Summary: During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.
Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. I love Sig and the crew of the F/V Northwestern and I mean no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on the show by writing this story.
Author's Note: Sig, Edgar, and Norman all speak fluent Norwegian; I, sadly, do not, so the translation in this chapter was done by googletranslate. I also wanted to take a moment to thank Insanity's BFF for subscribing to my story; I'm glad to know that you've enjoyed what I've written and are interested in reading more.
Sig squinted up at the digital screen that displayed the weight of each brailer[i] and swore softly in Norwegian when the numbers blurred out of focus. He tucked his clipboard under his left armpit and pressed the heels of both hands firmly against his tired eyes. They'd arrived at the Island of Akutan earlier that day and were now three-quarters of the way through their twenty-six hour[ii] offload. Sig startled, snapping his burning eyes open, when someone tugged the clipboard out from underneath his arm. "The hell?" he demanded, frowning at Matt who had taken the weight log sheet.
"You look dead-tired, man," the deckhand said. "I'll take weights if you wanna go nap."
'Naptime,' Sig silently sneered, 'Like I'm a damn kindergartener.' The effect of Sig's fierce scowl was ruined by a jaw-cracking yawn. 'Ah, to hell with it,' he thought, too exhausted to argue; he couldn't continue working if he couldn't accurately record the numbers.[iii] "Okay," he acquiesced, raising his hands in surrender, "I'm gonna go crash awhile." The blonde crossed the deck, skirting the hole where the heavy, metal hatch had been removed from the middle holding tank, and disappeared into the boat.
"Where's Sig goin'?" Nick asked, looking up from where he was filling a plastic tote with dead-loss[iv] crab.
"He's gonna catch a quick nap," Matt replied, writing down the weight as the processor crane lifted another full brailer off the white and blue-painted boat. He tucked the pencil between his cap and his ear as he continued, "Have you seen the shadows under his eyes? It looks like he got in a no-holds-barred bar fight or somethin'." Matt shrugged. "I figure a little extra rest won't hurt him any."
'Just as long as he doesn't start sleepwalking again,' Mavar thought, nodding his agreement.
"I can't believe the nerve of that woman!" Edgar raged as he stalked angrily into the galley.
"Why?" "What happened?" "What woman?" Norman, Nick, and Matt asked simultaneously.
"'I'm sorry, sir,'" Edgar quoted, raising his voice to a shrill falsetto to imitate the woman's voice, "'But our policy dictates that I can only release the check for the catch to the Captain of the vessel.'" The deck boss waved his hands wildly in the air as he continued, "I said, 'Look, lady, I understand why you can't just hand the check over to any guy who claims to work on the boat, but I'm a co-owner, my oldest brother is the Captain…d'you really think I can't be trusted with the check?'"
"So she gave it to you after you explained things to her?" Jake asked innocently.
"Hell no!" Edgar exploded. "She just recited the policy again!"
"Guess we'll have to wake Sig," Nick observed, ignoring the deck boss as Edgar muttered irritably to himself in Norwegian.
"We would've had to wake him soon anyway so we can leave port," Norman reasoned, silently wishing his older brother could've had more time to rest.
"Let's get him so we can get outta here," Edgar remarked, having mastered his temper.
"Better get some coffee ready," Nick said as the two Hansens headed up to Sig's stateroom.
"You know he has to have his dose of 'vitamin C'[v] first thing when he wakes up," Matt agreed.
"Yeah, he's scary when he starts going through caffeine withdrawals," Jake added, shuddering dramatically.
Nearly half an hour[vi] passed and Sig's coffee mug still sat ready, waiting, and empty on the kitchen counter. Nick glanced at the clock and frowned. "I wonder what the hold-up is."
The telephone rang. "Hello?" Matt answered. His eyebrows rose of their own volition as he listened to the caller. "Yeah," he agreed, "Comin' right up."
"What's up?" Jake queried as Matt returned the phone to its cradle.
"Guess they're havin' trouble wakin' Sig," Matt laughed, "So they want somebody to bring up some coffee to try an' lure him out of bed."
"It's an idea worth trying anyways," Nick chuckled as he poured some fresh-brewed coffee into Sig's favorite mug.
"I'll take it up," Jake volunteered. He accepted the cup from his uncle and ascended the staircase to Sig's stateroom, being careful not to slosh any of the steaming liquid over the sides of the mug. "I've got the coffee," Jake called, stopping just shy of entering the Captain's private quarters.
"Bring it here," Edgar requested, waving Jake into the room as Norman continued to try to coax Sig into waking.
