Incendiary
Two weeks later
Lee exited the dedicated elevator at the penthouse level. He looked around with appreciation at the foyer. Decorated very much to Nelson's taste. If things had gone differently he would never have seen this place again, but he was alive. He was here at Nelson's door. He paused to glance around at the original oils on the walls. The seascapes certainly reflected the Admiral's love of the oceans. It made Lee smile to see them.
Lee stepped to the door with anticipation and pressed the doorbell. A discreet pleasant tone inside the penthouse announced his arrival. The doorman on duty downstairs had prepared the way by calling up and explaining a parcel was on its way up to be delivered into Nelson's own hands.
Lee smiled slightly in expectation of a joyful reunion.
The door opened revealing a dishevelled man in his dressing gown half turned away, looking back into his home. Several days of shadowy stubble covered his cheeks and jaw while the reek of cigarette smoke and whiskey wafted through the doorway. "What do you need to deliver that you couldn't leave downstairs?" Nelson's irritation at the disruption was evident in his body language and voice.
A tiny tightness gathered at the corners of Lee's eyes. This wasn't what he had expected.
Nelson's head turned toward the supposed deliveryman. "Lee! What are you doing here?" His voice was shocked, accusatory.
Lee's face remained in a slight welcoming smile but his expressive amber eyes and slight furrowing between his brows gave away his puzzlement. What warranted this ungracious greeting?
"Sir, I just wanted to see you. I'm sorry if I caught you at a bad time." His shoulders shifted just slightly, not quite a squirm, as he reassessed his welcome or very decided lack of it. "I came to thank you for what you did."
Nelson twisted away and back again his arms coming up in front of him folding defensively in front of his chest, ready to interrupt but Crane carried on.
"I know, sir that it was inexcusable of me to ask it of you but I am grateful." Lee shifted his left arm holding the gift-boxed whisky forward just slightly as in a subtle offering of his gift and as a way to break the sudden tension.
Nelson looked at him with fiery anger growing in his eyes. "And just what do you think you are thanking me for, Commander?" His eyes hardened. "I didn't do anything. You must take your gratitude and your thanks elsewhere. This isn't the place for it." Nelson grabbed the inside doorknob and closed the door firmly in Lee's face.
Shocked, Lee stood still as stone as his face flushed with embarrassment. What had he missed? His head dropped as he thought. No one had told him anything. He was working from his scattered, fractured memories. Had he remembered incorrectly?
He turned toward the highly polished mahogany foyer table beneath a seascape of a churning ocean under a flaming sunrise and set his gift down. He laid his hand on it as if it could replace laying his hand on the Admiral's arm in greeting, shaking his hand. He looked at the tempestuous waves in the painting. He sighed and leaving the eighteen-year-old single malt on the table turned away and stepped into the elevator. His dismayed heart sank even faster than the high-speed elevator descended.
Morton was past the worst of the outward anger for the moment. He had raged, yelled, and erupted in fury. Something those who knew his XO façade would never have believed. But rage like that simply took too much energy to sustain. He was outwardly worn out but inwardly the rage still seethed.
He hadn't believed he'd been held here in the brig wherever he was incommunicado for days, weeks maybe. He simply hadn't believed it but as the days wore on he'd lost his cool, calm façade, he'd grown angry. Furious at being kept in the dark about what had happened, about what was happening.
What about Lee? He'd fired a kill shot. Hit the target perfectly. His face contorted at the memory of killing his best and most trusted friend. Although the crew he'd seen afterwards hadn't acted like their Skipper was dead he knew his shot had been true.
Maybe that's why he'd never seen the Admiral. Lee was practically a brother to Nelson, right up there with Edith in Nelson's hierarchy of who mattered to him. But surely the Admiral hadn't ordered this imprisonment incommunicado? Nelson was fair. Well maybe the anger and grief of losing Lee was too much. He sighed. No, life wasn't fair.
What about due process? He hadn't had a hearing yet. That seemed impossible. He just existed here alone in a misery of not knowing.
