care why the team accepted him so readily; he was just thrilled to be working.

Still, the days were often long and exhausting. Redesigning the computer system for the UEO's flagship submarine was indeed the chance of a lifetime for Lucas and his coworkers, but it was also a monumental pain in the butt. Some of the very best scientists in the world were gathered on this project, and they all had unique theories for how best to accomplish the task. It was thrilling, enlightening and completely frustrating work. As pleased as Lucas was that his theories were being taken just as seriously as any other scientist's, that didn't mean he was getting special treatment. After all, there were Nobel Prize winners and world famous mathematicians on Lucas' team, and they weren't going to back off from their own theories because a 17-year-old disagreed with them.

From day one on the job, Lucas and Bridger had started working 12-hour days, and more often than not they ended up driving to the UEO labs on Saturdays. Bridger insisted they take Sundays off, as much for his own sanity as to give Lucas a day to act his age. Lucas still managed to sneak in an hour or two of work on his laptop on most Sundays, but he mostly took advantage of the days off, swimming with Darwin or tagging along with the Desmond kids when the family got back from morning church. Lucas was loath to admit it, but he very much enjoyed the company of the neighboring children, and he looked forward to playing along with their silly games of tag and hide-and-seek. At 17 he knew he was too old for such games, but he'd never played them before and so he shrugged them off as new experiences. As a scientist, Lucas told himself, it was important to experience firsthand all that he could of life, even the most trivial game of Duck, Duck, Goose.

Meanwhile, he made little progress with reading Frodo. In the first week or so after opening the file, he'd forced himself to read 20 pages a night, but that quickly fell back to 15, then 10, until it occurred to him that at that rate it would take him more than three months to finish reading. Besides, he was exhausted most days when he got home from work, and he wasn't even really reading the file, just skimming over the words while he let his mind wander back to the seaQuest project. Before long, he'd stopped reading it altogether.

The messages from his father had arrived on a somewhat regular basis over the past several weeks, and Lucas was always prompt in his responses. It quickly dawned on him that he'd had more contact with his father over the past six weeks than in the previous six years combined. That small part of his mind sometimes still berated him for caving in to his father's love so easily. He couldn't help but feel bitter that his father was paying more attention to him now than ever before. Had it taken a near-death experience to make him appreciate his son? Would his father abandon him again once life returned to normal and he didn't have to hide anymore? But Lucas was becoming better and better at quieting that niggling voice of doubt. He ate up his father's messages. He didn't begrudge his rapidly beating heart or sweaty palms every time he checked for new replies. He would occasionally ask when he might be able to see his father, but the responses were always vague on that count – not now, maybe soon, it was too dangerous, be patient. The disappointment was wrenching sometimes, and he couldn't help but wonder if his father was deliberately staying away. But mostly he was just happy to have his father at all.

There was really only one spot of trouble for Lucas right now, and he sighed deeply and glanced back at his bedroom door as he considered that spot: Bridger.

Lucas couldn't quite explain why he'd been so ill tempered toward the captain lately. Sure, for the most part they got along fine. They rarely saw each other at work, sometimes only talking during weekly strategic planning meetings that involved nearly everyone working on the seaQuest project. At home, they often were so tired that they retired to their separate rooms immediately after dinner.

Still, Lucas found himself picking fights and chafing at some of the restrictions the captain put on him at home. Part of it was simply a matter of Lucas not being used to having a parent around. Lucas figured it had been nearly 10 years since he'd had an adult looking after him like Bridger did – telling him when to go to bed, asking him to clean up after himself, forcing him to do chores like washing dishes or taking out the trash. On the seaQuest Bridger had technically been Lucas' guardian, but with a submarine to run and more than 200 people under his charge, that didn't translate into much day-to-day oversight. Lucas had been mostly on his own on the boat, with only occasional mothering from Westphalen or other people who had taken Lucas under their wings.

But the extra parenting couldn't explain everything. If Lucas was honest with himself, he had to admit he'd been far more irritable in the past few weeks than was normal for him. Lucas knew he wasn't a particularly bad kid. He mostly did what was asked of him, with only a little bit of eye-rolling or grumbling under his breath. On the seaQuest he'd been used to helping others and volunteering his services, even doing odd chores in the labs.

But at home, Lucas was quick-tempered and easily provoked by Bridger, usually over trivial matters like his cooking or what to watch on television. He refused to clean up his room. He left his wet clothes in the washing machine. He left dirty socks on the living room couch. He woke up later and later for work each day, until finally he was able to get dressed and ready in 10 minutes and still make the ferry off the island. This particular habit was especially annoying to Bridger, who was naturally an early riser and, in Lucas' opinion, overly strict about tardiness.