Jake stepped over the threshold and crossed the room to where Edgar was standing near the foot of Sig's bunk. He handed the caffeinated beverage to the deck boss and glanced curiously around the sparsely furnished room. "So," he began, turning his attention back to the Hansen brothers, "How're you going to use that to wake him?"
"Here," Edgar said, holding out a battered, dog-eared copy of Yachting magazine.[vii]
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Jake asked, forehead furrowing with confusion.
"Fan the coffee fumes towards Sig," Edgar replied as though it should've been obvious.
"Okay." Jake shrugged and flapped the magazine in the air, sending the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting towards the sleeping skipper. His arm tired and he had to transfer the magazine to his other hand before the bundle of blankets shifted and a blonde head appeared.
"What?" Sig rasped, glaring balefully up at the men who'd disturbed him.
"It's alive," Norman deadpanned.
"Ha ha," Sig grumbled groggily. He sat up, revealing that he'd gone to bed still dressed in his navy-blue polo shirt and jeans. Sig combed his fingers through his hair, hiding a wince when he inadvertently touched the sizeable knot on his skull, and sniffed the air. "Coffee?" he queried, finally identifying the scent and making a give-it-here motion with his right hand.
Edgar smirked, but obligingly surrendered the mug to his brother. "We're finished with the offload," he reported as Sig swallowed half the cup's contents in one go.
"Just need to pick up the check and check out of port," Norman added.
"Mmm hmm," Sig grunted, making a face as he drained the rest of the coffee from the cup. "Somebody put creamer in this?"[viii] he asked, holding up the now-empty mug and eyeing it distrustfully, prompting an outburst of laughter from Norman, Jake, and Edgar. "All right," Sig remarked, pushing the bedding aside and getting to his feet, "Clear outta here so I can make myself presentable."
Sig shooed the three snickering deckhands out of his stateroom and closed the door behind them. He shuffled across the green carpet and entered his private bathroom. The Norwegian turned on the tap and held his hands under the chrome faucet, forming a makeshift bowl. He splashed the cool water on his face, hoping it would help him wake up, and reached for his tan hand towel. Sig dried his face, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth before leaving the washroom. He stripped off his wrinkled polo shirt and replaced it with a white T-shirt and a cobalt-blue, fleece pullover. Sig grabbed his blue Northwestern jacket and habitually brushed imaginary lint off the embroidered, silver-white thread of the Hansen brothers' crest. Sig pulled the jacket on as he descended the stairs to the galley. "All right," he announced, "I'll go get the check and then we'll throw the lines and get outta here."
"Yeah, man, let's go fishin'!" Matt exclaimed excitedly, making everyone laugh.
"Get ready, guys," Sig called over the loudhailer as he guided the Northwestern towards the first of the town soak pots. "Two minutes 'til we're on the gear."
"Roger!" the deckhands replied. They finished dressing in their rain gear, lit their cigarettes, and stepped outside, ready to work.
"I'm anxious to see how much we caught while we were in town," Nick commented as he and Matt stood by the rail.
"Yeah, me too," Matt agreed, looking out at the blue waters of the Bering Sea.
"We were on really good fishing before we went in to offload," Mavar remarked. "Let's hope the little buggers didn't scurry away on us."
"Amen, man," Matt laughed.
"All right," Edgar said as he picked up the grappling hook, "Let's see what we caught." The deck boss twirled the grappling hook a few times, gaining momentum before throwing it. Edgar easily caught the line in the water and efficiently fed it into the block, tossing the buoy bags aside as they came up.
The crew cheered as the pot broke the water's surface, excited to discover that the steel cage was more than half-full of Red King crab. "Now that's what we like to see!" Nick declared.
Up in the wheelhouse, Sig squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the fingertips of his right hand firmly against the pounding pulse-point above his right eyebrow. 'This headache has been kickin' my ass since we left Akutan,' the fair-haired Hansen thought, dropping his hand and blinking his eyes open. He glanced at the monitor that showed the live footage from the camera on deck. 'At least we're still dialed in on the crab,' Sig mused as the loaded pot cleared the rail and clattered down onto the launcher.
The dogs locked into place, holding the pot secure, and Edgar and Nick quickly untied the pot ties that held the door shut. "There's gotta be, what, at least eighty in there, right?" Jake asked as the catch spilled out onto the sorting table.
"Probably," Nick agreed as he picked up two King crabs and dropped them into the tank.
"Aren't they beautiful?" Matt added, holding a crab aloft. He sniffed its shell. "Smells like money,"[ix] he laughed.
The deckhands enthusiastically sorted through the wriggling pile and Jake relayed the crab count up to the wheelhouse. "Eighty-six, 8-6, in that one, Sig."