The solitude itself didn't bother him but not knowing and the lack of stimulation did. He was a man of action, a decision maker, Seaview's lynchpin and here he was … a man who had shot his commanding officer sitting in an empty space with nothing to do, guilty as sin with nothing to hope for.
He sank to the bunk, dropped his head into his hands. He seethed … and grieved.
Captain Crane knocked lightly on Doc's office door at NIMR then straightened himself. He wanted to look normal, as tall and strong as he could with so many mending ribs still ready to catch on the occasional unguarded breath. He felt weak as a kitten still. He walked in.
"Captain! I wasn't expecting to see you for a while yet." Doc stood up and walked around his desk to welcome the Captain. "May I ask how you are?"
Crane flapped a dismissive hand as if that was inconsequential. "I'm fine, Doc" The two men shook hands. Friendship dictated that greeting even if Crane felt he was about to incinerate this valuable relationship. "Doc, I came to see you because I have some questions … " Crane hesitated slightly, he didn't really like rocking the boat, but he was committed now.
"Of course, sir." Doc looked at him inquisitively. Waited. Doc had feared this confrontation would come.
"Where is Mr. Morton?" There the question was out there. Crane paused to judge Doc's reaction. He got one. It was subtle but he caught the flare in Doc's eyes and the slight stiffening of his stance. He knew instantly that he had lost this round even before Doc opened his mouth to answer. The bridge burned for naught.
Doc braced himself. This question was inevitable and he had no better answer now than he'd had when the Captain was still in sick bay. The only thing about sick bay was he was in command there and better able to deflect and redirect someone who was too weak to notice that he was doing so. Crane was lucid now and very much in charge of his own thoughts. He decided to be as up-front as he could be. "I have been told that he is on TDY. I do not know where exactly he is." There was only a tiny bit of misdirection there. He did not know exactly where Morton was but he could make at least one very good guess.
Crane humphed in scorn and asked. "Who exactly told you that?" His voice was dangerously quiet.
Doc knew he was treading on very thin ice here. Crane was his commanding officer. "I believe the Admiral told me that. It was a while ago." He didn't say which Admiral.
"Yeah," scoffed Crane in obvious scorn. "Right."
The two men eyed each other in silence. Doc could often tell the Captain things in silent communication but this time he sensed the Captain wasn't getting what he was trying to say without words. What he was ordered not to say.
Crane didn't get the message. Glared angrily at the Doctor, turned on his heel, and stalked out.
Doc sighed in regret, realizing there was now a wall between them. Crane was not happy with him at all.
Chip stopped shaving. He just didn't care and there was no reason to. His immaculate presentation had gotten him to this. His career was over. His life, now and for the foreseeable future, consisted of not knowing anything, of mindless boredom, of tasteless food, of walking alone in an empty prison quad. What he looked like no longer mattered. Other than the guards no one saw him. He could abandon the tight control he had developed as his shield and buckler starting back at Annapolis because … no one cared.
Crane tried talking to Chief Sharkey in a quiet hallway at NIMR. He got a lot of agreeable 'yes sirs' but the look in Sharkey's eyes said he was trying his hardest to navigate shoal waters. The Chief's eyebrows had worked overtime trying to convey things he was under orders to not reveal. Sharkey practically squirmed with information he wanted the Skipper to know but the Skipper looked so worn out, pale, and confused he hadn't twigged. Sharkey knew the Skipper hadn't got the message because he walked away trying to square shoulders that wanted to sag in defeat.
Chip had tried begging and bargaining with his guards for information but that was a washout. He vacillated between fiery rage and stone-cold depression. Struggling with depression was something he'd never faced before and he didn't like it: the blackness, the lack of hope, the despair, the pointlessness.
He was finding it hard to track the time. Each day was just a round of meals with an exercise period thrown in. He was kept alone, ate alone, and exercised alone. No TV or radio to get the news.
What had his life come to? All the effort, all the drive, energy, excellence and passion he had put into his education, naval career and work at NIMR wasted. Gone. He had shot his best and truest friend; that's what his whole life ultimately boiled down to. The only thing anyone would remember about him.