There also was the matter of his father. Bridger had made it clear he wasn't going to force Lucas to talk about his father's death, but the captain also wasn't going to let the topic drop without eventually dealing with it. Every other day he found some way to bring up Lucas' dad, and every other day Lucas shrugged it off. It was starting to become a near-constant source of annoyance for Lucas, especially given that his father wasn't actually dead. Lucas wanted desperately to tell Bridger about the messages – he felt guilty for keeping such a giant secret from a man he trusted and cared about – but he knew it wasn't an option.

The worst part was the terrible guilt Lucas felt every time they fought. He knew it wasn't Bridger's fault. Lucas knew his frustration and anger were misdirected. But that didn't make it easy to control his temper. If anything, it just made him feel more annoyed and frustrated with himself.

There was another knock at Lucas' door, and he glanced quickly at his clock to find that nearly an hour had passed. Lucas got up to open the door himself.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," Bridger said.

"No, it's fine."

"We're eating soon. Dr. Westphalen is bringing Chinese."

Lucas smiled. Westphalen was a frequent guest at Bridger's house, stopping by at least once a week for dinner. Her visits to the Bridger household were a treat to both the captain and Lucas, and not just because they guaranteed the best meals of the week. Her presence also meant their dinner wouldn't end in a battle of wills. They were both on their best behavior with Westphalen around.

"Good, I'm hungry," Lucas said.

"Skipped lunch again today?"

Lucas nodded sheepishly. He and the captain didn't see much of each other at work, but Lucas knew Bridger had a pretty strong network of spies that kept tabs on him.

"She'll be here in about 15 minutes," Bridger said and turned to leave.

"Captain?" Bridger looked up. "I'm sorry, about earlier. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," Bridger said. "Apology accepted. And I'm sorry I laughed at you."

Twenty minutes later all seemed to be forgotten, and Lucas was enjoying casual talk about work and office gossip – along with warm spring rolls and chow mein – at the kitchen table.

Westphalen wasn't much of a cook herself, but she was surprisingly well informed about the best restaurants in New Cape Quest. Aside from the weekly dinners she brought them, the doctor treated Lucas and Bridger to delicious brunches most Sunday mornings – or early afternoons, depending on when Lucas could be dragged out of bed. She would arrive at the house with armfuls of steamy sausages, crisp potato pancakes and bowls of creamy oatmeal from a deli near her the home she was renting.

After the destruction of the seaQuest, Westphalen's job with the UEO technically had ended. But her next project wasn't lined up for another nine months, and so she had asked to join Bridger in the early stages of planning a health care system for the new boat. Like everyone else involved in the seaQuest project, Westphalen considered her work a rare professional opportunity – in her case, to design the ideal infirmary for a state-of-the-art submarine.

Lucas also knew that it was also an excellent opportunity to further the relationship with Bridger that had only begun to blossom at the end of their tour on the seaQuest. When Westphalen wasn't forcing Lucas to take lunch breaks at work, she was slipping off for discreet lunches of her own with the captain. Either way, she didn't eat much herself.

"Well, that was incredible," Bridger said, tossing his napkin and chopsticks on his plate after finishing his dinner.

"Indeed," Westphalen immodestly agreed. "Lao Ching's has the best mu shu pork in southern Florida, I believe."

"Why would people ever want to eat real meat when they can have this?" Lucas said, reaching across the table with his chopsticks to nab the last bit of rice from a carton.

"Trust me, Lucas, there's something to be said for the real thing," Bridger said with a grin.

"I'll take your word for it," Lucas said, grimacing. He stood up and began stuffing the empty food cartons into a bag of trash. "Can you pass me your plate, Doctor?"

Westphalen smiled at Lucas as she handed him her dinner plate.

"Thanks, Lucas," Bridger said as he passed his own plate across the table. Lucas nodded and carried the dishes into the kitchen, where he started running some water in the sink.

"So, Lucas, what are you going to do with your break?" Westphalen said, her voice raised slightly to talk over the running water.

"Break?" Lucas asked, his eyes still on the plate he was washing.

"I haven't told him about the break yet," Bridger said to Westphalen.

"Why not?" she asked.

"You know Lucas, he hates the idea of not working," Bridger said.

"What are you guys taking about?" Lucas asked, glancing over his shoulder at them as he added a clean plate to the dish rack to dry. Bridger sighed.

"The UEO Founders' Day is next week," Bridger explained.

"Yeah, so."

"So, we all get a week off of work," Bridger said.

"A week?" Lucas asked.

"Yep, a whole week."

"Why so long?"

