A/N: Extra thanks goes to Story for being a second set of eyes on the medical scenes—much appreciated!
Chapter 12 ~ In the Shadow Is The Light
Kamik sat with his back to the wall and watched the seaQuest crewmembers who had remained in the control room pace the area and talk amongst themselves. He was subconsciously aware of their murmured conversation and their varying reactions to the continual shaking of the floor—but his thoughts were focused elsewhere entirely.
Kirima... Her face flashed before his mind's eye and he sighed inwardly.
Ah, nukka...I have failed you. Even more than I have failed myself. At the time that he had accepted Len's proposal, he had only been thinking of himself and how her offer would be the perfect solution to his present problem. He should have recognized her insanity from the beginning.
And even after I did realize it, I had to stay. Because it seemed to be the only way to get you out of the hell you were trapped in.
Once he was in over his head, however, it was too little too late. He did what he could to retain the appearance of complete loyalty to Len, walking the fine line between the deepening of her mental instability while ensuring she never had reason to doubt his allegiance. But he drew the line at Walt's brutish abuse of their hostage. Resorting to sarcasm and mockery had been too easy; the older man lacked all but basic intelligence and it was laughable how a mere stare down could intimidate him. Kamik had had a more difficult time keeping Westphalen from figuring it all out; she most definitely possessed a brilliant mind and was not afraid to use it to her advantage in a perilous situation. Her verbal sparring with Len shortly after the second round of torture had been quite a sight and he had been surprised by her ability to push Len into reacting. Of course, it had been the insult to the wife's memory that had been the trigger...
Urgent voices echoing from up inside the tunnel caught his attention, as well as that of the officers; they turned almost as one towards the open doorway. Chief Crocker and one of the young female officers were first to emerge, with Crocker practically carrying Len. Kamik's eyebrows rose at the sight of the trio: Len was soaking wet, water streaming in thin rivulets from her clothes and dripping from her bangs. He had only moments to wonder how she had ended up in that state before the rest of the group emerged. The dark haired male doctor and his assistant were in the lead and right behind him was Bridger with Westphalen in his arms, the remaining security officers bringing up the rear. The older man was also drenched, as well as sporting a bullet wound in one shoulder, and Kamik couldn't help the faint smirk that graced his lips as his mind put the two together. Len had indeed underestimated the good captain's resolve—and by more than a little bit.
Dietz hooked a hand under his elbow to bring him to stand. As he rose, a sudden tremor rocked their footing and she tightened her grip momentarily to ensure he didn't stumble. He nodded his thanks to her, then glanced down at his feet with a slight frown. The little earthquakes had become even more continuous in the last several hours, he realized, mere minutes passing from one tremor to the next. The largest of the security men had hefted Walt's body over one shoulder while another was carrying Hack. A third was trying unsuccessfully to convince Bridger to allow him to carry Westphalen, citing his wounded shoulder. Without warning, Kamik's hackles rose and he turned and stared at the open tunnel, the sense of imminent peril growing stronger the longer he gazed into the darkness beyond the doorway.
Forcibly shaking away the dread, he raised his voice enough to be heard by the two lieutenants nearest to the door, not caring what they might think of his speaking up. "If everyone has returned, I would suggest closing that door."
The pair exchanged a look before one shrugged and did so. He was turning back to address his partner when a sharp jolt, harder than any of the preceding quakes, rocked the floor. Carasi slammed into the wall behind her, biting back a cry as her wounded arm was jostled. Dietz reached out to steady Kamik and he shifted his stance in order to better brace himself against the increasing tremors. Bridger stumbled and collapsed to his knees, clutching the unconscious doctor close to his chest. Everyone else was focused on keeping themselves upright, glancing nervously at the ceiling and surrounding walls. Meanwhile, Kamik narrowed his eyes in puzzlement at the sensation of the tremors suddenly changing; he could feel the difference in the vibrations beneath his feet and how they seemed to resonate up into his spine. His eyes widened at the realization of what it meant. Glancing around at the others proved that they had not sensed it.
When the shaking finally eased, the crew exchanged uneasy looks and seemed relieved when Crocker gave the order to return to the launch. As Dietz led him outside, Kamik cast a fleeting look over the top of her head; his suspicions confirmed when he saw the seepage of water flowing from beneath the closed tunnel door.
He didn't know what was worse about the waiting—the fact that the fog outside the launch was so thick he couldn't see a foot past the windshield, or the constant tremors that shook the ground at what felt like a steadily increasing pace.
Ben paced the length of the launch in quick, nervous steps, pausing only to stare out the cockpit into the fog every time he reached the bow. Of all the times he'd been called upon as a reserve security officer, this had to rank in the top five of the worst: a deserted island in the middle of the Bering, no idea how many adversaries they were facing, or even if the doc was still alive. He found his hand drifting to his holster every thirty seconds, wondering just what or who might be lurking somewhere out in the thick mist. He was used to the waiting, even though it drove him crazy. And it was one thing to not know the number of potential opponents without; he was already prepared for that possibility. It was quite another to have fog and earthquakes constantly tricking his mind—especially the quakes.