He curled up on his bunk and tried to empty his mind of the black thoughts.
In desperation Crane arrived at Kowalski's apartment door. He wouldn't make the mistake of asking questions at NIMR again. Doc had looked around at all the walls while avoiding answering his questions. Sharkey, as his eyebrows bounced in overdrive, had practically writhed in discomfort, had actually looked over his shoulders while talking non-stop and not saying anything. Those responses told him he wouldn't get answers at NIMR.
The door opened and Kowalski's eye went wide on seeing him standing there. "Sir?" Ski immediately looked up and down the hallway in dismay before ushering the Skipper behind his quickly closing door. "Sir can I help you?"
Crane sighed, it was already apparent that Kowalski was worried about being seen talking to him. "I certainly hope so, Ski. I need your help."
"Of course, sir." Ski extended his arm to the side directing his Skipper into his living room. The Skipper looked weak and tired and Ski didn't want to leave him standing when he looked ready to collapse. He still looked as white as a ghost. No! Ski corrected his thought. He didn't want to think of the Skipper as a ghost. The Skipper was alive but he was as colourless as a sun-bleached sail. "Please have a seat, sir."
"Thanks, Ski." The Skipper gratefully sank onto the sofa and rested his forearms on his thighs. He hadn't realized how much his earlier talk with Chief Sharkey had taken out of him. It had been like navigating a minefield, both mentally and physically draining.
Ski watched his Skipper sit and could tell he had been pushing himself too hard. "Let me get you a coffee, sir." Preparing a coffee would give the Skipper a chance to regroup, recover from whatever had made him so shaky. It would also give Ski a chance to mentally prepare for what he expected was coming.
He'd been afraid of something like this. The brass couldn't keep the Skipper in the dark forever. His Skipper was a determined guy and would push until he had answers. Ski worried about that. The Captain didn't have the physical stamina to push like that yet, but he was so stubborn he would push anyway and no one at NIMR could give him the answers he wanted.
Ski fiddled with coffee filters and water for several minutes, stretching it out just enough for the Skipper to look less drawn and to relax into the upholstery.
"Here you go, sir."
Crane leaned forward to accept the mug and held it cupped between his hands savouring the warmth on his palms. "Thanks, Ski. I shouldn't have dropped in on you unannounced. I'm sorry."
"Hey think nothing of it, sir." Kowalski paused and looked intently at his Skipper. "I think there's something bothering you right?"
"Ski … I … I don't know where Mr. Morton is … the Admiral won't talk to me and … I remember things but I question what I remember and … I can't seem to make all the pieces of my memory fit together … " Crane's weary voice trailed off.
Kowalski felt terrible. The Skipper looked so alone and troubled. No one had seen the Admiral since he disembarked Seaview although rumour had it he was simply holed up in his penthouse. But Mr. Morton … that was another story entirely. A story that Kowalski was under orders not to tell. This was not going to be easy or pleasant for either the Skipper or him.
"Ski where is Mr. Morton?"
Kowalski looked pained and tried desperately to speak with his eyes only but he had to answer his CO. "I'm afraid I couldn't say, sir."
Crane looked at the troubled face in puzzlement. "Couldn't, Ski? Or wouldn't?"
Ski squirmed. This could go on all day if he didn't help the Skipper out at least a little bit, but how to do it without disobeying direct orders? He decided to not beat around the bush. "I'm afraid that I am under orders to not tell you what I know or what I might guess about Mr. Morton, sir."
Crane looked at him in disbelief. "You can't tell me, your CO?"
"Ah … no, sir."
"I do believe my security clearance is higher than yours, Kowalski." Damn. There was an angry edge to his voice that he needed to get rid of. None of this was Ski's fault. "I'm sorry, Ski." Crane dropped his head in contrition then lifted one hand from the coffee mug to rub through his hair. Kowalski was willing to help but under orders not to. "Okay, I get it. You can't tell me. I won't ask you to tell me but perhaps you can tell me if that order come from Admiral Nelson?"
Ski looked at him carefully and while silently shaking his head replied, "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, sir."
