***Thanks for reading! For those that said they cried the first chapter, that's what I was going for, so thanks for the feedback! That's great. I'm hoping this story isn't a total downer, but I do love playing with emotions when I write. Of course, none of the Deadliest Catch stuff is mine.***
It was hard to say what woke Kjiersten up first: the loud thud of her dad hitting the floor or the engine alarm going off. Either way, she was out of bed immediately, throwing on the Northwestern hoodie she had unceremoniously dumped on the floor the night before. After confirming that Norman was alright, just a sore shoulder from being jolted out of bed by the sudden wave, she fought to throw her boots on. Edgar popped his head through the door just as she finished lacing them up.
"Ass in gear, Tyke. Time to work."
"My ass is more in gear than yours, old man," she grumbled, not a particular fan of the Bering's rude awakenings. They were coming off of their last offload this salmon tendering, and she had been looking forward to crashing in her bunk the whole day. The only time they were on the boat with the knowledge that Sig wouldn't drag them back out on deck, something else had to conspire against her. Was there a universal law against getting more than three hours of sleep?
"What was that?" Edgar shot her a look over his shoulder as Sig met them at the bottom of the wheelhouse steps.
"Nothing," she rolled her eyes. Sig fired a barrage of questions at his two engineers, but they ignored him like they always did in hopes that he would one day stop asking questions when he knew they had no answers. They fought a futile battle, but ignoring the eldest Hansen gave both Edgar and Kjiersten a sense of unity as they descended into the engine room. Edgar might be her favorite uncle, and she might secretly be his favorite niece, but they always harbored a bit of a hatred for each other when situations like this came up. After being flung from bed at 1 in the morning after a day of offloading salmon in St. Paul, you hated just about everything.
Edgar handed her a pair of earphones, which she clamped over her ears without pushing her hair out of the way. It was messy and knotted from rolling in her sleep, and she didn't want to touch it and risk reminding herself of just how bad it was. They both grabbed goggles and immediately began scanning the engine, looking for what was out of place, what was wrong, what shouldn't be there. Sig waited impatiently on the stairs, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and Edgar kept shooting him glances. There was no malice behind the looks, but Kjiersten knew exactly what Uncle Eddie was thinking. They would work a hell of a lot faster if he would stop hovering.
"Uncle Sig!" she snapped, barely audible over the roaring engine, "Go drive the damn boat!"
"We'll keep you posted," Edgar added. Sig hesitated for a moment, but finally turned and left. He'd left Nick up there, since it was technically his wheel watch anyway, but it probably wasn't safe to have anyone else on the wheel right now. Not with this sea.
Edgar and Kjiersten shared a look over the engine, and her uncle nodded shortly before they both went back to work. A few minutes later, he let out a shout, and she rushed over to see the problem. They had a leak, something a quick patch would have to cover. Right now, they just had to get to port, and they could fix it properly from there. They fist-bumped before she ran up to fill in her other, less patient uncle, and Edgar ran to grab the supplies he needed.
The first day she stepped on the Northwestern as a crabber, Norman and Edgar dragged her down to the engine room. She'd had no intention at the tender age of 18 of spending her days covered in hydraulic fluid and grease, but her family had other plans. Even before she was old and strong enough to wield tools, her dad sat her down while he fixed cars so she could watch and learn. He'd carefully explain what everything was, how it worked, and why things broke. He'd walk her through the steps of checking if it was broken, fixing it so it worked, and fixing properly. By the time she could actually start using the tools he talked about, she could already do some basic repairs completely on her own. She was probably the only eight-year-old that knew how to replace spark plugs. It seemed natural, at least to her family, to get another engineer on the boat. The fact that she wanted nothing to do with the complex world of boat engineering didn't matter one bit.
They knew she'd learn to love it. Even when she bitched and moaned about running down to the engine room when her dad was more than capable, they knew. They knew that, eventually, she'd be spotting problems before Edgar, ordering her dad to stay in bed because she could handle it, snapping at Sig to stay the fuck out of the way so she could do her goddamn job, and yelling at greenhorn Jake that if he ever touched her engine again she'd smash his balls with a wrench. Well, maybe not exactly those scenarios, but they knew the gist of the monster they were creating. It was just an added bonus that they got to watch Jake flinch every time she picked up any sort of tool.