"Good," Sig answered. "We'll pull this string and then move over west aways and set 'em right back."
"Roger!"
Sig came into the galley where his crew was enjoying a nice, hot meal after having spent the last thirty-seven hours out on deck hauling metal.[x] "Coffee," the fair-haired Captain muttered, his eyes fixed unerringly on the coffee pot.
"Whoa, zombie alert," Jake quipped. He stretched his arms out in front of him, assuming the classic zombie posture as Sig reached for the carafe. "Brains…" he droned, rocking left and right where he sat at the table to mimic a zombie's staggering walk, his antics earning uproarious laughter from the other deckhands.
"Funny," Sig grumbled, gracing Jake with a half-hearted glare.
"Everything okay?" Norman asked, his amusement fading when he saw his brother's haggard appearance. After thirty-seven hours of non-stop work, they all looked a little ragged, but Sig's face was pinched and pale from too much stress and too little sleep.
"Fine," Sig replied as he raised his white cup and took a deep drink of the bitter brew.
Nick walked into the cooking area to fill his bowl with another helping of the hearty beef and vegetable stew; briefly setting his own dish aside, he grabbed a clean bowl from the cupboard and ladled a healthy, fisherman-sized portion into it. "Here," Nick said, pausing to grab his own food before offering the other bowl to Sig.
"Not hungry," the sea-eyed skipper said, not looking up from his coffee cup.
"Hey, Walking Dead," Edgar interjected as he rose from his seat at the five-sided table, "I know it's not the gray matter you zombies crave, but you should eat somethin'." Sig shook his head in silent refusal, but the deck boss persisted. He swiped the bowl from Nick's outstretched hand and shoved it under his stubborn brother's nose. "Eat."
'No one orders me around on my own boat,' Sig seethed, his patience snapping like an overburdened mooring line.[xi] Sig drew breath to deliver a scathing retort, but froze, skin paling to an unhealthy gray, when he saw a grinning skull staring back at him from where Edgar's face should've been. "Jaevla helvete!"[xii] he swore. Sig recoiled, his mug slipping from his hand to shatter on the floor as he retreated until his back hit the wall; steaming coffee pooled on the ground and ceramic shards scattered across the almond-colored linoleum like dry, dead leaves. Sig squeezed his eyes shut to escape the skeletal visage and covered his heart, his fingers curling into the soft fleece of his pullover.
Norman banged his knee on the edge of the table, causing the dinnerware to clatter as he leapt to his feet, and Edgar jumped, brown eyes widening with obvious surprise as he stared at Sig; they exchanged anxious glances, alarmed by their older brother's behavior. Not wanting to intrude, Nick, Matt, and Jake simultaneously decided to make themselves scarce; the three deckhands gathered their meals and silently retreated to their cabin.
"Sig?" Norman queried anxiously.
"You okay?" Edgar added.
Sig hesitantly opened his eyes and exhaled an unsteady breath of relief when he saw the concerned faces of his brothers and not the skeletal overlay that had concealed Edgar's face. "I'm okay," he answered, eyeing the spilled coffee and the broken mug with a disappointed frown. "Pissed that I broke my favorite coffee cup though."
"Never mind that," Norman interjected, stepping over the mess. "Here, let's sit down," he continued, grasping Sig's elbow and holding on when Sig tried to shrug him off. Norman deftly steered the taller fisherman towards the table and urged him to sit down on the cushioned bench. Once the Captain settled into his seat, Norman reclaimed his place on the left hand side of the table where his half-eaten meal was waiting for him.
Edgar efficiently mopped up the puddled spill with some paper towels and disposed of the vestiges of the broken mug. He quickly washed his hands and grabbed Sig's meal off the counter. "Shove over," the deck boss said, setting Sig's portion down on the tabletop. He gestured down at his own abandoned bowl, which sat directly in front of Sig. "I wanna finish my supper."
Blue-green vinyl squeaked in protest as Sig wordlessly slid over into the middle of the booth. Sig frowned, belatedly realizing that his brothers had sneakily manipulated him into sitting between them. 'They've literally got me backed into a damn corner,' he thought, releasing a silent, exasperated sigh. Sig shifted so he could retrieve his cigarettes and lighter; he slipped the filtered end between his lips and flicked his lighter to life, curling his hand around the fragile flame to protect it from a non-existent breeze.