"Vice Admiral Dodd?"
Ski glanced around at his apartment walls as if they might be listening. He nodded just one quick movement down and up while saying, "Sorry I couldn't say, sir." Ski gave a slight twisted grimace to confirm the answer that he hadn't spoken.
Crane sighed and spoke very quietly almost silently, "Thanks." Crane sighed a bigger sigh. He would have to gird up for that confrontation.
Chip listlessly pushed the bits of his meal around in the metal bowl that served as his dinnerware. What was the point in eating? There was no point. He vaguely wondered if this was how Lee felt after some of their harder cruises. Why he was so thin and haggard after the worst missions. Now Chip didn't want to eat. Although he had chided and joked about Lee's lack of appetite it dawned on him that it really wasn't funny. This was what distress did. He found a new empathy for his commanding officer, an understanding he had never quite appreciated before.
That brought him up short. He'd never get to chide Lee about that again. He'd shot him.
He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face, dropped the spoon, pushed the tray away, and curled onto his side on the bunk.
Lee shifted cautiously in his seat. He was glad Doc didn't know that he was flying to San Diego. Doc would have a fit. Four hours of sitting in airplanes with a connection in Los Angeles was doing his deep-seated fatigue and healing bones no good at all. It would have been quicker to drive but he wasn't medically cleared to drive. He leaned forward just a bit, bringing his back off the seatback to take the pressure off his ribcage.
He thought back to his aborted visit to Admiral Nelson and was still completely confused. He just didn't understand his reception at the Admiral's place. In irritation he thought of his subsequent attempts to get information from anyone at NIMR. He had gotten no answers, people actively turned away when he asked the questions. Oh they were unendingly polite but completely unhelpful while deflecting his questions and feigning lack of time to talk. They didn't want to face him … hear him … Phone calls to SEA got put on unending, unanswered hold. It was as if the whole mission had been sucked into a black hole along with Chip and his TDY.
Dammit. He was pretty sure that Admiral Nelson had shot him but even his own wounded body didn't confirm that. Broken ribs, a nasty laceration over his sternum, that proved only that he had suffered a trauma to his chest but he was puzzled, he thought he remembered the sickening, pulverizing thud. He realized he couldn't trust his memories, he'd been in rapidly deepening shock, an enveloping mist, but he could have sworn there had been some sort of invasive cardiac massage. He shuddered at that thought. Hoped his memory was wrong.
So here he was on a commercial flight to San Diego. He needed to see Vice Admiral Dodd. Much as he disliked the idea, he had run out of other ways to find Morton and get his questions answered.
He sighed slowly and leaned back cautiously, not cautiously enough, mending ribs tweaked in his chest. He grimaced and sighed again.
Dodd looked Crane up and down as the Commander walked into his office. He snorted, the Commander looked like death warmed over. How had the man ever been healthy enough, long enough to actually land the job at NIMR? What did he hold over Nelson? As far as the world was concerned Nelson was incorruptible but he knew better now. For Crane to keep his position with NIMR despite all his medical leaves and sinking that damned submarine twice, not to mention all the damage Crane inflicted on the boat, damage whose repair Nelson finagled the Navy into paying for, meant Crane was holding something over Nelson. He hated blackmailers. They were the lowest of the low.
He could barely keep the contempt from his voice and face. "What do you want, Crane?"
Lee was startled at the hostility, but he should have known. His crew wouldn't talk to him despite being anxious to do so, that came from fear of someone. Although he had suspected now he knew for a certainty, they were afraid of Dodd.
Crane snapped to and saluted. Might as well get right into it and get this over. "Sir, I would like to know where Commander Morton is, sir."
"I'll bet you do, Commander." His voice reeked of scorn. "You certainly can't have managed without your toady to back you up." He turned his back. "Get out."
Crane blinked in astonishment. "Sir, I don't understand … "
Dodd turned back and yelled. "It's not difficult, it means leave. Now."
Crane still stood at attention. What on earth?
"That's an order, Commander."
"Aye, aye, sir." Crane did a crisp about face and strode from the office.
