Captain Chandler walked into the lab, finding only Bertrise. She didn't look particularly happy that he was here.
"Hey Bertrise. Where's Dr. Scott?"
"You should know." She shot back, not even bothering to look at him. "Ask your guard dogs."
He blinked. Bertrise was certainly learning more than medicine from her mentor. He suddenly felt the need to justify himself to the young girl.
"Look, I know you don't like me right now. But I had to do something. She can't just take matters into her own hands. Navy ships don't work like that."
"I know, you're the captain. Whatever you say goes. 'Do this, do that, work with that monster.' Never mind that your crew are people with feelings."
"I know he was a bastard. I'm not saying he didn't deserve to die, but there's protocols to follow."
"Protocols!?" She exclaimed, whirling to face him. "You didn't have to work with him! The way he talked to her, the way he looked at her! If I had a choice between working with him and taking what I needed, I'd just take it, too!"
"I know he was …an unsettling fellow, looked at you funny…"
"He never looked at you like he looked at her!" Tom looked askance at her. "You're a man." He sucked in a breath as the implication hit home. "And you made her spend every day with that creep, who spent every second flirting with her… and she had to play along, just to keep him talking. I don't know how she did it."
Tom looked at her in horror. What Bertrise was describing to him made his blood run cold. This didn't excuse Rachel's actions, but it did make them more understandable.
"You didn't know? She didn't tell you?"
He winced in memory. He knew why she hadn't come to him. Because I threw my dead wife in her face and told her that her feelings didn't matter.
"No. She didn't. I wish I'd known. I'm sorry, Bertrise."
"Tell her, not me."
"I will, Bertrise. I will."
"She's in her room."
"Thank you."
. . . . . .
Chandler knocked on her door, guarded by Miller
"Dr. Scott?" he knew he'd lost the right to call her by her first name. "Dr. Scott, may I come in?"
"What is it, captain?" the words were polite, but the tone was sharp enough to cut steel.
"I…need to talk to you. May I please come in?" He waited for a reply, the seconds dragging out. He did his best to ignore Miller, who was diligently not listening to his captain plead at the door. Eventually, he sighed and muttered to himself. "Guess not." He stepped back and began to turn away from the door, but then he heard the latch opening.
She stood there, door cracked, not saying anything, looking him over. Deciding he wasn't here for a fight, she sighed and let him in.
"What is it? She asked again, but her tone was more wary than sharp now.
He closed the door behind him and turned to face her, making himself meet her gaze.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked, even warier than she was before.
"I just talked to Bertrise." He said. "I…didn't know what you were going through with Niels, how he treated you." She looked at him, apparently unmoved. "If I had known, I'd have…well, that no longer matters, I guess. But I understand why you felt you couldn't come to me, and for that, I am truly sorry."
He watched her face, looking for any reaction, but she had it well under control. Damn British stoicism. Finally he gave up trying to decipher her.
"I… needed to tell you that. And that in the future, no matter how upset with you I may be, you can still come to me for help. I owe you at least that much." With no reaction still, he turned back to the hatch, opening it.
"Tom?" it was quiet, but commanded his full attention; he turned back around. "What would you have done?"
"I'd have kicked his ass." He replied instantly. The corner of her mouth quirked, and he gave a rueful chuckle. "We're not that different, I suppose." She bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. He smiled back at her. "Good night."
"Good night, Tom."
He stepped out of her cabin feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Things weren't solved between them, but they were moving in the right direction. He didn't notice Miller's grin aimed at his back.