"Well, Founders' Day is a pretty big deal to the UEO," Bridger said.

"Yeah, but it's Founders' Day, not Founders' Week," Lucas argued.

"He's got a point," Westphalen said with a smile.

"I don't know why it's a week," Bridger said with an exasperated sigh. "It just is. And the labs will be closed."

"We have keys," Lucas said.

"There will be a lot of events for us to participate in," Bridger said apologetically.

"You mean for you to participate in," Lucas said with a grin. "Who cares if some kid is there."

"You're not just some kid, Lucas," Bridger said with a grin of his own. "Besides, you could use the vacation. We both could."

"We've barely been working for a month," Lucas moaned. "I don't need a vacation."

"Well, it doesn't much matter what you need, everyone's taking the week off," Bridger said. "UEO orders. Your whole team will be gone, so there won't be much for you to do anyway."

"Oh, I'm sure I could find something," Lucas said, turning off the water and picking up a towel to start drying the clean dishes.

"I'm sure you could," Bridger said with a laugh.

"A break will be fun," Westphalen said, picking up the debate. "You could travel somewhere, Lucas. Maybe you could visit your mom."

Lucas frowned thoughtfully at that, rubbing the towel over a dish that was well past dry. He wasn't about to visit his mother and stepfather, but the thought of traveling put another idea in his mind. If his father couldn't come to him, perhaps he could go to his father.

"I bet your mom would love a visit," Bridger said, interrupting Lucas' thoughts.

"Huh?" Lucas said, realizing the captain was talking to him. "My mom? Oh, no, I'm sure she's already got plans."

"You haven't even talked to her, Lucas," Bridger said, looking mildly amused. "How can you possibly know if your mom is busy?"

Lucas shrugged. "She's just a busy person."

"I'm sure she'd love to see you," Westphalen said. "She must miss having her son around."

"Right," Lucas mumbled. He caught Bridger and the doctor sharing a meaningful glance at the table, and began furiously rubbing the next dish dry.

"Your mom seemed pretty disappointed that you weren't going to be moving back home with her," Bridger said. "Why don't you give her a call tomorrow, see if she'd like you to visit?"

"Fine," Lucas said, piling the dry plates in a stack with a loud crash. He smiled to himself when he saw Bridger grimace out of the corner of his eye.

"Good. At the very least I'm sure she'll be happy to talk to you," Bridger said. Lucas could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to stay calm.

"You know, you guys seem awfully eager to get me out of here," Lucas said, a thought finally occurring to him. "You have plans of your own, don't you? A little romantic getaway? But first you need to ship the kid out of town."

"Lucas-"

"Hey now-"

Lucas interrupted both adults before they could say anything else.

"Don't worry about it," he said casually. "I'm used to it, you know. Being in the way. I wouldn't want to ruin your plans. I'll just-"

"That's enough," Bridger said loudly, and Lucas' head shot up at the stern note of frustration that meant the captain was truly becoming angry. "Lucas, you know good and well that we wouldn't do that to you. I told you I have to be in town for the Founders' Day activities, so I'm not going anywhere. You are welcome to stay here, of course. I would never force you to leave."

Lucas bit back a retort about the captain forcing him to leave the seaQuest once. He recognized when he was crossing a line. Instead he nodded contritely at Bridger and went back to putting the rest of the dishes away.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," Westphalen said. "I didn't mean to make it sound like we wanted you to leave."

"No, no, it's okay," Lucas said, smiling at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I still think you're wrong about your mom, Lucas," Bridger said. "She really did seem disappointed about you staying with me at…um, your father's funeral."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Lucas swallowed hard and hoped they weren't about to delve into his so-called grief again. It was one thing to deter Bridger from a conversation about his father, but with Westphalen there too, he was sure they would gang up on him. He needed to steer the conversation in a new direction, and fast.

"Who wants coffee?" he asked, opening the freezer to pull out a packet of Bridger's favorite gourmet beans.

"Lucas," Westphalen began softly, and Lucas cringed, knowing he wasn't going to avoid anything, "it might be nice to see your mother again, after everything that's happened. Sometimes we need to rely on our families to pull us through difficult times."

"Yeah, well, my mom's not exactly the queen of coping," Lucas said. "Her idea of dealing with 'difficult times' is a tall drink and a heavy dose of denial."

"What about your stepfather?" Westphalen asked.

Lucas snorted. "Yeah, right."

"I guess he's not much better than your dad," Bridger added softly.

Lucas stopped, his hands frozen over the coffee machine even as the ground beans poured out of the bag. He gaped at Bridger.

"What did you say?"

