He turned the Purple Heart in his fingers, remembering the last time he'd held it in his hands. Almost ten years ago, now, waiting in the Ronald Reagan's infirmary for the ship's Chief Medical Officer to grant him a few minutes for an informal presentation.

The medal had arrived that morning, expedited by Jiggs Stark, and now he held the presentation box in his hand, smiling to himself, knowing the young man would be completely surprised, unaware that Nelson was even there.

But he had been there since he'd received the dispatch from Jiggs that told him his protégé had been shot down behind enemy lines and was presumed dead…

A week of pure hell had followed that dispatch. At first there had been nothing but the urgency of reaching the Ronald Reagan, the need to be there if any more word came. Then had come the anguish, the grief, the anger at the men who had wasted such a promising young life… And at last, after seven days, the radio message from SSN Indianapolis that they had picked up three missing pilots, two injured… And sure enough, one of the injured pilots had been Chip Morton. But more interesting was the tale the other two pilots had to tell; a tale that had earned Chip his Bronze Star…

Nelson looked down at the pale, lifeless face. He looked much younger, if that were possible, with all that energy, all the focused intensity wiped away. Odd… Chip had always been dispassionate, unreadable, unemotional. But despite an almost constant impression of uncanny stillness, he had never really been still… This breathless, lifeless stillness was so unnatural that it cut deeply, laying open the admiral's soul.

He placed the Purple Heart in its original presentation box and set it aside. The medals would go to Elizabeth, who had never really appreciated her son, and wouldn't appreciate the legacy he left behind… Nelson had wanted them to go to Lee, or to keep them himself, but that wasn't the way things worked. They would go to a woman who wouldn't ever know or care how much they spoke to the kind of man her son had been. Only the ribbons would accompany Chip into eternity.

Why had he thought he could do this? Patterson and Kowalski had volunteered, but after a conversation with Pem that had stirred up his anger and guilt, Nelson had secured this task for himself, as a kind of penance… His fingers had faltered throughout, as numb as his mind and soul.

I'm so sorry, admiral, but surely you knew… Time always compensates. To save your captain, of course, you had to surrender another life. I thought you understood…

But he hadn't understood. And as a result, they would be burying Chip in the morning. Somehow he had never thought he'd be standing here, never thought he would have to bury one of the young men he'd always thought of as his successors.

He hadn't been able to stomach Lee's death, but this death he would have to swallow, even if he choked on it. Gently, he crossed the young man's pale, cold, elegant hands over his chest. The Annapolis ring wasn't one he'd habitually worn, but Nelson had found it in a drawer in his desk, and thought it was appropriate that he be buried with it. Elizabeth shouldn't have everything; she didn't care about anything but what John had left him, so few years ago… Knowing Chip, he would have provided for mother and sister in his will. Elizabeth would finally get the old Victorian house that had been in John's wife's family for a little under a hundred and fifty years. She would finally get the contents – some valuable antiques that Evelyn Delancy Phillips had treasured. And undoubtedly, she would give whatever money there was to her daughter, Sunny, who would spend it recklessly on a fix and a good time. They neither one of them would spare a thought for the son and brother they'd lost. How such a man could have been cursed with such a family…

But it was done, now. Looking down on that pale face and the closed eyes, Nelson wished he'd done more, somehow been more influential… It was a strange thought, because he knew he'd done a great deal, and that Chip had always looked up to him, admired him… Yet he also knew he hadn't done much to deserve that admiration, after John's death. He would change it now, if he could.

Anyone but Lee… Isn't that what you said, Harry?

If only John's chastising voice would shut up. Yes, he had said that to himself, keeping the thought private, and yes, it had come back to haunt him. It wasn't true; it hadn't had a prayer of being true, no matter how confidently he had believed it. As always, John's voice in his head was right. Didn't make it any easier to listen to him now.

It's too late now to second guess yourself. What are you going to do about this?

There was nothing he could do about this… Yes, he could pull out the pocket watch and go back in time again. But who would he sacrifice then? There was no way to save everyone on board the boat. He didn't want to lose any of them, not even Nash, who had started the whole damned mess… Was it Nash's fault that he was mentally ill? Will thought he could function normally with the right medication. Could he be blamed for this?

He found himself staring at the neat stack of medal boxes, all carrying a medal awarded for a particular action, a particular quality. Something no one else had done, something no one else had accomplished… Something that set the wearer apart from everyone else. A Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, Antarctica Service, with the Wintered Over bar, Afghanistan Campaign… A unique combination, that spoke of a unique and valuable man… One he had never valued the way he should have; one who had never in his young life been valued the way he should have been… Nelson closed his eyes, then reached for the last box, the one that held the wings.

He pinned those gold instructor's wings over the gold submarine dolphins. At Captain Howell's disastrous retirement party four months ago, Nelson had noticed for the first time that those wings weren't uniformly worn anymore. For whatever reason, Chip had begun to leave them off when he dressed for duty. But Nelson wouldn't send him to his rest without them. They were an integral part of who Chip Morton had been, a statement of what he had been able to achieve. They belonged on his uniform; if he'd still been alive, Nelson would have told him so, and seen to it that they were worn at all times…

He frowned at the khaki uniform, the one they wore afloat, with the dress jacket for greeting important guests to the boat. If they'd been ashore, Nelson would have insisted on dress blues and full military honors. Chip had always looked well in dress blues; the contrast to his fair coloring, Nelson supposed. He had always turned the ladies' heads, though he seldom noticed the attention he garnered. Once they noticed the Purple Heart, he could have had a date with any of them he wanted. But he was particular, quiet, a little shy about relationships. When he did choose to date a woman, she was generally pretty special… None of those special women had ever been the one… Perfection was pretty hard to find; as hard to find as it was to attain, but Chip had always demanded perfection of himself as well. Dress blues and full military honors would have given him the attention and respect he had deserved but never sought.

But they were afloat, and the khaki dress jacket would have to do. He laid the pristine khaki cover over the still, crossed hands and studied his handiwork… As always, everything was in its proper place, neatly pressed, sharply creased, not so much as a hair out of place. It would have been criminal negligence to send him to his rest in a condition less perfect than he had exhibited during his short life. Such a waste. Surely if it hadn't been Lee's time to go, it couldn't have been…

Nelson raised his head and his eyes narrowed. Was his memory in error? But no… Pem had told him that it was permissible to go back because it wasn't Lee's time to go…

But it's not your captain's time to go, Admiral. Someone else has already mucked around with the past, and you are suffering the consequences.

But if that was the case, why then did someone else have to die so that time could compensate? Why did he have to surrender a life for a life, if a life were not originally required?

Because Pem gained something from this… Because in his own time, somehow Pem benefited… And if that were all it was, to hell with Pem. Nelson did not do anyone's bidding, and he would not let Chip rot, anymore than he had left Lee dead. Pem was the one who had mucked around with the past, and Nelson wouldn't let him have the upper hand. Whatever benefit he might have derived from what was plainly murder, he would not be allowed to profit.

Nelson spun on his heel and stalked out of his XO's cabin, startling the honor guard in the hallway. He ignored them and turned the corner, heading for his own cabin and a pocket watch that would take him back three days. And this time, he was damned if he'd sacrifice anyone. There would be no burial at sea in the morning.