When she descended the engine room stairs again, Edgar held up three fingers, then two, then one. When the last finger was down, she signaled upstairs and simultaneously shut down the engine. They waited for the hum to completely stop before Edgar set the patch, and he did the same countdown so she could start it up again. She ran to his side so they could both stare at the patch intently. After a minute, they fist bumped again, dumped off their protective gear, and headed upstairs.
"Problem solved," Edgar announced as they climbed into the wheelhouse. "We'll need a new line when we hit land, though."
Sig swore under his breath. "But we're good for now?"
"Good for now," Kjiersten nodded, keeping her eyes out at the water and not on anything that could possibly reflect her image back at her. She didn't need the reminder that she looked like crap. Edgar had his sweatpants on backwards, the same Northwestern hoodie she did, and desperately needed to shave. She knew she was in an equal state of disarray, but preferred to live in oblivion for now. "She'll hold 'til port."
Sig sighed heavily and massaged his forehead. "Alright, we'll keep an eye on it."
Edgar ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Your dad alright? Looked like he took a nasty spill there."
"Yeah," she nodded, throwing a hand over her mouth to cover her yawn. "I think so. I mean, he said his shoulder bugged him, but he rolled it a few times and it seemed alright. I'm gonna grab him an ice pack and some painkillers so it doesn't stiffen up. He'll live."
"See," Sig ruffled her hair, "I wish I was bunking with you guys. No one takes care of me like that."
"You have a room all to yourself the whole season. Excuse me while I don't shed any tears, Uncle Sig," she snorted.
"Sometimes I think Matt has plans to kill me in my sleep," Edgar grunted.
"He probably does," she nodded. "Could be worse. You could bunk with Junior."
"Hey now," Edgar laughed and shook his head. "Just because he snores doesn't mean he's a terrible roommate."
"Yes, that's exactly what it means," she grinned. "That's why I never room with anyone but my dad! No snoring." Sig laughed and ruffled her hair again.
"Get some sleep, Tyke. You need it."
"Not as much as you two. You really need some beauty sleep."
"I'm gonna smack you," Edgar pointed while Sig just shook his head and chuckled.
"Bring. It . On." He laughed at her challenge, a quick replay of their past wrestling matches running through his head. When they were younger, he used to let her win. Now, he was pretty sure it went the other way. Funny how she got stronger as she aged, but he was just getting creakier.
"Naw, you're right," he waved her off. "I'm an old man. I need sleep. I have to replace this lug," he nudged his brother, "in a few hours."
"Aw!" she broke almost instantly, giving him wide puppy-dog eye. "You're not old, Uncle Eddie! Neither is Uncle Sig. You are both beautiful Norwegian men who look more rugged and handsome with the occasional sign of age!"
"Please leave my wheelhouse," Sig laughed. "My Kjierston quota just filled for the day."
"I'm being kind, dammit! Be thankful," she smacked, earning herself another hair ruffle.
"She tries," Edgar rolled his eyes, let her go first down the stairs, and followed her towards the state rooms.
"I'm a nice person," she nodded definitively, always thankful when there were no cameras following them. She used to hate salmon tendering and cod fishing until the show started. Like her dad, she wasn't particularly fond of the film crew. But they loved her. A female crabber? A Hansen girl? It added a whole new element to the story they were telling, and they always wanted to hear what she had to say. While her dad could sneak past them like a ninja, they would find her no matter where she went. The part of her that shared blood with her uncles kind of liked the attention, but the part of her that came from Norman, something that ran much deeper than Edgar and Sig's influence, hated it.
He had to laugh at that. Norman always defended rude comments with the assurance that he was overall a decent person. "You sound like your old man."
"I'll take that as a compliment," she grinned, gently pushing past him to get an ice pack from the freezer. Edgar smiled as she waved her good-night, not bothering to stick around for his response. Not that she usually tried to formally end conversations.
"It is a compliment," he muttered to himself as she disappeared into her stateroom, her voice faintly drifting down the hall as she ordered her father to take the Advil before she forced it down his throat. She left no doubt that she was a Hansen, that was for sure.