What the hell was going on?
He was back at Kowalski's place. There were things he needed to know … to sort out in his mind. They were sitting on either side of the coffee table, forearms resting on knees, with eyes cast down looking at the tabletop as the Skipper worked out what to say.
"Ski. I wonder if you could help me with something. My memories of the launch are confused. Especially after … I remember things but I can't sequence them. They don't fit together. At least in my mind they don't." The Skipper held his fingertips together and tapped the edges of his little fingers lightly on the table. "I'm hoping you don't have orders to not talk about it because they might not think to order that … because no one would believe … " His troubled eyes looked into Ski's searchingly. Trying to tell if Kowalski was getting his drift. "Well, maybe only you, and I, and maybe Patterson too … would … believe … would notice. I don't know. Damn, I'm not making sense … I'm sorry"
"Yeah, I think you are, Skipper. I mean if you're asking if Farrell was there, then yes, he was. If you're asking if I have specific orders to not talk about Farrell then no I don't. There are things I can't talk about but if I can't tell you I will just say so. If you don't remember much about what Farrell did … I understand, sir. You were just about dead so … what do you want to know?"
The two men sat hunched forward, heads down and talked quietly for quite a while. Together they pieced through what had happened. Afterwards Lee felt a tiny bit more grounded. It was a relief to be able to sort through the terrifying odd memories and strange impressions he'd had. Make sense of it. A relief to have someone answer his questions. To listen. Talking to Ski helped.
Another day and more hours in airplanes and airports later Crane stood outside the door bearing the letters COMSUBPAC bolstering his resolve to go in. Admiral Starke did not like Lee Crane, thought him brash, lax with his men, and lacking the 'Old Navy' discipline so dear to Starke's regimented heart. Crane in turn thought Starke a Captain Bligh for his rigid enforcement of rules and bold, harsh manner with his subordinates. When Crane and Starke could not avoid each other, they grated along like sandpaper on a chalkboard putting the nerves of everyone in their vicinity on edge.
Lee felt an edgy anxiety now looking up at the letters on the door but he hadn't been able to get any answers from anyone else. Might as well go for broke. He opened the door.
Crane walked away from COMSUBPAC more than a little drained. He had stirred the pot at no little discomfort. His ears were still ringing.
Starke, while not a fan of Crane's, respected him. And Starke was indeed a good friend to Nelson. Starke had listened in growing disbelief as Crane told the parts of the Morton story that he knew. Had boldly called up Dodd and demanded answers. He had only succeeded in getting some.
He had called Nelson and in a remarkably gentle tone solicitously inquired after his health. He had gotten vague, listless platitudes.
After getting bits of the story, and eyeing the pale-faced Crane up and down a couple of times, he'd had the common sense to send Crane off for a coffee then also called Doc at NIMR.
Now, as a result of all the telephonic activity, Starke was going to San Diego to brazenly confront Dodd and was insisting on bringing Crane with him.
Life here was beyond contemplating. There was nothing to strive for. Chip sat slumped in the corner of his cell contemplating an unending existence hellish to a healthy young man. The fury flamed again. He jerked to his feet and yelled wordlessly, kicking at the cinder block wall, raging at the futility.
Lee stood outside the cell door. Listening to the outrage coming from inside.
The guard beside Crane asked. "Are you sure, sir?" The Commander looked like he could be knocked over by a feather and the man in there was, well, while not violent with the guards, his hands were battered from beating on the walls.
Lee glanced sidelong from under his lashes and nodded. "I'm sure."
"And you're sure you want to go in alone?"
"I'm sure."
The guard shrugged, "Okay. Only a call away, sir." Crane nodded his understanding.
The door clanged open. Lee took a breath, squared his shoulders and stepped in.
Morton turned from where he had been kicking at the wall and his jaw dropped.
Neither man spoke. Just looked at the other. Both shocked at what they saw but for different reasons.
Morton took three fast steps forward, then seeing Crane's head jerk back, stopped dead. He opened his mouth then closed it. Lifted one hand abruptly then stopped when Crane flinched just ever so slightly. Morton topped moving. Stood completely still. His friend didn't flinch unless something was really unsettling him.
