Chip Morton rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pounding headache. This cruise had been intended to be an easy one, to relax the crew after the last aborted mission, and Dr. Kelly's demise. Whether it was working for the crew, he couldn't say, but it hadn't really done much for him. He wasn't sleeping well… He could still hear the echo of the shot that had murdered Yeoman Wendy Allbright, and at times, he would jerk awake, sure that her blood was soaking his uniform…
The paperwork was still massive, and he was beginning to feel that it would finally bury him. Nevertheless, he wouldn't ask for another yeoman. Ms. Allbright's death still seemed like his fault in an obscure way. If he'd been able to do his job, she wouldn't have needed to be here, and Dr. Kelly couldn't have killed her… Oh, he knew that he was doing his job and doing it well. It was only the paperwork that had gotten out of hand…
But nightmares and overwork were contributing to the headaches, and eventually, the crew would again go to either Lee or the admiral, and they'd be back in the same damned boat they'd been in when Ms. Allbright had come aboard. It wouldn't matter that he didn't want a yeoman, nor would it matter that the last one had been murdered. And realistically, he knew he needed help. It just went against the grain to ask for it…
He glared at the computer screen. The duty schedule was becoming a problem. Nash – one of the best radar operators he'd ever had the pleasure of working with – was becoming increasingly… weird. He startled at everything, and literally flinched whenever Lee looked at him. His mates reported that his behavior was erratic, and sometimes downright terrifying. Malone claimed that he had overheard Nash muttering about taking care of the captain… Chip had no idea what that meant, but it couldn't be good. So, it seemed obvious that Nash needed to be relieved of duty, and sent to Sick Bay. Only problem was they were short-handed this trip, due to some unexpected illnesses and other complications… Replacing Nash at the radar station in the control room was going to be a problem, hence the difficulty of putting together a coherent duty schedule. And spending time on the duty schedule, meant he was neglecting the admiral's lab reports…
A loud bang reverberated through the bulkhead that separated the office from the radio shack and the control room. A shot… Chip leaped up from his desk immediately. A shot in the control room... What in the hell was happening? He ran for the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket. It took precious seconds to unlock the door – damn that new policy. All because of Dr. Aaron Kelly, damn him. Chip had argued hard against this, but the admiral wouldn't listen. Pushing the door open, he went through into controlled chaos. Men were pressed around the perimeter of the control room, as Nash, who should have been off watch at this time, was dragged away, struggling and shouting by Chief Sharkey and Patterson. He broke away from them briefly and grabbed Chip's sleeve. "Sir, please…"
But he didn't say anything else as the chief stepped between them, prying Nash's hand from the XO's sleeve, and shoving the crewman back… As if somehow Nash were a danger to Chip. "Get back, sailor! Pat, get him out of here before he does something else!"
"What happened here?" But the COB only sent him a sharp glance of concern and helped Patterson drag the writhing Nash away, leaving behind the gun forgotten on the deck. Chip knelt to pick it up… Recently fired… He looked around the control room, frowning at the shocked stares around him. "Get back to your stations." The men complied, except Kowalski who knelt on the floor by the plot table. The twin periscopes hid anyone else who might be forward. Chip stepped past the radio shack and barked at Lieutenant O'Brien on the watch platform. "Lieutenant. What's going on here?" The watch officer stared at him, brown eyes wide with shock, and had no answer.
Where the hell was Lee? He should have been here, or come running by now. If not, O'Brien should definitely have called for him. And someone should be giving Chip the information he kept asking for and wasn't getting. "Get the captain up here, now. And someone tell me what the hell is going on!" Chip didn't wait for the answer, didn't even really expect one, given that no one seemed capable of giving one. Instead, he made his way forward, around the periscope island, and stopped short, the gun tumbling from fingers gone numb, as he realized suddenly why no one was able to speak…
The captain was already here… Lee Crane lay on the deck, eyes wide open, staring sightlessly upward, a spot of blood marring the front of his uniform. Instinctively, Chip knelt beside him and pressed his fingers against Lee's throat… An abortive move by Kowalski drew his attention, but though he was looking at the crewman, he was still able to register the absence of a pulse beneath his fingers. The look he turned on Ski held more than a hint of shock. "Has Dr. McKenzie been called?"
Ski nodded, his gaze compassionate, but he didn't move, didn't bother to go for the first aid kit. Just knelt there, staring. "But there's nothing anyone can do, sir. He's… he's gone."
Chip glanced back down at Lee and shook the shock-induced cobwebs away. "Pull yourself together, Kowalski!" He bent over and immediately began chest compressions; a glare sent Ski scrambling for the first aid kit in the cabinet in the nose. But even as the XO administered CPR, he could feel that it was too late… Lee had gone cold, and the wound didn't ooze blood as he pressed down on the captain's chest. Still, he wouldn't give up, couldn't give up…
As Kowalski returned with the first aid kit, Will McKenzie laid a hand on Chip's shoulder, urging him aside. Chip spared him a glance, but didn't move, continuing the chest compressions, desperate to get Lee's heart beating again. He could feel Kowalski hovering, but ignored the sailor's soft voice. "Sir… There's nothing you can do, sir…"
But there was… This boat couldn't lose another captain, and he wouldn't lose another friend, damn it. He glared at Will, wondering why the doctor was just sitting there, doing nothing, flinching when the doctor's grip on his shoulder tightened. "He's gone, Chip. You need to let me take him."
"He's not." He said the words fiercely, and struggled as Kowalski pried his hands off the captain and pulled him aside. "Damn it, Ski…" He had to get back to Lee, had to do something, but Kowalski held him back. "Let me go!" He saw the nearest sailor – Malone at sonar – flinch at his tone, but Ski's arms still held him back. He twisted against them, needing to get back to Lee, needing to do something, damn it…
Will motioned the stretcher party forward, and supervised as they lifted the limp body, placed it on the stretcher, and took it away… The lack of a response from the captain, the lack of blood, the pale, lifeless hand that dropped off the side of the stretcher, all of them told the tale: Lee Crane was dead…