The Hammersley had changed. She always changed. That was the nature of a ship. Crews came and went and updates and repairs were neverending. Buffer had done a year on the Wollongong and another three after that on the Broome. Then the Navy posted him back to the Hammersley.
Buffer saluted the XO and the CO, both new to him, as he made his way over the gangplank. He trailed a hand over everything within reach as he made his way to his cabin to unpack.
"You don't get to pick," he muttered to himself. A reminder that the Navy sent him to this cabin on this ship–this cabin that had been Swain's cabin when they were shipmates. It wasn't an omen; it was a random assignment.
He stepped through the doorway. His cabinmate's things were already unpacked. Buffer was the new kid on the block and he expected he'd have to spend a few patrols proving himself. He was a solid sailor; he'd have no problem proving his ability. He tossed his bag onto the bunk and then sat down beside it.
Swain had served for two more years on the Hammersley after Buffer had rotated off. Then he died. The shelf where Swain's things used to sit was covered in photos of another man's family. The frame which should have held an image of Sally and Chloe was gone, replaced by a group photo of men on a fishing trip.
Buffer's lip twitched. From afar it could have been a picture of him, Charge, Swain, and ET on one of their epic fishing trips. They weren't old, yet, but somehow half of them were dead. ET had been murdered. Swain had been murdered–indirectly. Buffer's gaze lost focus as his thoughts turned dark. He had known it would be a challenge for him to work on the Hammersley again but he'd worked through ET's death on board and so many years had passed now since Swain's death…he thought he'd be fine.
He stood up, squaring his shoulders. He would be fine, he told himself. He left his sea bag unpacked and headed off to meet his new crew. He turned a corner and nearly bumped into Robert Dixon.
"Ro! Good to see you again, mate." Buffer shook Ro's hand.
"You as well, Buffer. Welcome back." Robert was friendly and Buffer grinned to see a familiar face.
"I heard you were still here but didn't quite believe it." It was unusual to let a sailor keep the same posting for so many years but then, Ro himself was unusual.
"Why wouldn't you believe it?" Robert was curious.
"Forget it," Buffer slapped him on the back. Same old Robert.
He moved toward the bridge to check in with the watch, but Robert called after him. "Did you see Bomber yet?"
Buffer flinched, glad no one was in front of him to see it, and waved Ro off. "Not yet. Looking forward to it," he lied. It wasn't a complete lie. He was looking forward to seeing her again. He was also dreading the apology he had yet to come up with.
"Been a while." Her voice was the same.
Buffer looked up when Bomber appeared in the doorway. He was slouched low in his chair, with a foot propped against the table leg and a boating magazine balanced on his knee.
"It has been a while, yeah." He grinned, suddenly nervous, and stood up.
She stuck out her hand to shake at the same time he moved in for a hug and so they ended up doing neither.
"You know I'm only here for one patrol. I'm just filling in for the regular cheffo," she offered apologetically.
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Stay as long as you like," he said, as if either of them had any say in where the Navy assigned her next.
"Buffer…" She glanced behind her to make sure they were alone and then stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
"Look, Bomber–" He began but then stopped, unsure how much he should say out loud on board.
They both stayed quiet, waiting for the other to speak.
Buffer cleared his throat and sat back down and she took a seat across from him.
"We have to do this, yeah?" She looked like she'd rather forget the whole thing and he didn't blame her.
"I'd like to, yeah." He nodded. They needed to clear the air. "Even if we're only on board together for this one patrol. We need to be on the same page."
She gave him a wry smile. "Yeah," she agreed. Her reluctance to bring it up was obvious but now might be the only chance they got–and better to get it out of the way at the beginning of patrol.
He took a deep breath and then said it–the thing he should have said on that morning he'd last seen her, years ago. The morning after Swain's funeral. "I'm sorry, Bomber."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I was out of it–we'd been drinking–I was just–It was fucked up. That whole thing. Him dying. Sally and Chloe. And I–" Unexpectedly, Buffer's eyes watered. He had made his peace with Swain's passing but seeing Bomber again, and being assigned to Swain's old cabin, reminded him of how raw everything had felt in the direct aftermath.
He dragged the heel of his palm across his eyes, wiping away any tears before they could form, and refocused on the woman sitting across from him. "And I should never have…y'know." He couldn't say it. Not on board. The memory of Bomber and her dalliance with 2 Dads surfaced and he wouldn't allude to anything that might get her in trouble again.
"Don't be sorry." Her voice was firm. She glanced quickly at the door before leaning across the table and grabbing his hands. "At the funeral…" She looked down at where her hands covered his before searching his face. "I hadn't seen Swain in months. I felt guilty that I wasn't a better friend. That I wasn't there to help." She didn't have to explain more. Buffer felt the same way–he should have been there. He would have stayed to diffuse the bomb with Jim and Swain would be happily home with his wife and child now.