Crane saw his best friend kicking at the wall in anger, frustration, and impotence. Then Morton turned and came toward him fast. It was all he could do to stand fast against that fury. He fought to stay calm when Morton lifted his hand and he couldn't quite stop the slight jerk as the fear reaction kicked in. He stood still trying to control the adrenaline rush. Barely allowed himself to breathe. He really didn't want to stress his ribs now. This was too important.
"You're not dead."
Crane shook his head.
"God damn you." Morton's raucous yell brought the guard in.
With a sidelong look at the guard Crane slowly lifted his open right hand and made a calm downward shushing motion to the guard. The guard kept his eyes on Morton. "You sure, sir?"
Crane just gave a tip of his head directing the guard back to the door never taking his eyes off of Morton. The guard with a resigned shrug backed out of the cell.
Morton watched the guard leave then looked back at Crane.
Lee asked, "You okay?"
Morton glared at him as if he was insane. Then a tiny bit of tension left his body. He nodded.
"Then let's go."
"What?"
"Go." Crane never took his eyes off Morton but used his hand to indicate the cell. "Like … outta here."
Morton glanced around at the cell that had been his home and cringed. He stepped forward cautiously and suddenly found Crane's arms opening out to enfold him in the warmest but somehow the most cautiously gentle bear hug he had ever been in. Chip laid his head on Lee shoulder a few moments in silence then murmured into the crook of Lee's neck, "I thought … "
"I'm here now." Lee twisted his neck trying to see his friend but could only see Chip's ear from the corner of his eye. There was a smile in his voice, "You okay, Chip or do you want my handkerchief?"
They backed away from each other grasping forearms as their eyes sought reassurance. Both blinked rapidly relaxing slightly. Then Morton looked at the cell door. "Outta here? Really?"
"Yup. Admiral Starke sprung you. They're bringing you some clothes. We're outta here as soon as you're ready."
"Oh, I'm ready."
"They didn't tell you that there was no charge?" Lee was incredulous.
"Never a word about anything but rules, meals, showers, and exercise periods."
The friends were sitting in a quiet corner of a grill nursing beers.
"That's not right, definitely not legal. Even though you shot me they didn't find a bullet to prove it, so Dodd didn't charge you. Starke was furious when he found out. Dodd is in big trouble."
"You figure?"
"We can fight that as some sort of wrongful detention."
"Well, I did shoot you. I figured they were just waiting to see if it was attempted murder or murder."
Lee hung his head taking that in. Wondering how Chip had been able to do it. "I'm sorry it took so long, Chip. I had no idea where you were. I didn't even know you were the one. I didn't see. At the time I thought it was the Admiral." Lee lifted a hand and rubbed it through his hair as he did when troubled. "I'm sorry. No wonder the Admiral was so abrupt. I have to fix that too."
"Not your fault and why aren't you dead? I could have sworn it was a kill shoot."
"It was." Both men suddenly felt a chill run down their backs and stopped talking for a moment.
Then, after they had recovered a bit, "So why aren't you dead then?"
"You didn't see what happened?"
"I pretty much stopped functioning once I pulled the trigger and you … " Chip turned his head away and brought a knuckle up to first one eye then the other.
Lee with compassion turned his face away to give his friend a moment of privacy.
"Lee," Chips voice was low, barely audible as he confided what had broken his heart. "I was so angry, furious at you because you asked the Admiral but you didn't ask me to help." Chip's voice faded away.
Lee looked at him astounded. "But I didn't know you were there, Chip." His eyes searched Chip's. Saw simmering anger and sudden burgeoning shame.
Chip shook his head. He's been so angry with Lee, had harboured so much vitriol against his best friend during that solitary imprisonment. Now he was ashamed. Lee reached over and laid his hand on Chip's arm. "I'm sorry, Chip. I didn't know you were there."
Chip nodded once. Blinked his eyes. Swallowed. Then he returned to his question. "So, why aren't you dead?"