'It's only a matter of time before the inquisition begins,' Sig thought, taking a deep drag of nicotine. He stared down at the smoldering cigarette nestled between the middle and index fingers of his left hand, eyes sliding out of focus as he watched the wisps of smoke curl up to form hypnotizing patterns. 'It's not that I don't want to confide in Edgar and Norman,' he mused. 'They're my brothers, my family, for Christ's sake. But, when we're on this boat, I'm their Captain and a Captain doesn't have the luxury of baring his soul to his crew.'[xiii]
Edgar gently prodded Sig with the handle of his soupspoon. "I think that one's toast," he said, gesturing to Sig's cigarette, which had burned down to the filter while Sig had been lost in his thoughts.
'Only got one puff off the frickin' thing,' Sig grumbled inwardly. With an aggrieved huff, he tossed the butt into the black, plastic ashtray on the table. He reached out to retrieve another cigarette from the pack, but stopped before he could complete the action; like any smoker, Sig smoked when he felt stressed,[xiv] but cigarettes were a precious commodity on the Bering Sea and he was going to have to ration them if he wanted to have enough to last the entire trip. 'Ration them,' the Captain snorted, combing his fingers through his thinning hair. 'Like hell that'll happen.'
Sig retracted his hand, leaving the coveted Camels in the center of the table, and picked up a clean soupspoon instead, needing to have something in his hands even. He idly twirled the utensil around his fingers like a miniature baton before submerging it in the bowl of cooling stew in front of him. Distractedly, Sig brought a spoonful up to his mouth and chewed the meat, potatoes, and carrots before swallowing, mechanically feeding himself as he slipped back into his thoughts.
Norman pushed his empty dishes aside and took advantage of Sig's distraction to observe his older brother: Sig's stormy blue eyes were bloodshot and his complexion was still too pale, although the grayish hue had started to fade as Sig ate. 'At least he's eating,' Norm noted, 'Even if he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it.'
Finished with his own meal, Edgar cleared his throat. "So, Sig," he began, "We couldn't help but notice that you haven't been eatin' or sleepin' much and we want you to know that we'll listen if you wanna talk about whatever's goin' on, y'know?" The deck boss winced as Norman kicked him, hard, under the table; clearly he wasn't pleased that Edgar had broached the subject when Sig had only just started to consume his own meal.
Sig blinked, surprised to discover the spoonful of stew hovering in front of his half-open mouth; the rich flavors of beef, vegetables, and stew spices on his tongue indicated that he'd eaten on autopilot. Lowering the spoon back into the mostly-full bowl, he looked his brothers: Norman's lips were pressed thinly together as he stared disapprovingly across the table at Edgar and Edgar was regarding Norm with a contrite, kicked-puppy expression that looked downright bizarre on his scruffily bearded face. Sig shuddered as the skeletal visage fleetingly returned, momentarily obscuring Edgar's familiar features before disappearing.
""Sig?"" Edgar and Norman spoke simultaneously, noticing Sig's split-second lapse.
'He looks…spooked,' Norman realized, frowning when he saw that the touch of color Sig had regained had disappeared, leaving a perturbing pallor in its place.
"You comin' down with somethin'?" Edgar asked, reaching out and resting his palm against the eldest Hansen's forehead to check for a fever.
"I'm fine," Sig said, scowling darkly as he swatted Edgar's hand away. Norman and Edgar simply stared at him, clearly skeptical. Sig dragged his hand over his unshaven face and sighed; he knew that the more he insisted he was fine, the more it would convince his brothers of the opposite. "Look, I'm not sick," Sig said wearily, vehemently hoping that the nausea wouldn't return. He wasn't sick, but his eyes burned from the lack of sleep and he'd been running exclusively on coffee, cigarettes, and chocolate since they'd left Akutan…. "Fuck I'm tired," Sig confessed, trying and failing to fight off a jaw-cracking yawn.
Norman and Edgar exchanged significant looks; Sig had to be absolutely exhausted if he admitted to being tired. "C'mon," Edgar said, tugging at Sig's sleeve as Norman collected the dirty dishes.
"Where?" the Captain asked as he scooted out of the booth.
"It's passed your bedtime," Edgar remarked, resting a steadying hand between Sig's shoulder blades when he swayed upon standing.
Sig winced when his brother unknowingly touched the bruises on his back and blinked his blurring vision back into focus. "I haven't had a bedtime since I was nine," he grumbled as he shuffled towards the stairs.
Edgar followed closely as Sig unsteadily ascended the stairs, half-afraid that Sig would fall and tumble backwards down the steps. 'It's amazing he's still on his feet,' the deck boss thought. 'Sure, he had a nap while we were offloading, but he stayed at the helm the whole time we were en route back to the fishing grounds; hell, he let us rest without waking any of us to take our turn on watch…and then he worked thirty-seven hours straight while we pulled, re-baited, and set back all of our gear.'
