Redemption and Forfeiture

Chip woke abruptly when Doc paged him. He lifted his head groggily not quite sure where he was. He blinked and glanced around. He was sitting at his desk chilled from sleep despite a blanket resting on his shoulders. Puzzled for a moment, he never slept at his desk; he looked around spying the tray with a very cold cup of coffee and food on it. Kowalski, he thought with a rather grim appreciation mingled with chagrined embarrassment.

He clicked the desktop intercom and replied. "Morton here."

"Sir I have report for you. Would you like me to come there or would you prefer to come to sick bay?"

"I'll be right there, Doc." Morton grabbed the cold coffee and took a large gulp. He longingly eyed the sandwich but that would delay hearing what Doc had to say. He smoothed his hands over his face, straightened his tie and was out the door.

He studied Doc's face as he arrived at sick bay. Doc was looking drained his eyes dull with exhaustion but he wasn't giving off the really bad vibes of no hope. Morton breathed a sigh of relief before he was all the way through the door.

Doc hearing that sigh gave a faint tired smile. "That easy to read am I?"

Chip nodded. "What can you tell me?"

"He was torn up some with a lot of tissue tearing and blood loss but he was a very lucky man. Fortunately I was able to remove the bullet and repair the damage. He was very lucky … " Doc paused.

There were simply so many vital organs and vasculature that could have been destroyed by the projectile but weren't. He just could not explain how the Captain was not dead several times over from the injury. Any one of the trauma, bleeding, infection, and shock could and should have killed the Skipper but he was still alive. Doc, although a man of science, was finding himself thinking in terms of a miracle or a supernatural intervention of some other sort.

Chip responded, "I hear a but coming … "

Doc gave a faint smile in acknowledgement. "But, he is far weaker than I would expect even with the delay in treatment." He rubbed a hand over his tired visage. "It's like he has been drained of his vitality. He is stable but far too weak for my liking."

Doc looked toward the ward. "You can look in on him but he is still sleeping following surgery and I don't want him disturbed at all until he seems stronger. He is getting fluids and nutrients by IV. We gave him the only packed red blood cells of the right blood type we had aboard. He could have used more but with the repairs done his body will start replacing what he needs. Without another transfusion it just might leave him weaker a bit longer but he is getting plasma to help his electrolyte levels. I am pumping him full of antibiotics." Doc's voice faded a bit. "I know you'll need to talk to him at some point, sir but he needs a lot of care and rest now. I will not condone an intense interrogation during the next day or so."

Chip nodded, then his eyes moved again toward the ward. Doc nodded, "Yes just for a minute or two, Thompson and Smith are still finishing up and monitoring him pretty closely." Chip moved toward the gurney.

Chip looked at Nelson hesitant to have to relay the next bit. He had already informed the Admiral that Doc expressed cautious optimism provided Lee did not weaken further. "I'm very sorry, sir but Lee is very low, much weaker that Doc would normally expect, and Doc is concerned that seeing you might be too distressing for him at this juncture."

"I understand." Nelson tried to hide his disappointment. He needed to see Lee, lay his hand on his forehead, and reassure himself that he would be okay, but his needs were not paramount. Lee's recovery was. Nelson's own needs were forfeit. He understood that.

Morton hesitated then broached the next hurdle they faced. "Sir, I need to prepare the official report on this incident. We'll all need to be on the same page and this raises the sticky problem of your arrest and impending court martial." Chip's voice had gained a bit of confidence now that he had raised the subject. He studied Nelson's face for a clue on the Admiral's thoughts. "We need to handle this very carefully, sir. Explain to Lee what happened. If he understands he won't press charges. You wouldn't be court martialed."

"That may not be possible. I shot Lee. I don't deny that. I won't. Lee has the right to have the full extent of the law enforced against me."

"But, sir he'll understand." Chip protested. "You're his friend. He'll keep it under wraps for both your sakes."

Nelson scoffed, "Friend! He might not see it that way. I condemned him to worse than death. I gave him to Krueger." Nelson shook his head, "That's not our decision to make, Chip. It's Lee's. In addition Doc has Lee in his care now. He will have to report the gunshot wound."

"Can't he make an exception?"

"No, Chip. And no matter how Lee chooses to proceed Doc is obligated. That's his duty as a medical professional."

"So how do we keep you from court martial."

"Chip, I appreciate your concern but I don't think we can."

"But … if we could say it was an accident … "

"There is nothing we can do right now until Lee wakes up and you find out what he wants. The ball is in his court and rightfully so. What I might want was forfeit the moment I shot him. That said what you can do is make sure we delay at sea, maintain radio silence, and not make port or file reports until you've had a chance to talk to Lee. See what he wants to do."

"Aye, sir." Chip replied quietly. "I can do that much."

Chip was sitting by Lee's gurney in sickbay. The corpsmen had placed an almost comfortable chair alongside knowing someone would be with the Skipper most of the time.

The corpsmen Smith and Thompson had exchanged knowing smiles when Morton showed up as soon as Doc permitted it. They figured that since the Admiral wasn't going to make an appearance then Morton would be the first visitor but they couldn't decide if Sharkey or Kowalski would be the second.

The sportsman's bet was good natured and they would be glad of whoever came to see the Skipper to sit and keep him company. If things weren't busy it also gave them someone other then each other to talk to during their watches at least after Mr. Morton put in his stint. If past experience was something to go by Mr. Morton would actually talk to the Skipper much of the time he was visiting even if the Skipper was unconscious, sedated, or asleep.