"It's a long and complicated story, Chip." He hesitated then continued very gently, "Do you really want to know now? It can wait a bit, if that's better for you."
Chip sniffed then grated out, "God, Lee. I've been waiting for weeks. Tell me."
"Okay, but first … "
"Lee … " It was a fierce growling snarl.
"Another round, Chip. This will take a while."
The two men settled in for a long discussion.
Lee found himself back at the Admiral's home, standing in the foyer bracing for what might come next. He and Chip had spent a long time talking and as they talked Lee had realized this was his next step. He was tired from so much travel and he was dragging his butt but wouldn't be able to sleep until he had done his best by the Admiral.
Nelson opened the door already knowing from the doorman who it was. His eyes flicked briefly over Crane, taking in the grey face and dark circles under his eyes. It didn't surprise him. Lee's trim physique was an advantage in the good looks and physical fitness departments but left him looking like death warmed over when he wasn't well. Right now he didn't look well.
Nelson looked at the elevator door beyond Crane's shoulder and addressed him without meeting his eyes. "Why are you here, Lee?"
"Sir, I've come to apologise."
At those words Nelson shuddered and turned his body away, presenting his left shoulder to the Captain as if sheltering behind it. He ground out the words, "You? Apologise?"
Crane looked searchingly at Nelson but the Admiral directed his gaze at the floor not meeting Crane's eyes. Lee lifted his hand as if in supplication but Nelson, seeing the movement in his peripheral vision flinched. Nelson's eyes flicked toward Crane but didn't get to his face. He didn't seem able to look at his Captain, his chosen brother. He turned and walked away to the window looking out at ocean waves and the dark night.
Lee tried again. "Sir, when I came here before I didn't know the facts. I made assumptions. Those assumptions were wrong and so was I."
Nelson stood at the window every tightly clenched muscle betraying his emotional tension.
"Sir, I failed you and hurt you. I didn't think. I am sorry. I should never have asked you to shoot me. That was more than unkind. It was downright cruel." He stopped. Nelson didn't move or respond.
"Sir, could you at least look at me?" His voice broke a bit as he said that.
The Admiral's response was rapid, loud, and angry. "I can't look at you, Commander." He raised a hand to rest, palm open, on the glass. "Because in my mind all I can see is the look in your eyes when I lowered that gun. I left you to Krueger."
Crane sucked in a quick startled breath. He stood shocked into silence.
"I am so ashamed, Lee. Don't you understand? I can never meet your eye again." With a break in his voice he continued, "I can't bear to look at you."
Lee bowed his head as he brought his hands in front of himself. Clasping them tightly together as if they could shield him from the words Nelson spoke. He tried to still his trembling jaw.
Lee took a deep breath and looked up at Nelson's reflection in the glass as if he could meet his eyes that way, but Nelson's eyes were on the moonlit ocean waves and darkness outside. His thoughts on the darkness in his mind.
"I am sorry, sir. This is my fault. I should never have asked that of you. Burdened you with that. I hurt you. I should have known better."
Silence reigned. Crane, listening to that silence, lost all hope.
"Sir, if that's what you want … if you really never want to look me in the face again, I'll honour that. I will walk out of here now and submit my resignation before I leave NIMR property. You won't see me again. I will do that … for you, sir. It will be a relief for you."
With a hollow feeling in his chest, and rapidly blinking to clear his eyes Lee turned and walked to the door, twisted the knob, and opened the door before he turned back. Nelson was still standing at the dark window. Lee saw the Admiral's shoulders sag in grief, shaking silently, saw his head drop and heard the faint ringing in the glass from the slight bump as he rested his forehead on the cold, unyielding glass.
This was so hard. He had lost. They had lost. Lee took a deep breath and let it out in a despairing sigh. He had to make one last attempt. "But it means Krueger won. He beat us." Lee turned away from his best friend, his chosen brother. "Goodbye, Harry. I wish you well always."
He walked through the door, reached back to grasp the knob, stepped into the foyer to pull the door shut, to shut it on all his hopes and dreams when he heard the desperate, choking plea. "Lee! Don't go."