Bridger seemed to realize his mistake immediately. "Lucas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Don't you ever compare my father to that man," Lucas said in a flat tone of anger that he'd never before used in front of the captain. "My father is…was, good to me. He was a great man. He was brilliant and he loves me. Loved me. Rick the Dick is nothing."

Bridger raised an eyebrow at "Rick the Dick," but quickly masked his surprise. He stood up from the table and started to cross the kitchen toward Lucas.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Lucas said, his even voice belying the anger that he knew was apparent on his face. He slammed the bag of coffee on the counter, spilling ground beans all around him. As Bridger drew nearer, Lucas stepped away from the captain, pressing his back against the counter behind him. Bridger stopped walking.

"Lucas, Nathan didn't mean it," Westphalen said, and she too rose from the table to approach him. "Of course your father loved you. I'm sure he cared very much for you."

Lucas, cornered now in the kitchen, glared at both of them, his eyes swiveling from one adult to the other. His hands balled into fists and he closed his eyes, fighting back the swell of emotion that was threatening to swallow him. He opened his eyes to find the captain and the doctor staring at him with matching concerned frowns on their faces.

"I'm going to my room," he said abruptly, and pushed off the counter, knocking against Bridger's shoulder as he marched past.

"Hey, wait a minute," Bridger said.

"Lucas, please," Westphalen pleaded.

"Just leave me the hell alone," Lucas said, not bothering to look behind him as he walked away.

xxxXXXxxx

"What was that all about?" Westphalen's words were hushed, although she'd waited until Lucas was definitely in his room before speaking.

"I have no idea, but I intend to find out," Bridger said, staring down the hall toward Lucas' closed door.

"Has he ever mentioned his stepfather before?"

Bridger shook his head. "You know Lucas. He'd never say anything if there was a problem."

"Do you think there's a problem?" Westphalen asked.

"I don't know. I hope not," Bridger said with a shrug. He had his doubts, though. He'd never seen Lucas' anger ignite like that before.

He and Westphalen sat quietly at the table for several moments.

"Do you think he still feels threatened by us?" Westphalen asked.

"Maybe," he admitted, "but I doubt it." Bridger sighed deeply and studied his hands, folding them on the table. "Lucas has been kind of difficult since we moved here," he said. "Sometimes he seems just fine. You know, he likes to push boundaries and fight back a little bit, but when it comes down to it he's a good kid. But other times…well, he's sullen and moody and he gets angry. Maybe not as angry as he did just now, but pretty close."

Westphalen laughed softly, and then chuckled outright at the look of dismay and confusion from the captain.

"Nathan, he's a teenager," she said. "What do you expect?"

"Oh, I know all about teenagers," Bridger said, a touch testy from Westphalen's teasing. "Trust me, Robert was no piece of cake. I don't think he and I had a single conversation that didn't end in a yelling match between the ages of 13 and 18."

"Surely you exaggerate," Westphalen said, still giggling.

"I wish," he said, then let a smile cross his face. "No, I know Lucas is a teenager and he's allowed some of the usual attitude that comes with the age. But this is different."

"His father?" Westphalen suggested.

"I think so."

"Has he talked about it at all?"

"No," Bridger said, his shoulders sagging. "I try to talk about it, but he won't bite. Tonight was the first time he's even mentioned his dad since the funeral."

Westphalen closed her eyes and frowned.

"The poor thing," she said. "I imagine it must be hard for him. He probably doesn't even know what or how to feel, and he's just taking out that frustration on you."

"Maybe," Bridger said, "but I think there's more to it than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," he said. "He seems perfectly happy most of the time, like he's coping with it all just fine. But it bothers me that he hasn't seemed to grieve at all. I worry that he's holding it all in, and that can't be healthy. I just can't get through to him at all."

"That's all pretty normal," Westphalen said. "He probably does feel fine most of the time. But he barely knew his father, Nathan, and he probably feels guilty for getting over the death so easily. It's very common for family members to feel that way, especially when they weren't exactly close to begin with."

"I know, I know," Bridger said with a dismissive wave. "Maybe all of this is normal. But that doesn't mean it's easy to watch."

"Of course not," Westphalen said softly. She leaned closer to him at the table and wrapped a hand around his arm, pulling him toward her. "He's lucky to have you, you know."

"I don't know that he'd agree with you there. At least, not tonight."

"Oh, he would," Westphalen said, reaching her other arm around to lay a hand on his cheek. "He knows he's got a good thing. Sometimes it's just hard to see it."

Bridger looked at her and smiled as their eyes locked.

"I'm lucky to have you, you know," he said.

"I know," she answered, and kissed him.

AN: Thanks to Devilrats for some very helpful suggestions for improving the characterizations in this chapter.