"It's twenty-five percent about the action-and seventy-five percent about waiting for the action to happen." Commander Tovar had drilled that into their heads from day one of training, her way to point out that security was not the glamorous position a lot of military recruits assumed that it was. It had been a difficult lesson to learn, but one that had always stuck with him, and one that he could usually cope with despite his natural impatience. Except for situations like this one...
The chirp of the comm panel startled him and he switched it on. "MR-4."
Briggs' voice echoed through the link in response. "Lieutenant, we're on our way up the path now."
"Got it." Breathing a sigh of relief, he closed the link and keyed in the command to open the launch's hatch. The away team appeared out of the fog in a steady stream of people, with a few added to their numbers. Olden and Mars were each carrying a body. Briggs and Dietz were escorting a young Native man whose hands were cuffed. Once he was settled, Briggs hurried up front to the co-pilot's seat. Crocker stomped into the launch next carrying another body, this one dripping water. The body uttered a low moan as he set it down and Ben did a brief double-take when he realized it was a woman.
"Fire 'er up, Krieg," the security chief ordered, returning to the launch's hatch with his beacon, pointing it out into the cloak of fog. "We need to get back to the boat pronto. The doc's in bad shape."
"Don't have to tell me twice." Flopping back into the pilot's seat, Ben quickly flipped the switches to power up the launch while Briggs went through the standard system checks. He would be glad to get the hell off this island and away from the seismic activity. He couldn't stand earthquakes. They came with no warning; there was no way to plan ahead. And if you were in the wrong place, you were completely screwed.
Give me a hurricane any day. You keep an eye on the weather reports, stock up on necessities and sandbags, put up the hurricane shutters and wait it out once it shows up. Another rumble beneath the launch made him shudder and he was glad to hear voices coming from outside; no doubt the rest of the away team arriving. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw the captain run in with Doc Westphalen in his arms before Doc Levin came in on the captain's heels and straight up to the cockpit, requesting to be put on the link with the ship.
As the launch slid beneath the waves, Ben focused on piloting through the rough surface currents, listening with half an ear to Levin's conversation with someone in medbay and catching mentions of "severe hypothermia" and "probable signs of aspiration pneumonia". Near the end of the discussion, the link went to static and almost cut out; flipping the switches to boost the signal only helped minimally. Levin reassured him that he'd been able to tell medbay everything he needed to before heading into the back of the launch to tend to his patient.
The communications link soon proved not to be the only problem. Despite the fact that they were now well below the surface currents and reaching progressively lower depths, the remaining sensors were also beginning to malfunction. This is worse than when we came in—at least then, we had a clear audio link. It reminded him uncomfortably of the time he had been part of the group stranded in the Bermuda Triangle. A sudden hard surge hit the launch with enough force that, for a moment, he thought they had run aground on a reef the sensors hadn't detected. But when they were buffeted by a second and a third, he realized the currents were getting progressively rougher at an alarming rate.
Briggs swore under her breath, clinging to the wheel. "What the hell is going on out there? We should be deep enough now to be free of the island's tectonic range..." As the shaking began to finally lessen, she released one hand from the wheel and reached over to the communications panel. "SeaQuest, this is MR-4. We are getting battered by really rough currents over here—if this continues, we may need assistance docking when we arrive."
The response was a cacophony of assorted chaos mixed with heavy static—various voices shouting and the alert klaxon echoing dimly in the background.
"—shockwave incoming—thir—impact..."
Ben shared a troubled glance with his co-pilot. Was the ship under attack? He flipped a switch on the comm panel to try and clear up the link. "O'Neill?"
A crackle of static was the only answer and, for a moment, Ben thought the connection had been severed before O'Neill's voice finally filtered through. "We're—hammered too, MR-4. —massive seismic swarm—epicenter 51 de—north, 178 degrees w—"
"Underwater quakes? Well, that's not surprising, considering the amount of seismic activity we had on the surface." The launch swayed as another shockwave struck it and he and Briggs both turned the wheels slightly port to compensate.
"Actually, not—qua—." The static grew slightly louder before the link cleared and O'Neill's next words came through crystal-clear. "According to the WSKR data, Mount Tanaga is preparing to erupt."
"Oh, great," Ben grumbled, exchanging a grimace with Briggs. First earthquakes, now a volcano. What else could possibly go wrong?
As if his thought were the trigger, there was a loud snap from the speakers and then there was silence.
"seaQuest, are you there?" Briggs flipped the switch on the comm panel off, then on and keyed in a command to boost the frequency with her free hand. "Lieutenant O'Neill?" But there was only silence and she sighed in disgust. "Looks like we've lost the link."