Chip looked at Lee. He friend was so pale he looked bloodless. Chip remembered reading that word as a description in stories but now he truly understood it for the first time. Lee's complexion was olive naturally but bloodless was the only way to describe his friend at the moment. Chip reached out to touch Lee's hand; he needed to feel that he was alive and not a cold dead thing. His hand was warm, too warm from fever, but almost bleached looking. Chip found the colour kind of terrifying and gripped Lee's hand firmly but gently to reassure himself as he watched Lee's chest rise and fall that Lee still lived and wasn't a ghost. There had been too many ghosts on board already.

If Lee's weakness was not just the bullet wound what had Krueger done to him? Chip also wondered what had happened to Lee's personality while Krueger inhabited him. Did Lee even have a mind left? Sure his brain was functioning driving his heart to beat, his lungs to breathe but what had Krueger done to his essential being, his personhood? Chip remembered the Admiral's words, 'Lee Crane is no longer Lee Crane.' Was Lee erased? Gone? Forfeit?

Chip sat and talked to Lee, telling him about the crew, the seas they were stationed in, the small matters of the boat's complement, keeping vigil over his friend and hoping.

After a while Chip rested his head against the high back of the chair. He was glad Doc had at least one almost comfortable chair in sick bay. He wondered if the Admiral had requisitioned it after Lee became captain and they started spending so much time here waiting … for Lee, for the Admiral, for a crewmember to wake up. It sure was better than perching on Doc's rolling stool. He closed his eyes listening to Lee breathing. The soft breath sounds were mesmerizing, soothing. He slept.

It was warm, so perfectly warm. Luxuriously warm. It was quiet, peaceful. He felt the vibrations running all through everything. Seaview. Submerged. Underway. Oh, so good. He drifted for a while partway between sleep and waking. Then it stopped being quite so good.

Borderline awake now, he was hovering at the edge of orientation. Disinfectant smell tickled his nostrils. Sick bay. He was drifting in sick bay. He inhaled very cautiously, exhaled carefully. Oh, bit of an edge to it. Be careful. He wasn't lying flat. Head of the bed up slightly and his form wedged in place with bolsters. He sighed slightly. Ugh. Not great. Be so very careful. Careful. He moved an ankle side to side a bit. Stop. Don't do that. Pain flamed in his abdomen from such a tiny motion. Not right. Moved one arm just a small shift, then the other. Okay. Rolled his head from side to side just a tiny bit very cautiously. All right. Tried to lift his head to shift it on the pillow. Dammit. The flames became an inferno. Something was very, very wrong in his belly.

Awake but with eyes still closed, clenched even in the beginnings of a grimace, he was now fairly well aware of where he was and had localized the greatest discomforts to his abdomen. He felt weary, incredibly weak. His body just wanted to meld with the mattress and float on that cushion.

He breathed in again expanding his lungs a bit more and breathed out in a sigh. A soft moan he couldn't contain vibrated in his throat. Based on the agony in his belly he figured Doc would bring meds soon. Please soon. He eased his eyes open expecting to find himself in sick bay and found he was correct in that expectation. The lights were dimmed in night mode. That was good. It was never nice to wake up to glaring lights in his eyes. It was too much like being Dr. Gamma's captive. Despite the pain this was better.

He lay floating knowing if he moved his body it would stop being agony and go to excruciating and horrible in an instant. Just don't move Lee. Even thinking that caused his muscles to tense slightly in anticipation of it going to horrible. A groan slid out despite his effort to contain it.

By now he had expected someone to speak. Usually Chip or the Admiral was sitting by his bed when he woke up in sick bay. "No! The Admiral!" He threw off the sheet and warm blankets eyes darting around the compartment in panic. His belly was instantly engulfed in crippling, excruciating pain. He curled toward his side, fists clenching and clutching at the pain. "No!"

"Lee." It was Chip, his voice the pacific embodiment of calm. "Lee, it's okay, it's Chip. You're safe, Lee."

"Chip." Lee's eyes were wild with horror, his hands moved to grasp the gurney rail. "Chip, oh god, Chip. The Admiral. He shot … " Lee's hands again clutched at his belly. "Oh, god."

Chip had his hands on Lee's shoulders now, his voice full of regret and compassion. "Yes, I know, Lee. You're safe. I'm here."

Lee fell back breathing heavily, already exhausted. He moaned. It was a devastating sound of anguish and inconsolable lament. "Oh, no."

Doc was there. "Captain, you are safe here, we've got your back, sir."

Lee again struggled to move, his breathing rapid with anxiety and pain. His eyes looking at Doc were wide with fear. He lifted his hands and gazed at them in revulsion as if they didn't belong to him. "Doc? Krueger?"

"He's gone Captain." Doc took his hands between his hands to reassure and calm him. "Those are your hands."

Lee fell back abruptly, overwhelmed by the weakness, his eyes closing in grief and weariness.

"That's better. You've had a rough time. You're safe here, Captain."

Chip, backing away so Doc could assess Lee, was filled with compassion and grief for his friend who was obviously suffering in both mind and body.

As he turned to leave sick bay Chip felt devastated. He had gotten the answers to a couple of questions. First, Lee was Lee not some mindless shell of a body. Second, Lee's awaking reactions made it appear, that despite his own hopes for a different resolution, the Admiral was looking at life in prison.