"You were a good friend. Swain spoke so highly of you." Buffer had expected something closer to a slap across the face than this heartfelt conversation.
"I'm glad you were there," she said and he believed her.
Buffer gripped her hands in his and searched her face for a doubt which wasn't there. She didn't hold it against him and he hadn't expected that.
"I'm glad you were there, too," he said, his voice low as he remembered the horrible day of Swain's funeral and the way he and Bomber had fallen into bed together as they attempted to escape reality.
It had been one night, years ago. He knew there had been a cab ride to Bomber's motel room but he couldn't remember where she had been stationed that warranted her getting a room in Cairns. He knew they'd somehow agreed on him leaving the wake with her but he couldn't remember a conversation about it.
He remembered the rum that Charge had passed around. He remembered the vodka that 2 Dads shared freely. He remembered the beaming sun making them melt in their formal attire while they stood around in Sally and Swain's yard after the funeral was over. He remembered Chloe's small hand in his as she dragged him into her playroom to point out her toys to him. He remembered Sally's tears, hot on his shoulder, as she hugged him goodbye.
Buffer had woken up the next morning with his arm draped across Bomber's hips. They'd both been bleary eyed from last night's alcohol and lack of sleep. Buffer couldn't remember who had left to get breakfast but suddenly there was coffee and pie in the room. He also couldn't remember how it had started again, but he knew it had because they hadn't gotten out of bed again until Bomber needed to leave for her flight.
They had made no promises to keep in touch and they hadn't. He hadn't seen her since. Still, the memory of that night and of the way they had drowned their grief in each other's bodies stayed with him.
There was a commotion in the hall and they pulled their hands away from each other. When their shipmates entered, Buffer's attention was back on his magazine and Bomber was on her way out the door.
The next day, he was still thinking about it. They only had this one patrol together before they went their separate ways and while their conversation yesterday had been good, he found he couldn't put it behind him.
He found her in the galley, peeling carrots, during a slow moment in the day.
"Cuppa?" She looked up and smiled as he let himself in and leaned against the bench, out of the way of her workspace.
"Ta." He accepted the mug from her and sipped from it while he pondered what exactly he wanted to say to her.
"So…" She beat him to it, speaking into the silence between them. "I was thinking about what we were talking about yesterday." She paused long enough that he wondered if she was waiting for him to jump in and he opened his mouth, ready to take over the conversation. She continued, "And I think, maybe, I'm the one who needs to apologize." She stopped fussing with the vegetables and put down her knife. "Buffer, I'm sorry. You were so sad. Everyone could see how hard you were taking it. I thought–selfishly–I thought I could help us both. I could take your mind off of things and at the same time I could help myself forget about my own grief."
Buffer looked at her, dumbfounded. She'd used his own apology on him. "Bomber, don't apologize." He said her words from yesterday back at her before he grinned. "I thought I was the one taking my mind off things. Reckon neither of us were in our right minds."
"How could we be?" She shook her head and picked up her knife, apparently satisfied that things were good between them. "We were at Swain's funeral. There was something so totally fucked about it."
Even now, years later, it felt surreal. "It's weird being back on the ship. I spent all day expecting him to walk around a corner," Buffer admitted.
"I know what you mean. He's everywhere." Bomber glanced over at Buffer and gave a gasp of surprise, making him jump and follow her line of sight. There was nothing next to him. The ghost of Swain was not lurking in the galley, eavesdropping.
She laughed at his reaction and he huffed out an annoyed sigh. "Not funny."
"Eh–a little funny," she countered, flashing him a grin before she returned to her job.
He tipped the mug up, swallowing the rest of the coffee down, and then placed the mug on the kitchen bench. "Thanks, Bomber." He was thankful for the clarification as well as the coffee. Things had clicked back into place between them.
As the days passed and he settled into his role on board, he kept seeking her out. He hung out while she prepped dinner, he brought her coffee while she was on watch, and he had to restrain himself from picking her to go on boarding parties with him more than the others.
He had expected her to feel like a one-night stand, something he had plenty of practice in. Or, barring that, for her to be another former crew member he shared memories with–something else he had plenty of practice in. Whatever he currently felt about her was neither of those, however. He swallowed back his sudden yearning and threw himself harder into his job. If he had any plans (he did) to seek her out when patrol ended and she was posted elsewhere, then he needed to keep things strictly professional while they were on board together. The details of their night together may be hazy but he could recall the feelings and he wanted more of it–more of her.