"Never should've admitted I was tired," Sig mumbled as they reached the small landing outside his stateroom. "Fuck," he cursed, scowling down at his uncooperative feet when he stumbled and had to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself.
"Why not?" Edgar asked as Sig sat down on the edge of his bed. "You're human, not a robot,[xv] and humans occasionally need to sleep."
"'Cause admittin' it means acknowledgin' it," the Captain explained candidly, exhaustion loosening his tongue. "And acknowledgin' it is like givin' it permission to knock you on your ass." Sig wearily rubbed the right side of his face. "Can't ignore it anymore…."
"That makes a surprising amount of sense considerin' you're suffering from sleep deprivation," Edgar said as he knelt down to untie his brother's work boots.
Sig snorted back a laugh, too tired to feel properly terrified when Edgar's callused hands morphed into their skeletal counterparts. 'Bering Sea dementia,'[xvi] Sig thought, watching as the bone-exposed fingers pulled at his bootlaces.
Finished with his self-appointed task, Edgar stood up. "There's no way I'm takin' your pants off," he declared, bringing his brother out of his daze.
"I think I can manage that myself."
"Thank God," Edgar deadpanned, shuddering theatrically.
"Get the hell out so I can go to bed, Edgar," the Captain commanded.
"Goodnight, Sig," Edgar chuckled, obediently moving towards the door.
"'Night, Edgar," Sig yawned as the deck boss quietly closed the door behind him as he left the room. The fair-haired fisherman stood up and mechanically stripped off his jeans, fleece pullover, and white T-shirt, leaving him in just his boxer shorts. Sig discarded the clothes in an untidy pile beside his bunk and climbed under the covers. 'Hopefully I'll be too tired to dream,' he thought as he adjusted his pillow; seconds later, he was sound asleep.
[i] Brailer: Large bag made of canvas and netting that the processing plants use to unload crab from the holds of the boats.
[ii] Typically takes 26 hours to offload at the processor at Akutan. (Deadliest Catch S.4-8)
[iii] "Numbers are very important to me; my life consists of numbers. When I don't get 'em, I get really, frickin' mad, because it's not that hard to give me numbers!" (Sig Hansen - excerpt from the infamous "Crab count now! Rampage," Deadliest Catch S.4-3)
[iv] Dead-loss: The crab that die during transport from the sea to the processor; the Captains and crews want to keep dead-loss to a minimum, because they do not get paid for dead crab. If a crab dies while in the holding tank, it releases toxins that can poison the healthy crabs; one dead crab has the potential to kill the entire catch. ( ) Dead-loss usually occurs if an injured crab (i.e. a crab that is missing a leg) is tossed into the hold or if the crab is kept for too long in the holding tank; crab starts dying after 10 days in the tank. (Deadliest Catch S.6-4)
[v] "Healthy. Vitamin C: Coffee. This is my orange juice." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-11)
[vi] "…It took the guys a half an hour to wake me up…" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-4)
[vii] Sig appeared on the cover of Yachting magazine for their adventure issue in August 2010.
[viii] "Somebody put creamer in this?" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-11)
[ix] Matt said something similar while fishing for Opilio crab, but the sentiment also applies to red crab: "This is Norwegian money right here. They don't use dollar bills, they use Opie crab." (Matt Bradley, Deadliest Catch S.3-12)
[x] "Hauling metal" or "hauling gear" refers to hauling the metal crab pots up from the sea.
[xi] Mooring Line: Otherwise known as a "hawser." It is usually made out of synthetic materials, such as nylon; nylon is easy to work with and maintain and it also has great elasticity; however, if a highly-stressed nylon line breaks, it results in a very dangerous phenomenon called "snapback," which can sever limbs and cause fatal injuries.
[xii] Jaevla helvete: "Fucking hell" in Norwegian.
[xiii] "Captain, no disrespect intended, but you must surely realize you can't announce the full truth to the crew. You're the captain of this ship; you haven't the right to be vulnerable in the eyes of the crew. You can't afford the luxury of being anything less than perfect. If you do, they lose faith and you lose command." (Spock to Captain Kirk, Star Trek: The Original Series S.1-6)
[xiv] Sig once called the boat a "smoking prison" while attempting to quit smoking for a single day, to prove to himself that he could do it. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-12)
[xv] "Robots are good. Robots don't think. Robots are used to repetition. Robots don't complain. Robots are little zombies." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-4)
[xvi] Symptoms of "Bering Sea dementia" include: "not thinking properly, no sleep, too much work, and nightmares while still awake." (Jake Harris, Deadliest Catch S.4-15)
Author's Note: End chapter three. Please take a moment to review!