"Guess we're sailing blind, then." He raised his voice in order to be heard by the rest of the passengers. "Everyone back there, make sure you're strapped in." He didn't wait for any responses before turning his attention back to the sensors. Now let's hope I can get us all back in one piece.
It was a very tense ten-minute journey back to the ship, turbulent waves battering them the entire way. Docking was thankfully accomplished without any major mishaps or any need for assistance. Once the launch was safely secured in the docking bay, Ben powered it down and heaved a sigh of relief. At least they had made it back in one piece. Now, all he could do was hope they could help the doc.
Tonya Braeckman slung her medkit's strap over her shoulder and quickly ascended the ladder out of the launch. Levin and the captain had already left with Doc Kristin, and she wasn't surprised to see the empty gurney with two of her coworkers waiting next to it.
"The captain—"
"Refused, I know," Tonya said with a shrug. "Carasi's wounded as well, so we can use it for her."
"I don't need a gurney." Tonya turned to see Mars assisting the injured security officer up through the hatch. Carasi thanked him before turning to the waiting medics. "I got shot in the arm, not the leg. I'll walk to medbay."
As the medics turned their attention to Carasi's injuries, Mars was lifting Len out of the hatch, guiding her to step back as Crocker climbed up the ladder. Tonya was about to turn and leave for medbay when she noticed that the brunette was swaying on her feet—and she could tell it was not an act; Mars literally had to hold her upright. Warily, she approached the older woman, tilting her chin up in order to look her in the face. Her unfocused gaze, dilated pupils and shallow gasping breaths confirmed her suspicions.
"How long has she been like this?" she questioned Mars, moving behind Len and lifting her wet, tangled hair to feel along the back of her head. Len moaned at the touch, attempting to pull away from it and protesting in a slurred whimper.
"Most of the ride back. She's been mumbling nonsense when she's said anything at all."
Tonya nodded with a frown when her fingers came back streaked with blood. "Humphreys, bring that gurney over here. We're going to need it after all."
It was a bit of a struggle to get Len onto the gurney; she seemed to regain her senses at one point, fighting Humphreys and Haire and even Mars as he fastened the cuffs to the gurney rails. The same problem occurred again when they arrived in medbay and tried to move her onto the table in the scan room; she became uncontrollable, despite the fact that her first swing at Haire's head nearly sent her tumbling to the floor face first.
At that point, Tonya lost all patience. "Stop fighting us, damn it!" she snapped. "Believe it or not, we're trying to help you."
The sharp words seemed to settle the other woman down as her pale, unfocused gaze met Tonya's stare. She had to force herself to look away but she could feel Len's eyes on her until the dome closed up around her head and torso; at once, she renewed her attempt at struggling, this time pulling frantically against the restraints on her wrists.
"No...can't—can't breathe... "
"Haire, take over." The young medic stepped up to the scan controls, while Tonya moved over by the side of the table. "You're going to need to remain still so we can do the scan." When the movement inside the dome ceased, Tonya glanced over to Haire and nodded. The scanner hummed as it went through the preliminary cycle and Tonya turned to leave when Len's fingers suddenly clamped around her wrist.
"Mari...stay...please..."
She tried unsuccessfully to pull free of the brunette's grip, but Len moaned and mumbled incoherently when she did. Shrugging to herself, she decided it wouldn't hurt to allow it for the few minutes it took to complete the scan. Permitting the touch seemed to calm Len down, even though the tight grip made Tonya's skin crawl. Her slurred whispering was even more disturbing, despite the fact that she could understand very little of it. The only thing she could make out clearly was the repeated whisper of "Mari..."; she deduced it had to be the name of someone important.
"Tonya, you'd better come look at this."
Haire's dark tone sent a chill down her spine. She turned and stopped short, forgetting that Len had a hold of her wrist. Gently prying Len's fingers off her arm and ignoring the incoherent protests, she returned to the scan controls. One look at the screen told her that her earlier gut instinct had been confirmed and she blew out a slow breath, shaking her head. "Set up and run an MRI, then prep the surgical bay. I'll go inform Doc Levin."
The aching chill that had been plaguing him for three days was beginning to fade. Nathan shivered absently and reached up to rub at his arms; his fingers finding damp cloth reminded him that he was still in wet clothes. He knew he needed to change lest he risk his own bout of hypothermia—but all his attention was focused on the occupied bed fifty feet away. He could barely see Kristin with everyone moving about, but occasionally he caught a glimpse of her face when someone stepped aside or reached for an item. Levin was barking orders while his assistants were rattling off her various vital statistics, but most of it was past his comprehension.
"Captain, I need to tend to your shoulder."
Ensign Williams' voice next to him startled him for a moment. He shook his head, his gaze still fixed across the room. "I'll be fine," he murmured. He shivered again, the ache fading a little more; suddenly, a burning flared up in his left shoulder and down his arm. Black spots danced in his vision for several seconds and he reached out to lean on the wall for support against the abrupt weakness in his knees.
"No, you are not fine." Williams' retort was gentle but firm as she pointed to the bed behind her. With a resigned sigh, he slumped onto it and swore under his breath when the movement sent a sharp stab of fresh pain through his wounded shoulder and down his arm. She shook her head at him and began to cut open the sleeve of his jumpsuit. Except for an occasional mumbled curse before she injected the anesthetic and the painkiller, he remained silent, looking over her shoulder.
Time passed in a haze for him; part of him was aware of the burning in his shoulder beginning to diminish in minute degrees, and that he was finally no longer shivering. The nagging ache in his chest lingered, as if the anesthetic had numbed that in addition to his shoulder. He squinted in an effort to try to read the one screen he could see above Kristin, but it was too far away to discern exactly what it was monitoring. His attention was caught by Braeckman as she approached Levin and he stepped away to talk to her. Whatever she said made him frown and he gestured to another medic to take his place at Kristin's bedside before following Braeckman into one of the back rooms.
His gaze returned to Kristin, muddled thoughts tumbling one after another as he watched the medbay staff tend to her. Their movements seemed unhurried now, more efficient than frantic. Surely, that meant the initial danger was past...or was it? She was no doubt still in critical condition. Had they been able to reach her in time? Would she survive this horrible ordeal? Or had they been too late—and he would never get to tell her that he loved her...
He dimly heard an alarm pierce the air before the full effects of the medications in his system and the exhaustion made medbay fade around him.
The faint murmurs of voices and the quiet hum of equipment slowly brought Nathan back to consciousness. Eventually, he began to recognize the voices as belonging to the medbay staff and wondered why they would be in his quarters. Opening his eyes, he realized that he actually was in medbay—and that realization made him remember how he had ended up there. He tried to sit up, wincing when pain shot through his shoulder.
His groan caught Levin's attention. "How are you feeling, Captain?"
Nathan blinked to focus his gaze. "Shoulder hurts. How long have I been asleep?"
"Almost five hours." Levin turned Nathan's wrist to check the portable IV unit strapped to his arm, swiping his thumb twice over the unit's touchpad, then keyed in the necessary information into the tablet in his other hand. "That should ease your pain shortly. If it doesn't begin working within half an hour, let me know."
"Kristin?"
"She's in room three. We got her stabilized—core temperature back up to normal, as well as on the necessary antibiotics and oxygen. She's still unconscious, but resting comfortably. I imagine it will be at least a day or two before she wakes up."
He nodded, then frowned thoughtfully. "If Kristin is stable, then what was the reason for that alarm I heard earlier?"
"That was Miss Haas. Unfortunately, she did not survive her injuries."
Nathan blinked again, not comprehending at first. When his tired mind finally put two and two together, the only response he could muster up was "What?"
"I've spoken with Chief Crocker and Ensign Briggs; both described the struggle they witnessed between the two of you, and stated that her head struck the side of the pool. Their stories are consistent with the cause of death by acute subdural hematoma. I will need your report later but, even without it, Crocker and Briggs' reports are enough for the record."
Len was dead. She would never face justice for what she'd done. His first thought was relief—there would be no opportunity for her to ever harm anyone again. It was followed immediately by a twinge of shocked guilt. The fact that he had fatally injured her stunned him, as that had never been his intention. He would have much preferred to see her answer for her crimes. But like Marilyn, Len had made her own wrong choices, the biggest one using her personal loss in order to exact misguided revenge. On some level, he could understand how that amount of grief could drive one to take drastic measures; he had been there himself once. But he had been fortunate enough to heal from that loss, even though it had taken him several years. It was unfortunate that she would now never have that opportunity.
"Captain?"
Shaking himself out of his dark thoughts, Nathan turned to Levin; the young doctor gestured towards the nearby doorway that led to the patient rooms. "You're welcome to sit with her if you would like. Though, as I said, she is not likely to awaken for at least another day."
Getting up and walking proved easier said than done at first; despite the current dose of pain meds working their way through his system, he still felt battered and sore. Ignoring it, he stepped into the room, stopping short for a moment before moving to take the chair at her bedside. She looked smaller than usual, bundled snugly in several layers of blankets. He did his best to ignore the soft trills and beeps of the equipment surrounding the bed, but it was impossible not to notice the oxygen mask covering the lower half of her face. Reaching out, he very gently brushed his fingers over her brow, then took her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of it.
"You're safe now," he murmured. "And I hope you'll wake up soon, so I can finally say what I should have said a long time ago."
The faint, steady beep of the cardiac monitor was his only answer, but it was one that he would accept for the time being. All that mattered was that there would now hopefully be a chance for a new beginning.